Amaryllis winced as her left foot pushed down on the edge of a rock. She had lost track of how many times that had happened, just as she had lost track of how many hours she had been walking. 

This far into the Aesvithr, it was impossible to see the sun. The canopy was primarily composed of evergreens and their long branches fanned out above her weaving into a ceiling of needles and gnarled branches. Amaryllis shuddered as she noted thick networks of spider webs glistening between the branches. Some distance back, The Princess was fairly certain she had seen the skeleton of a small bird trapped in one web.

Amaryllis had little experience wandering the wilds, but she knew enough to know that she should still be able to see the sun. Even if the canopy were very dense, there should still be some light. She was fairly certain, however, that it had been over half a day, and she still hadn’t seen the sun. She turned her mind to other matters. 

Several hours ago, she had discovered and began following the stream Bridget had mentioned. She had hoped that finding the stream would also lead her to a break in the dense forest canopy. Even the stream, though, hadn’t parted the trees enough to provide a view of the sky above. For all Amaryllis could tell, it was as much midday as midnight. 

The only sources of light now were the oddly luminescent mushrooms along the bank of the river. They had begun to appear as soon as she had found the stream. At the time they had been a relief, providing some much needed illumination in the near pitch-dark forest. Now though, as the mushrooms grew denser and denser, The Princess found them less reassuring.

All the same, the mushrooms and the stream did make for a path she could follow, which she needed. Even the narrow, winding road that she and her knight–she and Bridget, she corrected herself–had been following had vanished. She had failed to find it after running away from the gully where she had left Bridget. 

She had abandoned Bridget. Her stomach lurched, and she felt a dizzying wave of nausea. No, she told herself, Bridget had proved untrustworthy. That was going to happen eventually, Amaryllis knew. A Princess was not the sort of person who… She pushed the thought down. She needed to focus on getting to safety. 

She winced again as her foot hit another rock. She had managed to rip off a length of her shift and tie it around her left foot to protect it from the worst of the damage, but the cloth wrap was still meager protection. She cursed herself for leaving her turnshoe in the mud with Bridget. She closed her eyes, fighting back hot, angry tears. She stomped her right foot and nearly toppled over as the bank of river rocks below her clacked and cascaded down into the stream below. She cursed herself again. 

Amaryllis had remembered Bridget mentioning that they needed to follow the stream ahead.The water would, eventually, lead to another settlement.  She remembered Bridget’s fierce face scanning the foreboding canopy of the woods. The way she would half meet The Princess’ gaze and smile slightly, offer some plan or bit of wisdom about the woods, and set them along their way. Her chest ached. She cursed herself a third time and pushed the thoughts away. 

Amaryllis forced herself to continue walking. She tried to focus her attention on the rocks below her, carefully picking her footing step by step. 

Even if she found a settlement, the only people who lived this deep in the Aesvithr were The Adlyr, druidic people of The God’s Wood. They were, technically, under her father, The High King’s, rule, but their fealty had always been tenuous. The Empire’s sovereignty over the woods often had to be enforced at the tip of a sword. She imagined arriving in a village of druids who hated The Empire and her father even more, and announcing that she was The Crown Princess of The Sinnach. Perhaps she could endear them with news of her father’s death. She chuckled to herself. 

She would need to pretend to be someone else, some peasant woman. She had never practiced any mummery, her father had always hated plays and performances. Still, how difficult could it be, she mused? At least her current garments might lend some credibility to the ruse. As she watched her footsteps on the rocks below her, she noticed that the front of her robe was beginning to pull apart again. 

She remembered, for a moment, Bridget’s hand on her breasts and the warmth of being inside her. Her cheeks reddened. She hated her body for wanting to feel that again. She should be angry–no, furious–with Bridget for violating her oath. Although, she had played a part in that, truth be told. She forced that thought down as well. Bridget had proven herself untrustworthy. 

She returned her attention to her splitting garment. 

Shortly after leaving the gully, She had found a long, needle-like bone woven into the bead work of her borrowed robe. Taking that, she had been able to use it like an over-sized sewing pin to keep the two halves from hanging open. It made the already narrow space for her bust even more intolerably small, but at least it protected her dignity. Grasping the two halves of her robe, she pulled the needle free, and rewove the needle to clasp it together again.

