#estamoth

"What is it?" asks Estarossa.

"This place," she murmurs. "It's awful."

He shrugs. "I don't know. Weather seems nice."

"Rossa," Moth hisses. "Did you not notice? The people are thin, almost starving. Their homes are little more than mud. The children are dirty. There are beggars everywhere."

"True. But we only saw a bit of the kingdom."

Moth rolls her eyes. "Yet the bit we saw has only proven the rumors of how the people are destitute." She wraps her arms around herself. "How can someone rule a kingdom and allow that to continue? How can you call yourself a king while your subjects starve?"

"I don't know. The soldiers seemed fed enough."

She shoots him an unamused look. "This isn't funny."

Estarossa sighs. "You're right, it's not. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, hm? You're here to oversee a peace agreement, not right the wrongs of a powerful monarch."

"He is only human," she scoffs.

"A human with an army," he reminds her. “And we’re not here to pass judgment on how he rules, no matter how much you or I might disagree. Leave them alone and focus on this agreement so we can get back to our lives.”

She bites her tongue, not wanting this to devolve into another round of bickering between them. Neither she nor Estarossa wanted to come here, particularly not when they were planning a simple excursion to the lakeshore to relax for a few days, and that and the fact that they came by boat has left both of them so irritable that simple conversations are leading to heated arguments. Moth sits against the cushions, folding her hands in her lap and pretending that she is in a cozy little cottage, or perhaps next to the lake with a glass of wine and a good book.

Anywhere but here.

When the carriage finally draws to a halt, the footman opens the door and helps her step down. Looking around only fuels her agitation. Everywhere are signs of opulence: the grass is lush and well-watered, the trees and bushes bear fragrant blossoms, and there's even a small gathering of peacocks resting by a little pond. Her lips twitch as she waits for Estarossa to join her, and she does her best to ignore his low whistle.

"He's definitely compensating," Estarossa remarks.

Moth shoots him a glare, but says nothing as she follows the footman inside. In the foyer, he pauses, turning to address them with an apologetic bow. "His Majesty regrets to inform you that he is preoccupied, and will be so until tomorrow. A matter of great importance has arisen that he must tend to."

"Uh-huh." Estarossa frowns. "And what are we to do until he is not . . . preoccupied?"

"There are quarters prepared for you where you may bathe and rest," the footman offers.

Moth glances to the grand doors on the right. "Certainly," she bites out. "Lead the way."

The castle is just as beautiful as she had feared. Moth calculates in her head the cost of so much marble and the people that must be paid to maintain the sparkling cleanliness of the floors and tapestries. Of course, when a king uses slave labor, none of those costs matter. Is that what he's done, she wonders?

Outside of their room stands a man who introduces himself as the steward. "Greetings, sir. I wanted to make sure your quarters are to your liking," he says with a smile, bowing to Estarossa.

Moth waits for him to acknowledge her, and when he doesn't, Estarossa glances down at her. "She's the queen, you know," he says. "Or about-to-be queen. Not me."

The steward makes a face, but then nods at Moth. "Very good. If you'll follow me."

The disrespect makes her skin crawl, but it's not as if she hadn't experienced this before. She decides to ignore the slight as they enter, and once again she is astonished by the room. It is covered in shining wood and marble, a huge fireplace on one wall, separate vanities for both on either side of a huge bed with an intricately carved headboard. Even Estarossa looks a bit impressed, and Moth walks through the room to look out the long, glass-paned windows before spying what looks like to be an even bigger washroom beyond.

"I hope Your Highness is satisfied?"

Moth turns to answer, but the steward is still stubbornly speaking directly to Estarossa. To her annoyance he snorts before gesturing towards the door. "It's great. Send up some wine, will you?"

"Of course." The steward shoots her a contemptuous look before he departs, and Moth, rather childishly, sticks her tongue out at his back.

"They'll never take you seriously if you do that, you know," Estarossa says blandly.

She frowns at him. "They already refuse to take me seriously," she retorts.

"So you want to give them more reasons for it?"

"Oh, excuse me for doing something harmless."

"Moth," he says, exasperated, "it's not harmless when it comes to servants. They know what goes on, even behind their backs. It's their business to. And now the steward has something to take to the king. 'The princess sticks her tongue out like a petulant child,' he'll say, and that will be the end of what little credibility you have here."

"Go blow it out your ass," she says, heading into the washroom. Estarossa laughs behind her, and her lips quirk a bit as she starts to run a bath.

