?nnywella, sprawled out on the couch under the window, reading in the noon autumn light, sits up as quickly as she can; she presses her burgundy blouse out with her hands and rests her book in her lap. Far from the posture of the queen and a less than flattering display in front of her top military official.
Awenela and Enlynn chuckle.
“Afternoon, Romyll.” Says ?nnywella, immediately noticing the glowering expression on the captain's face. Her stomach twists as she gets the feeling that their first professional meeting since her ascension is going to be rather negative. “I suspect this is about the wedding?”
“Very much so. I have rather mixed feelings about you getting yourself involved like this.” Doing as his father told him, he imagines a pin in the collar of his shirt to check his posture, wishing to understate his disappointment in her actions behind a composed visage.
The door clicks shut behind him, and Ferran waits patiently outside the small library.
“How so?” Asks ?nnywella.
Romyll pauses, thinking of the best way to frame his disdain for her offer. Better to speak of the principle of how he’d reared his sons than of pride. “I would expect my son to have the ability to fund his wedding without going into debt to the queen. Frankly, I find this offensive.” He knows this is not ?nnywella’s fault—Dyder could have easily declined her offer—but directly blaming singly at either of them will surely earn him the ire of ?nnywella. “It is a man’s duty to earn the dowry by his own labor to prove that he can financially support his family. I’m well aware I have told my sons that I will cover half of the dowry of the women they wish to marry, but I am only doing this because the Dornytters are a family at the top ranks of society, and these dowries are priced for wealthy guild families and nobles, not for a single man no matter how well paying his job is.”
?nnywella offers him a cigarette before responding; he waves it away, saying he is trying to quit smoking, and crosses his arms. She lights one for herself, blowing the smoke out the open window.
“I mean absolutely no disrespect by doing this. Please don’t take it in that way; I have the upmost faith in both you and your sons; your family has never let us down. This is just an act of kindness and an attempt to strengthen the relationship between both your family and the Herens, as well as my relationship with some of the highest members of my court.” ?nnywella places her hands beside her on the couch, wishing to show him she is being open to his criticism and honest in what she says. “I’m well aware of how much some of these dowries can be, and you have done the right thing promising to cover half. Please do not take this as me stepping on the toes of your family or how you raised Dyder.”
“I watched your father raise you, vela’Herst; you had no reason to strengthen your relationship with my family; all of my sons are safe from military service because of being in the Queen’s Guard for their whole lives—the Dornytters have served the Herst to the death since this city was mud and moss.” He pauses, hoping she doesn’t know about the deal between him and her father. He quickly directs the subject back to viewing this as an attack on his philosophy. “You are challenging the honor of Dyder and I, and tarnishing a centuries-old familial bond.” His voice is sharp as he glares at her under his knitted brow.
“I had no intent to challenge anyone’s honor, let alone tarnish the relationship of our houses. Your son was ecstatic when I offered to cover what he needed for the dowry. I offered; he did not ask; he simply requested a week to go to visit Ilsenila for her birthday; I offered to cover what was left of the dowry; he could have fully declined, but he did not.” ?nnywella responds, staying calm. “Please... look at this as an advance. He will still be earning the remaining 75 full-gold of the dowry; he will just be paying it back to me and not Alavel.”
“You should have discussed this with me first.” Romyll runs his hand down his face, letting it rest at his side. All of this would have been easy to avoid with better communication. “This isn’t something you rush.”
“I know, unfortunately, we’re in a situation where we need to rush.” Relieved, ?nnywella blows the smoke out the window. Romyll appears to be lightening up with the knowledge of that there was a reason for her actions; she should have led with this.
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“Why?” He raises an eyebrow. Why was he not informed of a situation sooner?
?nnywella waits a moment before responding, needing to choose her words carefully; Romyll knowing her plan would be disastrous. “I believe that the Koeh-Styers will attempt to take Sc?dstan. If this is the case, I would like the candles burned between Dyder and Ilsenila as soon as possible; as Alavel has no male heir, if something happens to him, the barony would go to Dyder.” She pauses; Romyll opens his mouth to speak, but she raises her hand, stopping him; leaning in, she looks directly into his eyes. “I do not want any military action; I have already written Drewer and his council asking for a meeting.”
“We should at least reinforce the Sc?dstan; I can move troops to the nearby forest.” Romyll suggests.
“No, no; I do not think they will try anything soon; with winter so soon, their men would freeze to death.”
“Fine; I see what you mean.” He changes back to the original subject. “Will you be giving us all 300 full-golds? or just the remaining 75?”