Looking over her work and the fraying roughspun, she smiled. She imagined presenting herself to anyone in this state–bloody foot, a single shoe, bosom absurdly straining against a tattered robe–and announcing that she was The Crown Princess. She laughed aloud. 

As Amaryllis turned a bend in the river, she was confronted with a rocky slope. Ahead of her, the stream flowed away from the mouth of a cave wide enough for perhaps four people to walk abreast and half again as tall as she was. The mouth of the cave was ringed in a dense carpet of the same luminescent mushrooms.  

Amaryllis had not studied The God’s Wood and the Sidhe of the forest extensively, but she knew enough to be more than wary of fairy rings. 

She sighed heavily. The alternative, though, was to head back the way she came and confront Bridget, or, worse, Lord Murdoch’s men, or some of his Fion who were doubtless following them. She remembered watching one of them incinerate her father’s men. A cool spike of panic ran down her spine. If one of them found her, what defense would she have?

She slipped a hand into her pocket. There were two runed knucklebones left from the handful she had stolen from the Dearg Due’s altar. She had picked over the bones sown into the rough spun robe, a few hours ago, but all of them were as dead as rocks. Only the knuckle bones had been given rites to preserve the spirits within them. Two spells did not leave much room for error. Worse yet, without her necklace, she wouldn’t be able to reliably do much more than produce a simple ward or augury. Meaningless in the face of a Fion warrior. 

Little choice then, she thought. 

Passing through the cave took several hours. It was miserably dark and cold. Amaryllis slipped and fell fully into the stream several times. The water, bone chillingly cold, soaked her roughspun and the dark cave kept the chill against her skin. Eventually though, she emerged, teeth chattering and goosebump-covered, from another cave mouth and into a valley richly lit in golden, late-afternoon sunlight. 

For a moment, Amaryllis forgot about the cold, her tattered clothing, the threats to her life, her lost knight, and was overwhelmed with beauty. Below her, in the valley, was a palace more beautiful than any structure Amaryllis had ever seen in her life. It was a collection of spires and towers clustered together covering perhaps a half mile or more. Each tower appeared to be constructed of a single block of nacre. There were, so far as she could tell, no mortar, blocks, or masonry of any kind. The surface of each structure was smooth and uninterrupted and sparkled with iridescent rainbows in the golden afternoon sun. 

The scene was too much for Amaryllis to take in. She found a rock near the mouth of the cave and, for a few minutes, sat observing the structures below her. She racked her memory for anything remotely like this from her studies. The only thing that came to mind were tales of young princes and princesses whisked away to kingdoms in the Otherworld. So far as she knew, those were all old nurse-maids’ tales, but the evidence before her eyes made it much harder to disbelieve the tales. 

Her eyes narrowed. She had been watching for a few minutes now, and she had not noticed any movement in the palace. She scanned more carefully. She could make out overgrown vineyards and hedges along the edges of the palace, a few doors and windows in the structures, and a few cobbled streets. She could even make out what might be standards flying from a few of the towers, but otherwise there was absolutely no motion of any kind. 

Perhaps the place was abandoned. If so, she could likely find shelter, maybe even food there. She was, by now, desperately hungry. Mercifully, the afternoon sun had alleviated the bone-deep cold. Her roughspun was mostly dry now. 

Moving down the edge of the valley to the nest of structures took a half hour or more. To reach the valley floor, Amaryllis had to follow winding switchbacks as they cut through dense patches of green blackberry brambles and yellowing grass. For a time, she thought to eat her fill in blackberries, but the nurse-maids’ tales of her youth stayed her hand. Eating food in the Otherworld rarely went well for the stories' protagonists. Still, she reasoned, she could pocket a few handfuls and eat them if all else failed. Even once she was on the valley floor, she had to move slowly through an overgrown field of burdock and meadow grass. More than once, she had to stop to pull thorns and burrs from her roughspun robe or, painfully, from her skin when they managed to pierce the thin cotton wrap around her left foot.   