The water isn't nearly warm enough, so Moth must use magic to bring it to a comfortable heat. As she soaks in the tub, she looks around at the intricate carving on the ceiling and the way the stone sparkles in the light. If the king sold even a tenth of the materials in this place he could provide grain for years to his people. So what is the problem? Merely ignorance?

Her skin is wrinkled by the time she reluctantly leaves the bath, not surprised when she finds luxuriously knitted towels for their use. She winds one around her body and heads back into the bedroom to see if their things have arrived, but stops, startled, in the doorway.

There are servants there, a half dozen, laying out an extravagant table of meat, vegetables, and fruit. The mix of smells makes her stomach rumble, but what catches her off guard is the nearly risque uniform of the servant girls. Their robes are little more than that: robes that cling to their bodies, nearly see through, and drape in such a way that Moth is sure at any moment a breast or thigh or any other body part will come spilling out.

She hesitates in the door, gaping at the display. All of them are young—the oldest can't be more than twenty—and pretty, with luscious curves. Concubines, is her first thought, then, Wait, we never heard anything about concubines. But her mind fumbles for another explanation, and when one turns to her with a bow and Moth realizes she can clearly make out her nipples through the fabric, she stops caring about why they're dressed as they are.

"Estarossa," she begins, turning to look at him. He's lounging on the bed, watching the girls unashamedly with hooded eyes, and her confusion gives way to a sting of anger with a pinch of jealousy.

One of the servants approaches her timidly. "My lady," the girl whispers, "allow me to help you dress."

Moth takes a deep breath, forcing herself to smile. "There's no need, but thank you."

"Please," the girl says, and Moth is startled by how close she sounds to tears. "Allow me to help you dress."

Another approaches, pulling her hair back. "Would you prefer this up or down?"

"I . . ."

Moth turns as a third is opening her trunks, another offering tea, another girl rubbing lotion into her skin. "Wait," Moth says, pulling away from their attention. "I can do this myself. I don't need such a fuss."

The servants look at one another in confusion. Moth glances at Estarossa, who looks like he is pretending to be asleep. "Damn it, will you help me?" she hisses.

Estarossa peeks at her out of one eye. "I'm fine here."

"You're an ass," she snaps.

“Just let them do their jobs,” he replies.

Moth heads back into the washroom, followed by the girls, and begrudgingly she lets one comb and braid her hair as the others unpack her things. She chooses a simple dress and allows them to help her into it, but when one goes down on her knees to place her shoes on Moth once again protests. "That's fine," she says, smiling at the girls. "I can take it from here."

"How else can we serve?" one asks, and the others murmur their agreement.

"Really, I'm fine," she smiles. "Would you all like something before you go?"

The servants seem confused, so she walks back to the bedroom. Estarossa is gone, but Moth decides to not bother asking as she moves to the table. There is enough food for a dozen dinners, and she gestures towards it. "You all seem so thin," she says with a small smile. "Can you take some bread for your families? Or some fruit?"

Several of the girls gasp, and three run for the door. "What is it?" Moth asks.

"We . . . we can't . . ."

"Nonsense." Moth smiles warmly and selects a small loaf holding it out to the girl that braided her hair. "Back in Cailleach, my handmaiden is a friend."

The girl shakes her head and steps away. "Okay, fine," Moth mutters, trying to maintain her smile. She moves to where her bag sits on the bed and takes out a small purse, pressing it into the hand of the nearest girl. "There should be enough for all of you," she says. "Will you share with the ones that brought the food in too, and you—"

Moth jumps as the servant gives a blood-curdling scream and runs from the room. The coins scatter on the floor as the others follow, and Moth is left gaping at the open doorway, where Estarossa now appears, leaning on the doorframe. Moth ignores him and moves to the window, peering through the glass at the kingdom below. So much opulence, and yet the servants are afraid of taking food or coin would otherwise go to waste; they are so terrified of it, in fact, that it cements the idea that had formed the moment she had seen the grotesque decorations on the castle gate. This king is a tyrant, cruel and greedy, and nothing good will come of his rule.

Bitterly, she thinks, I could always destroy this place. Surprised by the venom of her own thoughts, she shakes her head, studying the buildings that stretch into the distance. Those closest to the palace have lights shining from their windows and smoke curling from their chimneys, but the farther ones do not, as though someone drew a very clear line in the sand between the wealthy and the poor.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and when she turns she sees him sitting at the table, carefully picking through the heaping trays of food left for them.

