Page 83 of Queen Takes Triune
Marne Ceresa sat in one of the chairs, reading a book and stroking a large white Persian cat on her lap. No one else waited in the plaza. No Blood, consiliari, or even a servant as we approached.
Another cat sat on the edge of the pool, staring intently at the water. A flash of gold and white swirled close to the surface but then darted back below. As we neared, I could see the thick vegetation in the water, explaining why it had initially appeared so dark. Large koi swam in the water, taunting the intrigued cat with tantalizing glimpses of their sleek fins.
Marne Ceresa set the book aside and lifted her gaze to my queen. She didn’t rise or say a word in welcome. She wouldn’t.
This was her nest. Her summons. She’d make sure we all knew our place, though her appearance was carefully understated. She didn’t wear her crown or even a gorgeous gown, though her white silk caftan studded with glittering diamonds spoke of privilege and wealth.
We still knew she was the fucking queen of Rome.
Despite the nerves fluttering in her bond like frantic butterflies, Shara appeared perfectly calm and at ease. She stood easily, her arms tucked around Rik’s and Mehen’s arms, and though they were both much larger than her, it was clear to anyone who looked that they deferred to her.
We all did. She could bend us in half and drop us to our knees with the smallest lifting of her pinkie finger.
It was a test, one of several Marne Ceresa had set up to judge the worth and might of our queen long before we’d even arrived at her nest.
Shara tipped her head politely, but kept her gaze firmly locked on the other queen. Refusing to bend knee or curtsey, if that’s what the Triune queen had expected.
A small smile curved Marne’s lips. “Welcome to Rome, child.”
So polite—and yet derogatory at the same time. A smile to cut like a knife.
“Thank you for the invitation, Your Majesty.”
Another equally polite jab from my queen. This wasn’t an invitation—but a summons from the highest Aima court in the world.
“Do sit.” Marne swept her graceful hand toward the other chair opposite her. “Daniella, escort Shara’s Blood to the kitchen for refreshment.”
“No, thank you.” Rik’s voice crashed and rolled like an avalanche as he escorted Shara to the chair and took up position at her back. “Your Majesty.”
We positioned ourselves in an arc behind them both, shoulder to shoulder, though we faced away—ready to guard her from any direction, other than the queen directly opposite her. We could do nothing to stop her attack if it came to open warfare.
“As you wish,” Marne replied. “I hope you’ll join me for tea, Shara.”
Gina stood to Shara’s right, a pad and pen in her hand. “Would you like for me to keep the formal record of this conversation for the Triune record, Your Majesty?”
With a dismissive shrug, Marne picked up the teapot. “If you feel it’s necessary.”
Suspicion raged in Rik’s bond. As Marne poured the tea, he fought the urge to leap across the table and knock the cup away from our queen. Poison. Tainted blood. The queen’s own blood, as she’d tried to entrap Shara before in Kansas City. Who knew what foul treachery the queen might have in store for ours?
Outwardly unperturbed, Shara accepted the cup. Though I couldn’t see her with my eyes, her bond gave us access to everything she saw. She watched Marne carefully, waiting until the other queen sipped first. Her hand trembled slightly.
Not because she’d been afraid of poison.
Nerves. Shara wasn’t intimidated by this queen’s power… but by her social standing.
She’d never sat and dined with a queen of this caliber before. She swallowed a small sip and set the cup back down in the saucer slightly too hard, with an inelegant clank that made her wince.
Servants dressed in spotless white livery crossed the plaza to set soup bowls in front of the queens. Shara glanced down at the endless array of silverware before her with a surge of panic.
:Take the furthest spoon on the right.:I quickly said.:It’s by the teacup.:
She picked up the spoon.:Thanks. Is it rude if I don’t eat with her?:
:Yes,:I replied, at the same time that Mehen growled,:Fuck her. Do what you want.:
:Does that green shit look appetizing to you?:Daire asked in the bond.:It looks like someone blew their nose in the bowl.:
More at ease, though now she was fighting not to laugh out loud, Shara dipped her spoon into the soup and risked a small bite.:It’s cold.:
