Chương 12: Vol 1. Memory Fragment: The Price of a Pretty Son

Lady Ceryne Caelrune was a woman of disquieting intensity, with looks to match. She was gangly, her complexion rough and weathered, with bald patches scattered across her grey fur. Her stern demeanour seemed to make any flowers wilt beneath her piercing amber eyes. Her claws were filed to remove any sharpness; the merchant paw, as it was called. Rings of gold, emerald, and sapphire glittered on each of her digits, all ancient, all rare, all expensive. She did not wear them for any stylistic or decorative reason.

No, they were a reminder that she had the power to bring anyone to their knees financially if she so desired. Compassion never had a home in her heart. Not for strangers—not even her own offspring. She did not consider this a flaw, far from it. House Caelrune had not built its colossal wealth by bleeding for the wretched. They were the ones who made the wretched bleed. She walked down the sparkling halls of pure gold, paintings by famous artists long gone strewn lazily along the walls as if they meant nothing.

None of the audacious and kitsch ornamentation held any semblance of beauty or meaning, nor was it meant to. It was to make others feel small, like cubs in front of the Dual-Gods themselves. Servants skittered to and fro, this way and that. It was finally time. She grunted. The Coniton was just in sight; the last thing she wanted to be doing right now was negotiating. However, if things went well, this would give them a stark advantage. They already had the wealth to waste on training their second daughter.

The girl may have been as dumb as a bag of rocks, but she was strong—very strong. With enough training, she would be unstoppable! But to get another family out entirely? Ceryne could not pass up an opportunity like that. She walked into the little private dining hall. The windows had been shuttered for privacy, leaving the room illuminated only by a few decorative candles placed about the table. Their flames quivered against the polished gold fixtures, casting wavering shadows across the walls.

At her far right sat Lady Zahra Orien, with one of her own servants standing neatly with a decent-sized box in one hand. Ceryne took her seat opposite her, posture straight, paws folded, tail held rigid behind her chair.

"Lady Zahra Orien," she said flatly.

"It is good to see you, Ceryne," Zahra said with a flap of one ear and a toothy grin.

"Do you honestly believe that not using formalities will let me off my guard, Lady Orien?" Zahra's grin widened a bit. Servants entered in silence, setting plates before the women and filling their wine glasses. The meal was expensive—absurdly so, and intentionally minuscule: slivers of cod, candied songbird hearts arranged to resemble a songbird, and fruits imported from one of the elvish tribes. Zahra began to eat.

"Oh my," she said with her mouth full.

"Is that not good?"

"You wish to make a deal with me," Ceryne said evenly, "that would have you not go to the Coniton?"

"Do not get it wrong, my sweet little Ceryne," Zahra cooed with her chin resting on her paw.

"We will be going to the Coniton, but we will not be competing; no, we will be there for another arrangement."

"Do enlighten me," Ceryne said, taking a small bite of her food.

"I have a son—""My condolences," Ceryne said with a smirk. Zahra stared blankly.

"I can be humorous when I wish to be; there are simply few times for which humour is needed," Ceryne said, returning to a blank, stern expression. Regaining her composure, Zahra said, "And he is unwed. I have tried to encourage him to find a suitor for many, many years, but he refuses. I have found lesser noblewomen who would be perfect for him and would give us a new cadet branch. Alas, time and again, he refuses. He is 19 now. If he lives to old age, he has only another twenty years left.

Those balls of his will dry up much sooner than that."

"Then just force him into one," Ceryne said with a snarl, "he's a boy, it is not as if he has a say in the matter. Until he is wed, he is legally your property."

"That is what I have come to discuss," Zahra said.

"You have a first daughter who is unwed and desperately looking for a father to bear her heirs, right?"

"Are you proposing a marriage?" Ceryne said.

"That is correct," Zahra said.

"And I am guessing you are not offering his paw out of the kindness of your own heart."

"That is correct," Zahra said.

"I propose this: your daughter will have a new husband, and you will have access to our library." Ceryne's ears perked.

"The—""The largest in the realm," Zahra said with a smirk.

"You would have access to hundreds of thousands of rare manuscripts. First editions, private letters, genealogical records, court histories, and even some originals of Lady Seraphine Orien herself, and you can take one of each manuscript; we have many, many copies." Ceryne, for the first time in her life, was trying hard not to show any emotion. She pawed at her tail and squeezed. Access to the Orien library… that would… Her heart was racing.

She imagined sitting upon miles upon miles of precious gold, silver, and other minerals once she had sold them to the lower noble class. That would nearly double her personal wealth.

"Name your terms," she said.

"Firstly, you will be paying for the endowment. Would fifty tons of gold be too much?" Ceryne scoffed.

"I find you having to ask that question highly offensive."

"Good," Zahra said with a smile, "secondly, if you win the Coniton, I wish to have a high-ranking position within your cabinet." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Are you a madwoman?" Ceryne scoffed, "That would completely break Coniton tradition!"

"Oh, Ceryne, darling," Zahra said, leaning forward.

"Have either of us ever been women of tradition? After all…" Zahra lifted two digits and slid her tongue between them.

"You are a heretic in the church's eyes."

"I have no idea what you are implying," Ceryne lied flatly.

"Oh, do not deny it," Zahra said. Ceryne flinched as Zahra climbed onto the table and began crawling towards her, slow and deliberate, like a hungry predator readying to pounce on their prey.

"You have desires the Dual-Gods frown upon. It would be a shame if all those merchants and peasants you sell to—the very people whose precious coins built your mansion—were to learn about them. You may be royalty, but you are no match for a devoted follower of Seroth."