“That’s up to you.” ?nnywella shrugs, as she's seen the vault. Dyder could steal the dowry every day, and it would take her a year to notice—not that he would ever even consider this.
“Then just the 75 will be fine.” Romyll decides at least some of the money will be Dyder's.
“Speak with Ferran; he will have it delivered to your home.”
Romyll nods. “Dyder said that you have already scheduled the dates; what about guests?”
“That is up to both you and Alavel.”
“This is brief notice; a little over twenty days to send for guests is ridiculous. I will be writing from dusk till dawn if I wish to invite distant friends.” Romyll fidgets with the gold chain of his pocket watch.
“I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry; this has been a severe lack of foresight on my behalf.” ?nnywella lights another cigarette. “You will only need to worry about guests; I have already accounted for the food and entertainment.”
He twists his face; this is not how he expected his eldest son's wedding to go at all. “Anything else?”
She places her palm against her forehead, scratching her scalp. “No, nothing else.”
“I’d hope not. As I’m sure your father said: A king without a military only rules at the mercy of others.” His tone was sharper than he would have liked it to be, but he cannot apologize.
?nnywella grinds the cotton filter of the cigarette between her teeth. Even if she has ulterior motives, she is doing nothing except helping the Dornytters; yet this is the thanks she gets?
Romyll places his hand on the door; pausing, he turns back to ?nnywella. “I want you to dock his pay until the money is reimbursed; only give him 50 percent of his salary." A perfectly reasonable offer in his eyes, both parties get what they want.
Her head snaps up, and she raises her voice—its already gravelly tone goes harsher. This is no way to treat one’s son, particularly one who has only ever done his best and deserves to be rewarded and treated as such. “Do you think that is reasonable to do for a newly wedded couple—punish them for being in love? How long before they need new furniture for a child? and maids to assist Ilsenila? You want him to be this honorable, independent beacon of the ideals of the Pale Lady’s Consort; how can he achieve that? if I’m taking half his salary? he’ll be coming to you for help, asking for money, or going into debt for Gods knows who. I am doing nothing... NOTHING... but trying to help. Dyder has been beside me for longer than I can remember—” She points to him with two fingers, cigarette smoldering between them, no longer desiring to hold back annoyance or anger. “I’ve nearly known your son longer than I knew both of my brothers... combined; you expect me not to help? not help him start a family? a 300 full-gold dowry is preposterous; that is more money than a family of farmers will see in three—if not more—generations. He’s saved everything he’s been paid since he met her; I’ve watched him stress over socks and shoes; he has had the soles fixed on the pair of boots you got him for his 20th birthday replaced five times. You expect him to wait another five years? start a family at 32? you want him to follow in the footsteps of my ancestors? well being childless at 32 is about as close as you can get. How could you possibly think this is beneficial to him?” She breathes heavily before taking a drag. Romyll stares into her eyes. She’s unsurprised as his stoic expression remains unchanged despite her criticism; he’s in charge of the military for a reason, and they both know it.
Romyll watches the smoke come out through ?nnywella’s nose and get pulled towards the open window. Taking in a sharp breath once the smoke has cleared, he responds. “Because I choose how I raise my sons, and I raised my sons to embody those ideals, Dyder can raise a family with no shirt on his back and a dull axe—because I raised him that way. Your father raised you on politics and history, and I will not be lectured on life and family by a pampered, sheltered, twenty-three-year-old girl. I do not care if you are the queen—you can speak with me on matters of the family when you have your own!” He leaves, slamming the door behind him; heavy footsteps echo as he storms off down the hall.
?nnywella sighs, knuckling her forehead; she grabs the glass of water on the table next to her and takes a sip. The three women sit in silence.
Oh yes, I’ll join the Discord server of my fave author, meet awesome people, and become super famous, right? Well, that was the idea ’til everything went sideways, and now my life is upside down and inside out.
Who can I trust? What is real? Is anyone on Discord actually a person? Or is it all just some whack game designed to drive me mad? I’ve got one friend who I sorta count on, but dare I confide in him my deepest, darkest fear: what if no one on Discord is actually real?
How far down the rabbit hole did I go in my quest for fame and fortune? There’s only one way to find out, so you know what to do. Yeah, click Read Here.
What to Expect:
- Female lead.
- Sapphic characters, no romance.
- An innocent, lovable gal with quick wit who gets in over her head on Discord.
- Comedy turned psychological thriller without violence or physical peril.
- Character driven. Found family. Slice-of-life moments.
- This stand-alone book is a spin-off from my series and is a Royal Road Write-A-Thon Participant for Fall 2025.