"The servants," Moth sighs. "I tried to pay one but she . . . she just ran out of the room."

Estarossa clicks his tongue. "That was foolish of you."

"Why?" she snaps. "I can't pay for a job well done?"

"Servants aren't allowed gifts, my darling. She's probably getting a beating now, because of you," he answers. Moth stiffens at his tone, which is a mild amusement, scowling as he inspects a chocolate covered strawberry.

He takes a bite and then glances over. "And before you get it in your head to go find out, trust me, you will only make it worse. I told you to leave these people alone. They don't want your help."

"I'm beginning to think you're enjoying their suffering," she replies heatedly. "You've chafed against Cailleach's neutrality from the beginning, relying on and railing against it. Does seeing how they starve and bleed for a cruel king bring you joy? Does it scratch the itch you no longer can, away from your own kind?"

Estarossa only laughs. "This isn't how demons behave. Only humans can be this cruel."

Moth folds her arms and looks back out the window. "I can't stand by and let this go on."

There is a long pause as she watches the shadows, trying to find an answer. Her thoughts are interrupted when Estarossa's hands slide down her arms, and his lips press to her neck. He breathes her in deeply and murmurs, "Let's get this job done and go home. The sooner the better."

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Moth sends the servants away the next morning when they arrive, preferring to dress herself. That sets off another round of wailing, which wakes Estarossa up and has him grousing. "I don't know what they want from me!" she exclaims, exasperated when she finally convinces the last to go.

"Just let them do their work," he mutters. He walks to pour himself coffee from the fresh pot left on the table. "Stop getting them in trouble."

"I'm not," she hisses, but she goes to find something to wear, heat on her neck making it difficult to keep her embarrassment hidden.

They head to the great hall together where they have been invited to eat breakfast with the king. Moth tries not to examine the gold trimming on everything, the marble statues and intricate tapestries, the grandeur of the archways, the frescos on the ceilings. It is all too much, she decides, preferring the simple elegance of Cailleach, but even the finery of the palace does not prepare her for the hall.

There is a table long enough to easily sit a hundred. Silk covers it, and it is laden with food from one end to the other; Moth's mouth opens in shock, thinking this would be enough food to feed a village for a week. But there are no other guests, just them, and her stomach turns to think of it all going to waste. She looks around to see if there is a party coming, but the only other person is the king, who sits at the head of the table.

He spies them at the same time, and waves over. "Please, my honored guests, come sit," he says pleasantly. "I would stand, but I cannot at the moment."

Moth frowns at the odd statement as they approach, and they are only a few feet away when she sees why: there are two young ladies kneeling beneath the table, barely out of maidenhood, who eagerly service his cock with their mouths. "Won't you sit and break your fast with me?" the king grins, gesturing at the table.

Moth isn't even sure what the emotion that roils within her is. Estarossa must, because he takes her elbow and says something she cannot hear through the ringing of her ears to the king before helping her into her seat. Something nudges her beneath the table. One of the girls? Her suspicion is confirmed when it moves quickly away, as if afraid she will draw attention to a perceived slight.

The king is speaking—not to her, but to Estarossa—though it sounds muffled, like she has dunked her head underwater. I'll kill him, she thinks viciously, and Estarossa's eyes snap to hers as he gives a subtle shake of his head, unnoticed by their host. "Lady Alessa," the king says warmly. "I have heard much of Cailleach and your people. Tell me, are the rumors true?"

Moth forces herself to appear cordially interested. "Which rumors, Your Grace?"

"That you seduced a goddess and left him dead on the altar in favor of your demon lover."

The statement is so absurd she is struck dumb for a moment. Beside her, Estarossa bursts into laughter, his hand on her knee telling her just how fake his reaction is. "Moth, you did not tell me you cared so much as to kill a goddess for me," he laughs.

"Moth?" The king’s eyes go up as he studies her, and she swallows thickly when she sees him adjust in his seat. 

"My childhood name," she says. "My consort uses it as a term of endearment."

The king smiles. He leans his elbows on the table and presses his lips to his folded hands. For a moment his eyes close, and a gasp beneath the table tells Moth all she needs to know. "Moth," he sighs, his expression pure satisfaction. "I like it."