Eventually, though, she found herself on a cobbled road with the opalescent towers rising around her. To her surprise, there had been no curtain wall or moat around the palace. If there were any defenses at all, she did not recognize them. Scanning the base of the towers around her, she was able to recognize a few structures. Carts, market stalls, barrels, and a well stood abandoned and empty. The bases of most of the towers bore windows, doors, and cellar entrances. Even though she could identify them, though, they were all strange to her eye. Most were constructed from lacquered wood or more of the same seamless iridescent material, and bore characters in a script Amaryllis had never seen. 

Among these recognizable objects were even stranger things that she could not identify at all. All around here were nacre pedestals and sculptures that sloped and grew and curved from the cobbled street or out of the tower walls. Along their sloped surfaces were elaborate gold filigree depicting interwoven vines and brambles.  Occasionally, between the filigree, there were glass bubbles that seemed to glow in a variety of colors. Some of the bubbles even contained more of the strange script, the characters drawn in light, suspended in the glass. 

Some of the pedestals looked like elaborate lecterns. Atop these chest-high pedestals were flat panels filled with glass bubbles and glowing lights. Looking closely at the base of one pedestal, Amaryllis notes that it seemed to grow from the ground emerging like the trunk of a tree.

Still stranger were narrow handles grew from the walls with fewer, less elaborate, bubbles. These often sat near the frame of doors or windows, again at chest-height. 

Amaryllis shook her head. She was beginning to become anxious. None of this made sense to her. She was some place she was utterly unequipped to be. The idea of her being royalty seemed absurd to her again. 

She looked down at her body, covered in filthy rags, scars, and bruises. Dozens of the several inches-wide burrs she had collected from the burdocks in the field still held to her robe, looking like ridiculous pom poms. She was more jester than princess if truth be told. She imagined being laughed out of whatever court existed in this place.

Her heart was pounding now. She would be in danger then. She would need someone to protect her. Bridget was gone. Her chest was crusting in and her head was throbbing. She took a long breath in and reached reflexively for the ruby at her neck. 

Her hand felt nothing. 

For a moment, panic hit her anew. She was going to die here. 

She tried another deep breath. She was a princess. It was in her blood, she told herself. The clothing she was wearing didn’t matter. It couldn’t disprove her royalty any more than her uncle’s swords. They were themselves proof of her power. For a whole force of grown men to be prowling the countryside seeking her head, that was undeniable proof of her importance. No one could deny that. 

She was a princess. Amaryllis picked the burrs carefully from her robe. She readjusted the front of her garment. From her pocket she fished a small vial of perfume, and applied several sprits to her neck and wrists. Looking down at it, she noted that it was still three-fourths full. That was a comfort. Lacking any bows to truss up her hair, she contented herself with smoothing it out a little with her hand. 

She began walking again. Back straight, chest out, shoulders back, just like her mother had trained her. She kept her eyes ahead of her and intentionally ignored the objects around her.

As she turned the corner of the street, Amaryllis was, for the second time that day, dumbstruck. 

Before her was a wide thoroughfare that terminated at the base of a tower wider and taller than any she had seen so far. At the tower’s base was an enormous staircase framed by an archway of elaborate metalwork. Several paces wide, the archway extended from one edge of the flight of stairs, around an enormous open portal, and down to the opposite end. Made of a deep, almost-red gold, the arch depicted a wreath of wildflowers, brambles, berries, and vines. The blooming head of a sunflower sat at the keystone. In the late summer sun, the entire arch seemed to glow. 

Amaryllis, mouth open and eyes wide, was about to wander toward the structure when she noticed a pair of figures at either base of the arch. 

In a panic, she swallowed an “eek,” jumped behind the tower she had just emerged from, and landed heavily on her bruised foot. She bit her lip and shook her head. Poised, she reminded herself; she was still in danger. She adjusted her posture again. She was a princess. 

Returning her attention to the tower, she noted that the figures were clad from head to toe in plate armor of the same ruddy gold. Each held a tower shield in one hand and a glaive in the other. She fought back another cry. For a moment she tried to force herself to walk forward. The image of her father’s men being incinerated flashed in front of her eyes again. Her head was screaming. She relented and allowed herself to hide behind the tower again. 

