Aelira had barely touched her tea. She sat with her back very straight, her hands on her lap, and her eyes moving from face to face among the women gathered around the tea table.

The news had already spread through the palace that the Queen was leaving for Lycanthria and taking her children.

"I heard the Queen approved fifty thousand soldiers to Lycanthria without seeking the King’s consent," Vaely murmured, the youngest of the concubines. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the cup.

"They say the Queen has always wanted to leave." Thalwen, the second to the last concubine, said.

"And the princesses agreed to leave with her too." Sylira, the second concubine, added.

"They say the king gave the condition." Nymera held her cup in the air as she spoke.

"They say a great many things in this palace." Aelira’s voice cut through the speculation. "What matters is what they don’t say."

Sylira set her cup down. "And that is?" She asked.

"That she may never return. Any of them."

A ripple passed across the six women around the table. Sylira exchanged a glance with Nymera. Maelis, the fourth concubine, pretended not to be in the room. She fussed with the sleeve of her gown, her tea still untouched.

As usual, the six concubines had gathered under the guise of afternoon tea to talk about the Queen.

"Perhaps, if the princesses don’t return, and the throne were to become...unoccupied..." Sylira paused, her gaze traveling over the other women’s faces.

Aelira let out a small smile. "My son will be king. He is strong. Healthy. And the king dotes on him."

"The king dotes on all his children," Nymera said flatly.

"Except for the princesses," Maelis said.

Everyone turned to look at her because she rarely spoke. Her expression was blank. She had never bothered with the games the other played or whatever they had to say. She never seemed to care.

"You are right." Thalwen agreed.

"And the true heir to the throne is the first child of the king. That’s Lirael. Not your son." Maelis looked straight at Aelira. "Not mine. Not anyone’s in this room."

They all knew Maelis always spoke the truth, regardless of how it rubbed anyone the wrong way. Aelira’s smile did not fade, but her eyes hardened.

"First child born to the Queen, you mean. But if the Queen is gone, and if her children are gone, who will be more suitable? My son."

"You speak of ambition as if it were strategy," Maelis interrupted as she leaned forward now. "But ambition without claim is just greed. You know as well as I do that the council would never support—"

"Illegitimate children to take the throne." Sylira cut in sharply.

"The council supports whoever holds the capital." Aelira’s voice rose just slightly. "And the capital supports whoever has the strongest garrison. My family has—"

"Your family has fields and horses. Not soldiers. Not treaties. The Queen has everything." Sylira said quietly.

Maelis did not look away from Aelira. "And ambition without teeth is just noise."

Aelira stood. The movement was sudden enough that her cup wobbled and tea spilled. She slammed her fists on the table. "You forget your place, Maelis! All of you forget your place. I was married to the king before half of you were brought to this palace. I have—"

"You have nothing," Sylira said as she stood up. "You have a son who cries when he sees a spider and a brother who gambles away his coin at the whorehouse. The rest of us have been polite because politeness costs nothing. But do not mistake politeness for submission."

The other women choked on their laughter.

"Polite?" Aelira let out a sharp laugh. "You call your constant undermining polite? Every time the king so much as looks in my direction, you have some remark, some—"

"The king looks in your direction because you throw yourself in front of him," Maelis spoke again.

"While the rest of us have dignity. At least we know who the king truly likes."

That was when Aelira’s hand connected with Sylira’s cheek. For one frozen second, no one moved. Then Sylira hit her back, harder than what she got.

Chairs scraped backward as they pulled at each other’s hair. The other women tried to stand, but the table shattered when Sylira and Aelira collapsed onto it. The cups broke. Maelis had stepped away the moment Sylira hit Aelira as if she knew something was going to happen. Nymera moved between them, trying to separate both women, but Aelira shoved her aside. She hit the ground hard. Vaelyn pressed herself against the wall, hands over her mouth.

Thalwen and Nymera made a move, took sides, and ended up fighting each other, too. While Maelis and Vaelyn watched, fingers tangled in hair, nails raked exposed skin. There was no grace in the fight, just years of resentment finally boiling over into the physical.

No one knew when the door opened.

"Enough!" Velkynara’s voice echoed in the room.

She stood in the doorway, her expression stern as her eyes took in the situation. The fighting stopped. Aelira froze with her hand still tangled in Sylira’s hair. Thalwen’s hand tangled in Nymera’s sleeve while her fist hung in the air, mid-swing. Nymera stepped back so quickly she nearly tripped over the ruined table.

Velkymara walked into the room. She looked at each of them in turn. "I have not even left, and you are already tearing each other apart." Her voice was soft.

No one dared to speak.

"The throne? You are already fighting over the throne. Tell me, if I leave this palace in your hands, what will be left when I return? Burnt rooms and bruised faces? Or will you have moved on to something more permanent, like poison?"

Aelira opened her mouth to speak, but Velkynara glared at her, and the words died in her throat.

"Do not." She took a step closer. "Do not insult me with excuses. I know what you were discussing before I entered. Did you truly think I would not know your plans?"

Still, no one said anything.

Velkymara continued. "While I am gone, none of you will think of your children as fit for the throne. Not once. Not in your private chambers. Not in your prayers. Not in the quietest corner of your most secret thoughts. The throne belongs to Lirael. My daughter. The king’s firstborn. And if anyone in this room so much as whispers otherwise, if anyone plots, if anyone schemes—" She paused, letting the silence stretch. "They will have to go through me."

Ripples of fear pass from one woman to the next. They understood her words. It wasn’t a threat. But a reminder of who she was: Mother of Lythorien Elves.