A shiver of revulsion goes up her spine. Had he thought of her? She hopes not; the way Estarossa's fingers dig into her dress tells her that he's had the same thought, and she wonders if his tenseness stems from jealousy or something else. "You may use it, if it pleases you," she says after a moment. "My closest friends and allies do."

"I'm glad." The king sits back in his chair and snaps his fingers. The two girls quickly scurry out from under the table, both bowing deeply before hurrying from the room. "Won't you eat something?" he asks, again gesturing to the spread, as if nothing had happened.

"I'm not particularly hungry," Moth answers.

The king nods. "I imagine Cailleach must be very different, and such rich and succulent food is unsettling for a clan that eats nothing but roots and sticks."

"What?!" Moth cries.

The king laughs and shakes his head. "Just a little joke! And an unfunny one, I see. I hope I did not offend you?" He tilts his head with a smile. "You are honored guests. Just say the word and anything you want you will receive, I put my life on it."

She and Estarossa share a glance, and what she sees there has her doing her best to dissuade him through their bond. But she finds it closed, and her eyes widen when he says quite casually, "If you have anymore like that, I would appreciate their company while bathing."

The king pauses for a moment before erupting into another of those laughs that set Moth's teeth on edge. "I would hate to insult our fair Moth."

"No insult," Estarossa replies lazily. "She allows me a mortal woman or two when I have a craving for them. I can't devour her soul, after all."

Chewing thoughtfully, the king nods and shifts his attention to Moth. "And you, fair bird? Shall I send some pretty things your way, as well?"

"I am not here for pleasure, Your Grace," she says through her teeth, trying her best to sound normal. "I want to focus on the negotiations."

"Of course," he says. "I understand completely. I've arranged for my advisors to be here tomorrow at noon, and we'll begin arguments then to decide the terms of their surrender. The rebel leaders will be escorted here in a few days. Will that suit you?"

"More than." Moth does not fully understand Estarossa's game, or what he hopes to accomplish, but she can play one of her own. With a sigh, she reaches up to loosen the collar of her dress so that it exposes the column of her neck and the sweep of her collar, fanning herself with one hand. "Your kingdom is truly lovely, Your Grace, but I'm afraid I'm far more suited to colder climes. It's why I chose Prince Estarossa, you see. A warm body for cold nights."

"Ah, you do not fool me, my lady!" he teases, shaking a finger at her. "Anyone can see how very much in love you are. But it is so unusual for a witch and a demon to find such happiness. And killing a goddess for it, no less!"

"I didn't kill a goddess," she mutters.

The king frowns. "My mistake then. You certainly can never tell with rumors." He taps his lip thoughtfully. "So many nasty rumors go around about people. Especially those of us who must rule. I'm sure there are any number of stories out there about me, for instance. I shudder to think what atrocities are laid at my feet."

"I'm sure that while they may be vocal, any who dislike you are few." The lie tastes like bitter medicine in her throat despite how light she keeps her voice. "Simply look at your home! Those who serve you are pleased to do so, and eager for it, I imagine."

"I take care of my people," he replies earnestly, placing a hand on his heart. "Their welfare is my only concern. It's why I overthrew the old king, who was cruel and destructive in his old age. The mind of the elderly can warp, and his had rotted long ago."

Moth presses her lips together. "If your people are so pleased, it's a wonder there are any rebels at all."

The king sighs loudly. "Jealousy, insanity, some are simply anarchists. You cannot reason with them any more than you can reason with a dog. They must be trained. Which reminds me," He continues, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, "I understand that your servants displeased you. I'll have them taken care of immediately and new ones dispatched this evening. I have no tolerance for servants who cannot do their duties faithfully."

Estarossa sighs next to her, no doubt expecting an outburst from her. But Moth merely shakes her head, a pleasant smile firmly in place. "I was not displeased, Your Grace, rather . . . seeking a bit of privacy with my consort, if you understand."

His gaze is sharp on hers, his smile pleasant but not reaching his eyes. "Even more reason for them to be disciplined," the king replies. "They must anticipate the needs of their masters."

Before she can say anything, Estarossa chuckles. "If it does not offend, send them to us tonight. There are certain . . . acts that she prefers to watch rather than participate in, and those acts can be used as punishment in their own way."

Moth shoots him a glance, trying to reach him through the bond again, but Estarossa ignores her. Meanwhile the king erupts into laughter again. "I know we are going to get along so well!" he cries.