For a few long moments, Amaryllis waited, pressed against the cool opalescent stone of the tower wall. The armored figures were several hundred feet away, but, as still as the streets were, Amaryllis was certain they would have spotted her. Even now, her head peering around the wall would be visible to a careful observer. She waited trying to calm her breathing, waiting for some sign that the figures had seen her. Far in the distance, probably the vineyards she had seen on her approach, Amaryllis heard the harsh cawing of blackbirds and the shrill echoing staccatos of thrushes. She heard not a thing from the armored figures.  

Still pressed against the wall, which was gradually warming against her body, Amaryllis took a deep breath. She could still turn around. There was a chance they hadn’t seen her. She could try and find shelter in some abandoned building nearby and subsist off the berries in her pocket. She might be able to feed and shelter herself for a few days. 

That was foolish, she knew. If this place was inhabited–guarded no less–they would find her eventually. Then she would certainly be assumed to be a peasant. Any chance of having her royalty recognized would be dashed. Better to face the matter head on with as much dignity as she could muster. She tightened the pin in her robe, tried to straighten the tangled waves of her hair, and strode out from behind the tower. Shoulders back. Chest out. Back straight. 

As she approached, neither figure made any move to greet or stop her. Indeed, they made no move at all, not even to turn their heads toward her. It was difficult to maintain a gait befitting royalty with one foot full of bruises and burr holes, but Amaryllis bit her lip and maintained her poise. Perhaps they were decorative suits of armor, empty and left for show, Amaryllis realized and began to feel ridiculous again. 

By the time she was a pace or two away from the right-hand figure, she had all but convinced herself that they were empty suits of armor. When the suit’s helm suddenly turned to face her. “Eek!” she cried, jumping back a few paces, biting back a swear as she landed on her wounded foot. 

The way the head had moved frightened her. The head turned strangely, all at once and only to the side. Once it was facing her, it was stock-still again. 

She waited for the figure to say something or move again, but nothing came. After a few dread-filled moments, Amaryllis spoke, “I seek audience with the lord or lady of this palace.” 

The figure extended its arm and pointed through the archway-framed portal. The movement was as sudden and unnatural as the last, eliciting a panicked flinch from Amaryllis. As she inspected the figure she noticed that the gap between cuirass and spaulder was filled not with mail or tunic, but a mass of brambles, vines, and flowers. 

No that couldn’t be possible. It was some woven garment, Amaryllis assured herself. All the same, her imagination ran wild speculating on the sort of magical power that would be necessary to make a moving being out of a mass of plants.  

“You have my thanks, servant,” Amaryllis offered, attempting as much royal magnanimity as she could muster.

The guard–suit, figure–said nothing in return. 

Amaryllis turned and strode through the portal. Beyond it was a wide chamber that likely filled most of the base of the large tower. She recognized it immediately as a throne hall. 

Wide windows of gold-tined glass flanked either side of the larger room, casting the whole chamber in warm ruddy light. Around the windows were wide tapestries of golds and greens, depicting dense fields of wildflowers, brambles and vines. Among the flora, there were also tall figures clad in beautiful robes, gowns, and suits of armor. 

At the far end of the chamber was a dais housing five thrones, four arranged around the fifth, larger and more ornate than the rest. Seated on the center throne was a woman. 

Amaryllis’ eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. Even from a distance the woman was unquestionably royal. 

She was dressed in a long black dress cut close to her narrow frame and adorned with gold epaulettes and a set of double-breasted buttons. A pair of wide lapels rose from the front and extended out and behind her head like a whisk. A narrow diadem sat atop her head. Every line of her angular body and garb communicated power and authority. 

Amaryllis felt the dread pour back into her. She looked down at her own pathetic robe. She had missed several burrs, she realized. She felt dizzy. She was a princess. Back straight. Shoulders. Her head hurt. 

As she grew closer, Amaryllis felt her cheeks warm, she could feel this woman’s authority. More than that, she could feel the power radiating off of her. When she worked spells, Amaryllis had to concentrate actively to feel the spirits within a bone or focus. It took effort to locate and bring to mind the unique sensation of each. Just being near this woman, Amaryllis felt the waves of warmth, like standing too long in the summer sun. Beneath the warmth in the woman’s presence was something more subtle, a lethargic buzz that threatened to run down her spine and arms. She was reminded, suddenly, of her own mother. 

Amaryllis shook her head. She was so tired. She wanted to just fall to her knees and let blissful oblivion take her. She pushed the sensation away and focused on the situation at hand. 