"I may not be a woman of piety," Ceryne said, standing up so abruptly that her chair scraped against the floor. She slammed a paw down on the table.

"But I have served the church since I was a little girl. I donate to cathedrals. I fund parishes. There is nothing you can tell them that would drop me from their good graces." What was happening to her? Why was she so flustered? Zahra was bluffing. She just had to be bluffing. There was no—"Oh, really?" Zahra cocked her head.

"Tell me, my sweet Ceryne, when was the last time you intimately touched your husband without obligation?"

"That is none of your business," she spat.

"I imagine you must try so hard not to recoil in disgust every time you see that nasty appendage." She smiled devilishly.

"The smell. The weight. The expectation. Such a dreadful little chore, marriage is."

"My husband and I have a fine marriage. We are perfectly intimate."

"That is not what I recall." Ceryne's ears lowered. Zahra giggled softly, wiggled her ears, and crept closer.

"You found relief elsewhere. Somewhere warmer. Somewhere more… feminine." Ceryne's paws clenched. Bastard bastard bastard—"You saw her working in your gardens—a peasant woman. Young, muscular, her fur sun-browned from a hard day's honest labour; a real woman; rugged, vulgar, forbidden. Everything your husband was not."

"How do you—""You are not the only one with spies, Ceryne." Zahra leaned in close enough for Ceryne to feel the heat of her breath and the musk of her fur.

"I just happen to know how to feed you false information."

"Bastard!" Ceryne growled.

"Do not be like that," Zahra's voice softened into a gruff, yet tender cadence, which somehow made it worse. Ceryne's breathing grew heavy. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. Her paws quivered. Zahra was now right in front of her, looming over her, making her feel dreadfully small.

"One of the differences between you and me, Ceryne," Zahra said, throwing her jacket aside and slowly loosening the top button of her shirt, "… is that I am not ashamed of my secret desires." Ceryne tried to look away. Zehra chucked.

"What's wrong? Go on, give in, you can touch them if you want." Ceryne bared her fangs.

"Oh, how disciplined you are. How proper. A good, stoic merchant like your mothers before you and their mothers before them." She reached down and put one claw under Ceryne's chin, forcing her gaze back up.

"But discipline, you see, it is a lot like a wall surrounding a castle: it is only useful until someone learns how to get through it." Ceryne said nothing.

"Now," Zahra whispered gently in Ceryne's ear, "are you going to give me a cabinet position?" Ceryne's jaw tightened. Her instincts told her to refuse; to snarl; to strike at her; to reassert her dominance. But Zahra knew. Worse, Zahra knew that she knew. She had underestimated House Orien. Got too comfortable, and now she was paying the price.

"Y-yes," Ceryne said softly.

"Good." Zahra gave a cheeky smile, buttoned her shirt, then slid gracefully back across the table as if nothing improper had just happened.

"Now," Zahra said, "bring in your first daughter." Ceryne flicked two claws towards one of the servants.

"Bring in my first daughter." The servants bowed and hurried from the room. A few minutes passed, the silence billowing through the air, broken only by the scrape of cutlery and Zahra humming. Then the doors opened. Ceryne's first daughter stepped forward. She wasn't much like her mother in appearance. She was soft-faced, carefully groomed, and her pale grey fur was brushed neatly. Her ears were held at a polite angle, not too proud, not too timid, just enough to show confidence.

Her tail curled close behind her in a restrained posture, elegant, gentlewomanly. She wore a high-collared suit made of dark blue silk that was embroidered with threads of white and gold; a few rings shone on her fingers, all except for her pinky. Upon reaching the table, she politely bowed her head.

"Mother," she said softly.

"I have been told you have summoned me?"

"Oh my," Zahra whispered, "he is going to love you." Zahra instructed her servant to bring forth the box.

"I have a potential husband for you," Ceryne said.

"Is that so?" her daughter said evenly. The servant opened the box. Ceryne's daughter went wide-eyed. Ceryne herself couldn't help but stare. It was a painting, presumably of Zahra's son. He was beautiful. Absurdly beautiful. Soft golden eyes, vibrant fur, delicate features, and a refined sadness about him that made him look almost holy, like Seroth himself.

"He is a good kid," Zahra said, "Studious, kind, sweet. Though if you are not careful, he will remain at his desk reading and writing all day." Ceryne looked at her daughter.

"What do you think?" Her daughter stared at the painting for a moment longer. Her ears twitched once.

"It would be an honour to take his hand in marriage," she said.

"Very well," Ceryne said evenly. She stood and extended her paw.

"We have a deal, Lady Zahra Orien." Zahra took it; "It has been a pleasure, Lady Ceryne Caelrune." # Zahra opened the door to her bedroom.

"Guess who is home!" Her husband groaned and rubbed his eyes as he sat upright.

"Hey, honey. Sorry, I tried staying up, but I got too tired."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Zahra sang.

"How did it go?"

"Our baby boy is getting married!" Her husband's eyes shot upright. That news seemed to wake him up.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Nope, our plan is set."

"That is my girl," he said. Zahra flopped onto the bed with a cute, pleased little sigh.

"How did you get her to agree, anyway?" he asked.

"I do not think you told me that part of the plan."

"Well," Zahra said, wiggling her ears, "I have a natural secret weapon. Her husband laughed as Zahra unbuttoned her shirt and let her bosom fall out.

"I do not think I would have been happy marrying any other woman," he cooed.

"Get over here, my little schemer." Zahra purred, pressing herself against him, and the two slowly began to lick and kiss each other as they prepared for a long, intimate night.