Moth takes a deep breath as he stands. "If you'll excuse me, I must go and see to my appointments before our meeting," the king says. Estarossa stands as he gives a respectful nod and walks out, but Moth stays seated, her hands balled into tight fists as she watches him go and fights the urge to send a dozen daggers behind him.

Once the door is closed and they are alone, Estarossa reaches for an apple, drawing a knife from within his coat to slice it. "An interesting fellow," he muses, more to himself than to her. "Would you like some?"

"I'm going to throttle you," she replies pleasantly.

He gives her a sideways look before shrugging. "Suit yourself. They're perfectly ripe, though. Be a shame to let them go to waste."

"Are you really going to—"

"Don't be ridiculous," he says, cutting her off harshly. "And don't insult me by asking that question."

Moth sighs and slumps in her chair. "I can't do this. I can't make nice like this."

"You don't have to," he replies. "I'll keep him flattered. You keep him guessing."

"Keep him guessing about what?" she gestures around them vaguely. "His head is full of rumors, he has girls suck him off while he eats. I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to keep him 'guessing' on."

"Because you're blind," he says matter-of-factly. "You always have been. Mortal men fall at your feet, and you think they've only tripped."

Moth snorts. "They're clumsy."

"Sometimes I think you must be intentionally playing naive, others I think you genuinely might be." She gapes at him as he pops a slice of apple into his mouth, closing his eyes with a hum. "Delicious."

"You're impossible," she huffs, standing to go.

Estarossa grabs her by the wrist and presses a kiss to her palm. "Perhaps," he grins, stroking his index finger along her skin. "But you love me."

Moth snorts and tugs her hand away. "I need some air," she says. "Try not to eat too many maidens while I'm on a walk, hm?"

"I'll come with you," he says, wiping his hands on a napkin, but Moth presses her hand to his shoulder. "I could use a minute to think," she says. "I'll be out on the terrace, within shouting distance. I promise."

He studies her for a moment, and then he settles back into his seat, his gaze softening. "Be careful."

With a nod, she turns and heads for the large glass doors to the back of the room. They open easily under her touch, the well-greased hinges giving not even a whisper of protest, and latch quietly back into place once she's stepped through them onto the terrace. Made of the same stone as the rest of the castle, the walkway has been decorated with potted shrubs and marble figures, and the view from it is stunning; it doesn't particularly seem to end in either direction, and Moth decides to go left, wondering if it wraps around the entirety of the castle as she paces and thinks.

It must, because mere minutes later she hears the king call her name. Breaking away from her running list of questions, she looks away from the mountains to her right as he approaches, a broad smile on his face. "Fair Moth!" he says jovially. "Good, good. I was hoping for some company on my stroll. Though I'm afraid I must ask where your demon has gotten off to?"

"Having a snack," she replies sarcastically. "I should be getting back—"

"Then allow me to accompany you," he says, holding out an arm.

Moth glances at it before squaring her eyes at him. "I'm afraid it would not be proper to be escorted by anyone other than my bonded consort," she says coolly.

The king barely masks his displeasure. "Then I suppose I will walk, and you will walk, and if some words are spoken aloud, would that be all right? I would hate to offend the Witch Clan's superstitions." 

The word superstitions makes her hackles rise, and she barely keeps her pleasant expression in place. Something must feel the same way, because there's a quiet echo of a snarl that sends a chill up her spine. "But of course." Hoping that she comes across as genuine, she adds, "I meant no offense, Your Grace. I'm afraid my . . . Well, I was lost in thought and you startled me, and I reacted poorly. I hope we can put it behind us?"

"That depends on you." Moth raises her brows, but he does not offer more, only extending his hand to gesture her ahead.

They walk about a foot apart, his hands clasped behind his back as Moth keeps hers to her sides. "What is it you want, Your Grace?" she asks.

"Only to be treated fairly, Your Highness," he replies. "You see for yourself how the kingdom is thriving. I wager there is nowhere in Britannia as glorious as this palace. This kingdom will rival the Goddess and Demon Clans if I have my way. But that won't happen if my policies are undone because of a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?"

The king halts, turning to face her. "Yes. While I may jest about the rumors I have heard of you and your people, I do understand your position. The Witch Clan has always been the one to resolve disputes that the other clans cannot, whether it be ending wars or," his lips twitch slightly, "investigating the rumored cruelty of a king."

Moth raises her chin. "I know my role. I am not here as a judge, simply a mediator."