Once she reached the foot of the dais, Amaryllis could make out the woman’s features. Long, straight, bright-gold hair fell down her shoulders, framing a narrow, oval face with high cheek bones. Her almond-shaped eyes and blade-like ears caused Amaryllis’ breath to catch in her throat. This woman was not human. Her eyes were easily twice the length of any mortal The Princess had known, and her ears were two hands in length at least. 

Amaryllis stood for a long moment in stunned silence. Her posture was quite forgotten.

When Amaryllis was approaching, the woman had been watching her carefully, tilting her head slightly. When Amaryllis stopped at the foot of the dais, the woman waited for a moment, arching an eyebrow expectantly. When The Princess remained silent for another half dozen moments, the woman opened her mouth. “You stand in The Sonnenblume Court, Highest of the Four, before The Queen Leana of the Aesidhe. Name yourself and the boon you seek, mortal.” The Queen spoke each word as if it were a bug she was trying to catch with her teeth. 

Amaryllis’ heart skipped. She had failed in her etiquette already. There should have been a herald! Every decent court had one now! In the case, lords forbid, that you did arrive in some court so lacking as to require introductions from royalty themselves, it was incumbent on the visitor to introduce themselves and know the names of the party they were visiting. She had failed on both accounts.  

“And you are?” The Queen asked. Her voice was a low purr that made Amaryllis shudder. She felt the same wave of heat wash down her spine.

For a moment, Amaryllis had to fight back the urge to drop to her knee out of some mixture of exhaustion and awe. She shook her head and collected her thoughts. “I am Crown Princess Amaryllis Cahry of House Sinnach, Heir to Castle Ohg’ir and the Sinnach Empire. My uncle has committed treason against my father. The High King Egan Cahry, my father, is likely dead. I seek your protection and aid in reclaiming my birthright.” 

Queen Leana looked down at Amaryllis. Her narrow lips widened into a bemused smile and then split to reveal a set of too-narrow teeth as the Queen began to laugh. Her narrow frame shook, but her gaze never left Amaryllis. Perhaps it was the warm light of the windows, but The Queen’s eyes appeared to be gold. “The Four Courts recognize no mortal pretense of royalty. Less still one announced by some unwashed girl covered in burrs, rags, and a single shoe.” 

Amaryllis’ cheeks burned in embarrassment. She felt dizzy. It had taken a long time for her mother to teach Amaryllis to keep her back straight, her chest out, and her shoulders back. She could still remember her mother’s face as she instructed the young Princess, drifting from disappointment into boredom. She took a long breath to quiet her heart. She was a princess.

“These garments are below my station, it is true.” Amaryllis’ voice wavered and cracked. She bit her lip hard, demanding royalty from her soft body. “They were a necessary ruse to escape my uncle’s men.” She was a princess, and she had survived more than her mother ever could have hoped with twice the dignity. “These robes are a lie, but my claim to the throne is true.” Amaryllis stamped her right foot in defiance.

The Queen’s laughter stopped. For a moment, their gazes met, and The Queen stared unblinking, a slight smile pulling at her lips. 

Again, Amaryllis was reminded of her mother. Queen Ethna Cahry had rarely raised her voice with Amaryllis. When she had been displeased, she had simply stared her child down. Amaryllis had learned many years earlier never to push the matter past that point and rarely required a reminder. 

Amaryllis dropped her gaze, her cheeks burning. She noticed that, running parallel to the rows of buttons on The Queen’s bodice, a set of woven golden cords ran from the epaulette on her left shoulder and looped under her arm to meet the epaulette again on the back side. She was reminded of the parade dress of her father’s vassal lords. 

“Foolish child,” Queen Leana said approvingly. She stood and glided down the dais. Amaryllis was shook by awe again, her eyes fixated on The Queen. The older woman rose like a praying mantis unfurling its limbs. Long, unwieldy, but deadly and graceful all the same. Her dress flowed nearly to her feet, hiding her narrow stride, creating the impression that she floated rather than walked.  

Amaryllis already felt like her head was tumbling end over end as she watched The Queen’s graceful movements. By the time The Queen was standing over Amaryllis, the younger woman’s mouth was already parted in awe. Less than a pace away, now, The Queen stooped slightly. The woman was nearly four hands taller than she was, Amaryllis realized. 

