The Alpha Queen's Handmaiden

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After supper, we retire to Morgana's sitting room, which, like the dining hall, is in the process of being renovated. Queen Theola reigned for a century, and her influence is felt all over the palace. Morgana has been trying to erase every trace of her style since she came to power.

The queen strolls to a large wing-backed chair by the fireplace, kicks off her slippers, and throws her feet upon a black ottoman. I retreat to my chair next to her and pick up a book on herbology I left there the night before. The other ladies scowl and take up their seats across from Morgana, dutifully taking up their embroidery hoops or little volumes of poetry. Elaine places a record on the phonograph and cranks the machine until soft music spills forth from its wide, curved horn.

Morgana leans over and taps the book with two fingers. "Should I get married?"

I turn toward her, setting the book down on my lap. "Do you want to?" I ask carefully.

She snorts, wiggling her bare feet. "Stars, no! At least not right now," she contemplates, looking up at the plaster ceiling. "But my counselors are pushing me toward it. They said I need to forge alliances with the packs. Really, Issa, what's the point of being queen if they won't listen to me?"

Her question stuns me into silence. I'm just the daughter of Stormrider Pack's herbologists. If Morgana hadn't defeated the other alphas' children in combat, I would still be in our village under my parents' tutelage. Three years on and I'm still none the wiser to the intricacies of politics.

"If I may, Your Majesty?"

Morgana and I look across the room to Letitia. The blonde alpha's daughter sets aside her embroidery and smooths the fabric of her skirts. The other three girls pause their activities to listen.

"Go on," Morgana says.

There is a giddy gleam in Letitia's pale green eyes, but her demeanor and words remain steady. "Politics is a dance, madam. A give and take, if you will. You rule by right of might and the grace of the goddess, but you still need to be aware of your partner—the packs."

Morgana glances at me, but I remain silent, fingers curling around the pages of the herbology book.

"I see," the queen says, propping her head up on one hand.

"If you do choose someone from the old packs, you would also have to consider which one would provide aid if either the orcs or dragons become bothersome."

"That has already been brought to my attention," Morgana replies, wiggling her toes back and forth.

This is news to me. "There is a problem on the borders?" I ask, turning to Morgana.

She rolls her eyes and waves her free hand negligently. "There have been reports of a new orc chieftain stirring up trouble," she tells me. "And the dragons have been quite stubborn as of late. They desire more iron but offer far too little gems in return."

I've seen the dragon ambassador a time or two at Daroonga—a tall, austere woman in long paneled robes that brush the floor. But I've never been present when she and her retinue arrived or flew off in their dragon forms. I've been told it's a fearsome sight.

"A lady in waiting to the queen should know these things," Letitia chastises, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk.

My chin jerks up, but Morgana is quicker. "Watch your mouth," she growls.

To my satisfaction, Letitia pales. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I—I merely wish to educate Lady Isabel."

Morgana draws her feet back, planting them on the floor. She grips the armrests of the wing-back chair and leans forward. "Since we are discussing appeasing the packs, Letitia, let me remind you that I was advised to include you four ladies in my household. But do not be mistaken—the only one who may speak frankly to me is Isabel. If I require your opinion, I will ask for it. Is this understood?"