"That is reassuring," he replies. "My methods may not be the same as yours, but our people are not the same. Our histories are not the same. Our clans are not the same."

"They may not be the same, but don't we feel the same?" Moth argues. "Humans, witches, fairies, giants, demons, goddesses . . . We all want peace. We feel pain and happiness, hunger and pain, joy and tenderness. Our ways may be different but we are not so different as you assume."

The king snorts. "As you said, you are here as a mediator to negotiate the end of this war. I hope you keep that in mind during your stay. Moving away from your sworn task will surely make things . . . complicated, wouldn't you agree?"

It's a not so subtle threat, and one that she would, under normal circumstances, have no qualms about rising to. Human arrogance has a tendency to give way to terror when faced with death, she has found, and mortal bodies break very easily. But she thinks of Estarossa's warnings, and forces herself to breathe through her nose to quell as much of her rage as she can. "I would," she replies. "My only concern here is to smooth your transition and help bring peace."

"Good." They resume walking, but he stands much closer than before, so that she is uncomfortably aware of him. "If you find yourself needing company while your demon is preoccupied tonight," he murmurs, "You may seek out whoever you desire. None would deny you."

"I would never do that," she answers sharply.

The king snorts, and she swears she can feel him touch her hip, but when she turns her head his hand is once more behind her back. "Interesting thing to know about witches," he muses. "I had no idea that the men could fuck whomever they wanted while the women were subservient. I had thought having a queen would put the women in charge."

Moth is debating the merits of simply pushing him off of the terrace when Estarossa appears, his expression of concern quickly smoothing away into pleasantness. "There you are," he says. "I was beginning to think you'd grown tired of me."

"Prince Estarossa!" the king beams. "Perhaps you can answer this question for me, as it seems our lovely Moth can not or will not. Is it subservience to you that keeps her from seeking the pleasures she desires, or is it a lack of interest?"

Moth's mouth opens in shock, but what truly surprises her is when he looks as though he is thinking. "I would have to say it's my giant cock," Estarossa replies.

The king dissolves into peals of laughter, and Estarossa winks at her as he is distracted. "Let's go in and have a drink, demon," the king says. "I want to hear more about your clan now that I've learned so much about the witches. We have a bit of time before the meeting."

"But of course." Estarossa moves to her, offering an arm that she takes. When she reaches down the bond, She finds him this time, but the crack is small, as though it's only there to ease her worries.

As they walk, the king points out the different buildings in the distance, the entrance to the mines, his tone indifferent. Moth says nothing, merely listening, allowing Estarossa to offer what replies he wishes while deciding on her next course of action. The king is already suspicious. Perhaps not so much of Estarossa, who seems perfectly comfortable acting like a lech and scoundrel, but of her for certain. Meaning more secrecy. Should she play the foolish princess?

The door opens and a messenger walks in, handing a note to the king with a deep bow. He smiles when he reads it and then stands. "I must beg your leave, my queen," he says. "I have something to attend to right away. I will see you at our meeting."

"Of course."

As soon as he is gone, Moth stands and stalks for the hallway. Estarossa is on her heels, but before she can exit he pulls her by the arm. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” she confesses. “To scream at something.”

"Every time you rise to his bait, whether it be a rumor that he creates or an offer for sex, you give him more ways to undermine you, to control you."

Moth wrenches away from him. "We're leaving then. I won't let him do this."

Estarossa laughs. "We're not leaving. We're not going back to Cailleach and explaining to Nemain how this king got the better of you." He steps up to her and points a finger, tapping her forehead. "You better start thinking, Moth. Otherwise you'll be under that table before you even realize what's happened."

She gives a growl of frustration and pushes past him again, heading back for their room. Usually when Moth visits a kingdom she enjoys the tours, seeing new places, meeting people. But what would be the point here? Everything is upside down, and everyone is either miserable or fake.

She spends some time writing, which normally helps Moth organize her thoughts and get her frustrations out on paper. But nothing seems to work, and every scenario she can think of, from killing the king herself to offering the rebels her support feels wrong. She needs to know more, but the thought of walking around or talking more with the king makes her stomach churn. Above all, she just wants to go home.

Estarossa appears just before dinnertime. Moth looks up from where she sits on the bed, trying to read but unable to concentrate. “I went to the village,” he says before she asks. “The tavern has shit for ale. Let’s get out of here.”

"Until peace is here, we can't." Her voice is hard, bitter with anger and disappointment, and she scowls, unamused with his joking. "And peace will not come. The people will continue to suffer, wars will be fought, blood will be spilled. When the next king comes, if he's like this one, the cycle will continue. We never should have come here in the first place. That mortal has no interest in anything to do with me unless it involves having me in his bed."

Estarossa laughs as he slides up next to her, nuzzling her ear. "Probably."

"You think that's funny?" she snaps.

"Not at all. I feel sorry for him." His lips travel to her neck, leaving a trail of kisses. "He has no idea just how very stubborn you are."

Moth chooses to ignore his mouth on her skin. "I am finding myself to be very tired of men. Quarrelsome, bickering fools who think with their cocks and believe that having one makes them superior."

"You are absolutely right." His lips are at her jaw now, and his hands move to her hips to jerk her onto his lap. "Luckily for me, I can't be counted among them because I serve my queen."

"You certainly think like the rest of them," she says dryly. Moth climbs off of him, ignoring his protest and heading to the vanity, where she sits to brush her hair. A servant had already done it, but Moth needs something to do with her hands.

Or a king will die by them, neutrality be damned.

"Have I ever told you the tale of the Sage?" she asks.

The sound of the bed creaking tells her that Estarossa has shifted, and the tightness of his voice when he replies, "No," tells her that she's irritated him.

"Eons ago, the Sage served a King. The King was a cruel, greedy miser, but the mask he wore in public was one of a doting, compassionate man. Only the Sage and the King's wife knew of his true nature, and they despaired the day he finally turned on his people." Moth sets the brush down and starts to braid. "So, they hatched a plot. The Queen, for that was what she was, was given a knife by the Sage, coated in the vilest poison she knew of. That night, as the King fucked her, she drove it deeply into his chest."

She pauses, taking a deep breath. "But then, needing a criminal to blame, she turned on the Sage, blinding her with that same knife before banning her from the kingdom. As she left, the Sage cursed her. All of her children would be monsters in mortal guise, just as their father had been."

Estarossa chuckles darkly. "I can't wait until we have children. You have such lovely bedtime stories."

Moth shoots him a look over her shoulder. "Why can't you support me in this? I know these people are helpless, but I want to do something!"

His eyes go darker, and she feels the swirl of his magic from across the room. There is also something in their bond, something sharp, as if he is tugging to get her full attention. "I'm here to protect you," he says carefully. "to keep you alive, to give my life for yours if I must. Not for these people. You are my life. Not a kingdom too stupid to know it is dying by its own hand."

She does not know if the fury that blinds her suddenly is directed at him, herself, her mother for sending them here, the king, or all of them. What she does know, a split second too late, is that she has teetered too closely to hatred. While Estarossa's decree cannot drain her like it does him thanks to the protection their bond gives them from each other, it still makes her nauseous, and the room spins as she puts her head in her hands.

"This place will ruin us," she says, her voice choked. "Even if we survive it, I will hate you for refusing to help them."

He is at her side in an instant, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed. Moth wants to fight him but feels too weak, turning her face away when he lays her against the soft pillows. A moment later he presses a cold rag to her forehead, and it is soothing as the nausea fades. "I love you, Moth," he says quietly. "I hate to see you suffer."

"I hate to see others suffer," she whispers.

"I know. It is a part of you I admire most." Moth glances at him as he presses the cloth to her cheek. "You possess more than this king. You have a job to do, but you do have the power to change things, even if it's not the way you want. Use the negotiations to expose what you can, and craft agreements to ease their pain. If anyone can do it, it's you."

She has nothing to say to that. Estarossa places the rag onto the table next to her before removing his shirt and trousers, holding her tightly once he has settled behind her in the bed. He murmurs quietly to her until he falls asleep, but despite the warmth of him and the steady lull of his breathing, rest eludes her. Her mind is too awake, too aware. Estarossa had called her a wolf earlier, a reminder of her place as a soldier, but what he does not know—or does not want to see in his belief that there is little darkness to her at all—is that she has muzzled herself here.

Had she come alone, without him, she would have simply done what witches always do to those who torture the less fortunate. The king’s heart carved out, his eyes placed into a box and given to the next in line as a reminder of what could befall them one day. Fear, to keep the peace, because that, too, is a form of neutrality, a little rebellion against the Nameless God's edict that he either allows or does not care about.