Close as she was, Amaryllis noted that the older woman’s lapels and whisk were decorated across the front with the same bramble and vine wreath motif that she had seen across the palace. It struck Amaryllis how much softer and curved the design was than The Queen’s own person. Her dress was tightly tailored, and its buttons and details were all arranged symmetrically, all of which highlighted her narrow and angular body. The older woman was all sharp edge and straight line. 

Amaryllis’s eyes snapped back to the older woman’s face, and she felt her pulse quicken. She briefly met Queen Leana’s gaze again. Her eyes were not just gold, they were glowing. 

Amaryllis turned her face downward. Slipping a hand in her pocket she located the pair of knucklebones still there and palmed one of them. 

She cursed herself for throwing her pendant to Bridget. The idea of controlling anyone ever again had felt revolting at the time. What a childish and myopic impulse that had been. She could not place her comfort over her survival like that. She was a princess. She needed to be in control. 

Queen Leana extended a long finger and placed it under her chin. The Queen pressed upward, not hard enough to force Amaryllis to meet her gaze, but the younger girl did not dare deny her. Their gazes met again and The Queen searched Amaryllis’s face thoughtfully. “Perhaps you will make a pleasing servant for a season or two. You can attend to me and learn to serve your betters.” 

The purr Amaryllis had heard in The Queen’s voice before was rapidly becoming a hum. Like a tuning fork resonating with her own skull. Her vision was starting to swim.  

Princess Amaryllis’ mouth drew into a tight purse and her borrow furrowed. She slapped aside The Queen’s hand and threw out her chest. “I am Crown Princess of Sinnactal, and I will shortly be High Queen of all Five Kingdoms. No one is my better.” She placed a hand on her breast to emphasize her royal person, while subtly placing her thumb and forefinger around the bone spike pinning the front of her robe together. 

The Queen frowned, withdrawing her hand and standing straight again. She looked down at Amaryllis, her lips curling in disgust. “What a shame. I would have liked to make use of you.” With one lengthy, deliberate movement, The Queen extended a blade-like arm toward Amaryllis. Amaryllis took a step back, her heart pounding, but the little distance she could create made no difference. Amaryllis’ retreat did not even force The Queen to fully extend her arm. She merely continued the same arch and placed her hand on Amaryllis’ shoulder, letting one narrow finger after another wrap around the younger woman’s shoulder. Each finger effortlessly wove its way into her roughspun, reminding her of the burrs in the field outside. 

Amaryllis felt waves of heat flow into her from The Queen’s grip. This time, instead of lethargy, she felt sheer panic. Her chest burned and hot blood flooded her veins. She bit her lip hard, forcing herself to ignore the urge to thrash and run. She forced her attention within herself, focusing on the knuckle-bone in her palm and the well of warm, red light in her chest. Another half-moment and she found the whispering presence in the bone. Keeping both in mind she drew the bone needle from the front of her robe. Already straining as they were, her robe and shift fell open spilling her breasts into view. 

Ignoring her nakedness, Amaryllis stabbed the bone needle into The Queen’s palm, pushing The Queen’s hand away from her shoulder in the process. For a moment The Queen’s hand caught and yanked at the fabric at her shoulder, pulling the garment further open. Amaryllis jerked her shoulder and right hand back, freeing the fabric and withdrawing the needle. Instead of red blood, something painfully hot and gold flowed from the wound in The Queen’s right hand, coating the point of the needle and the tips of Amaryllis’ fingers.

The Queen shrieked in anger and drew back. The cord at her shoulder and whisk behind her head shook at the sudden movement. Amaryllis realized it was the first movement she had seen from the older woman that was not inhumanly poised and smooth. 

Wasting no time, Amaryllis drew her hand from her pocket and sank the needle into her own palm. The gold liquid at the tip of the needle was still hot enough to hurt as it touched her skin, although that pain was quickly subsumed by the sensation of the bone spike sinking into her flesh. She felt the presence of her own blood join the red light in her chest and the faint voice in the knuckle bone. A moment later, there was a fourth presence, loud and blazing and impossible to ignore. She almost lost focus, but forced herself to draw the heat into the center of her attention. She tried to force it to mix with the other three. The knucklebone was rapidly dissolving in her other hand.

She knew that without her ruby pendant, the spell she was attempting was foolish. Like trying to guide a stream with a shepherd's crook.  

She mustered all the strength she could manage and extended her arm toward The Queen, ignoring the sway of her naked breasts. “I am the daughter of Lord Sinnid, First of the Sinnach, and Mother Elatha, Queen of the Fomoraigh. I do not know your name Sidhe, but by my birthright I bind you.” 

Amaryllis felt the bone dissolve fully in her hand, and attempted to project what power she could outward toward The Queen. Instead she felt the radiant heat in her palm well up more and more, and then flow back into her. Amaryllis gasped and gripped her left wrist with her right and felt her legs begin to tremble. She felt the golden heat of the Queen’s blood flow further up her left arm, she desperately tried to focus on her own internal light and press back against it. 

Queen Leana smiled and looked back down at The Princess, “Elatha’s spawn? Fomoraigh? So you are a child of The Courts after all.” She placed her wounded hand on Amaryllis’ cheek. The Queen’s fingers were long enough that even with the base of her palm against the bottom of Amaryllis’ chin, the tips of the older woman’s fingers touched the back of the young girl’s head. The Queen tightened her grip just enough to press her gold blood in her palm against the girl's face. 

Amaryllis gasped and spasmed. The sensation was too much. Her cheeks burned and her eyes rolled back. Her already trembling legs gave way, and she sunk into a kneel.

The Queen tightened her grip further and held The Princess’s face, forcing her to tilt her head all the way back as the younger woman fell to her knees. 

The waves of golden warmth crashed over Amaryllis and all else was lost. Her vision swam. 

“Elatha’s House was exiled, little princess. She was degraded and titless when I cast her out of my realm.  I am not surprised that she took some mortal filth into her bed, and allowed it to spawn in her belly. Any offspring from that repulsive union would, at best, be Fomoraigh, and like any Sidhe, they would serve at my beck and call.” The Queen used her grip on Amaryllis’ jaw to shake the girl’s head once for emphasis.  

Amaryllis gasped again and cried out. Her cheeks burned and her thighs trembled. Amaryllis could feel the heat from The Queen’s blood on her cheek and hand begin to invade her body. Wave by wave, it crashed into her, pressing deeper each time. It coursed through her chest, burning at her nipples, dripping down into her belly, and between her hips. She spasmed again, and felt her exposed breasts jostle against her chest. 

Queen Lena’s eyes flicked to Amaryllis’ chest and lingered there for a long moment. She eased her grip on the younger girl’s head and gently stroked Amaryllis’ jaw with her thumb. “My, but you are a soft and pleasant thing, aren’t you?” The Queen purred down at Amaryllis, finally returning her gaze to the young woman’s face. 

Amaryllis managed to meet The Queen’s gaze and was immediately overwhelmed by the look of hunger she found there in the older woman’s glowing golden eyes. 

The Queen shook The Princess’ head again. “Your Queen asked you a question,” she demanded. 

Amaryllis felt another spike of panic from the warmth invading every inch of her body. She feared denying the older woman. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t manage anything more than a long moan of confusion.

“I suppose that is the best response I can expect from a creature as low as you,” The Queen nodded, allowing herself a mocking giggle. Stooping down again, she extended her other hand to cup Amaryllis’ right breast with her free hand. Queen Leana’s narrow fingers trailed gently across Amarylli’s curves. 

The younger woman gasped and spasmed. With The Queen’s heat flowing through her, the brief pressure against her nipple felt more intense than Bridget’s lips had. 

Queen Leana bit her lip, her eyes had once again drifted down to the younger woman’s body, and Amaryllis noted what she thought might be blush as the older woman’s cheeks took on a ruddy-gold hue. “Such a shame. As an heir to Elatha’s line, you carry her sentence of exile. Do you know what the punishment for returning to The Four Courts after exile is, little Fomoraigh?” The Queen was still smiling cruelly. Her voice lilted playfully as if she were testing a child on its arithmetic.

Amaryllis shook her head. She did not. The Princess desperately tried to collect her thoughts and fight back the waves of golden heat flooding her mind and body. Every time she managed to clear her head, however, another blazing wave would crash into her, scattering any stray thoughts she had managed to collect. 

“Death,” The Queen responded, tightening her grip and sending another searing wave through Amaryllis.

Amaryllis broke. “Please.” Amaryllis drew out the word long and high. Hot tears flowed openly down her cheeks. She was so exhausted. So tired of walking, so tired of demanding, so tired of fearing her death, she desperately wanted for it all to end. “Please, please,” Amaryllis began to sob. 

“You will address me as ‘Your Majesty,'" The Queen corrected. 

“Please, Your Majesty,” Amaryllis replied without thinking. Anything for an end–for a release. 

“Good girl,” The Queen purred. “Please what? I know it’s hard for such a simple creature, but you must use your words.” 

“Please, Your Majesty, I don’t want to die.” Amaryllis’ sobbing turned into heaving waves. Between them, she had to draw in air painfully. Each time it felt as though she had to pry open her own ribcage to make space for the breath.

The Queen released her grip then and fell upon The Princess. She wrapped her arms around the younger woman and held her close. For a long minute, The Queen allowed her to sob. Every now and again offering a gentle, “There, let it out, good girl.” 

When The Princess’ sobs began to fade, The Queen shifted her hands to Amaryllis’ shoulders and leaned back to look at her face. “Be grateful that I found you, little one. Any of my subjects would have been duty-bound to execute you on the spot for your foremother’s crimes. I alone, as Your Queen, am empowered to remit your sentence and grant your boon.”

Amaryllis felt more tears well in her eyes at the words. After more than half a week of fleeing in terror for her life, she had almost forgotten what relief felt like. She fled into the feeling, letting the tears flow softly down her cheeks. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you”

The Queen’s smile faded. For a long moment she held the younger girl’s gaze. “Do not presume.”

Under the Queen’s disapproving gaze, Amaryllis felt her anxiety creep back. The younger woman wanted to whine and cry and beg. She wanted to crawl back into the relief she had been allowed a moment ago. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I did not mean to.”

“I have said only that I can remit your sentence, creature. Not that I will.” The Queen explained, annoyance clear in her voice. 

Amaryllis began to cry in earnest again. This is what she deserved, she realized, for everything she had done. For a moment she saw Bridget kneeling in the mud looking up at her bewildered and afraid. “Please, Your Majesty, end me.”

The Queen raised an eyebrow. “I have not said I shall do that either. You are right, however, you live at my whim. I will offer you reprieve. I will guarantee your safety and allow you to live under my protection, but only if you can abide by my conditions.” 

Amaryllis’ heart skipped. She would do anything to feel that relief again. “Please, Your Majesty. I will do anything.” 

“Good girl,” The Queen replied, running a long finger through the girl’s hair, pinning a few locks behind her ear. 

Amaryllis noticed The Queen flinch slightly as her attention fell upon the younger woman’s ear. 

Queen Leana’s hand drifted down Amaryllis’ arm in a motion that could have been mistaken for a comforting caress. “What you must do is listen to everything I tell you with the utmost focus.” The Queen searched Amaryllis’ face for understanding. “For now on, you must obey my every whim without question. So, too, must you follow the direction of your betters in Court.” Queen Leana shifted her hand from Amaryllis’ arm to her hip and ran her hand up, following the young woman’s voluptuous curves. “If you can do so, you will be allowed to be a princess of your foremother’s banished court, and you will have a place here. If you can do that, you will be kept here as my safe and treasured thing.” The Queen’s hand arrived at Amaryllis’ breast and gently flicked her nipple. 

Amaryllis shivered as she felt another wave of relief mixed with arousal, “Yes, Your Majesty. I will. I swear.” She fell into the older woman’s arms and began to sob again, this time in joy and relief. She began to babble, “Thank you, Your Majesty. My Queen is so beautiful and gracious. I promise to serve you. I swear, I’ll always listen. I promise. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

The Queen looked down coldly at the girl as she sobbed into the double-breasted front of her royal garment. Restraining the urge to pry the creature away lest the fabric be stained, she instead ran a hand through its hair. She noted how soft and full the little thing’s cheeks were as it cried. Something stirred low in the older woman’s belly. “There, there, little Princess. You’re safe.”