The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 34: The Tea

OPHELIA'S POV

It was half-past eight in the morning. I sat in my antechamber, swilling tea in a delicate china cup as I watched the door.

Nobody knocked. Fallon wasn't allowed to be in the same room as Mila, thanks to the Crown Alpha's orders, so he and Nate were out looking for Aurora with Addy.

It was beyond strange to retire in the princess suite on my own last night, separated from my men by a single wall. After spending so long on the road in each other's pockets, the space in the four-poster bed was somehow suffocating.

One of the ladies perched on the claw-footed couch stirred, drawing my attention to the present. Miranda Holt was an outwardly timid thing, but I'd seen the streak of cunning in her eyes when she came calling at 8am — right on time (though I hadn't gotten dressed yet). A wicker basket dragged her slight shoulder towards the floor, and she nearly toppled over as she thrust the collection of jams, pastries, and fresh flowers into my arms.

Now she was sitting on my couch, as far from Mila as she could get. Fallon's sister was quite content to ignore the mousy girl in favour of her embroidery, legs propped up on a little footstool as she stitched a cursive B into the round canvas. Apparently that was to be her gift to me, once the work was finished.

Nobody else visited or brought gifts. I hummed to myself, fingertips drumming on the arm of my upholstered chair. "So you're saying it's customary for the court to come calling at this time every day?" I asked, not amused by the thought. 8am was heinously early.

Miranda's pert chin dipped. "Yes, your majesty. It is a sign of respect, and an attempt for courtesans to curry favour with the Crown Luna."

"But I am not the Crown Luna yet," I pointed out, eyes narrowing on the door.

"No, but if I may speak freely..."

"Always," I said, glancing sidelong at Mila. She was stitching her second letter now, a pretty little 'i' with a daisy for the dot.

Miranda looked relieved. "Thank you, your majesty. I mean no insult, but that the others are this late... or God forbid that they do not attend you at all... It is a great sign of disrespect."

I leaned back in my chair, pursing my lips around the rim of my cup as I considered. "One that was modelled for them yesterday by the way the Crown Alpha spoke to me."

Miranda paled. "Yes, your majesty."

I flashed her a crooked grin. She was already loyal — or afraid — enough that she was willing to speak against Crown Alpha Reginald in my company. Either way, I liked it.

"That settles it," I said. "Miranda, I know that you are the youngest of many daughters sired by Baron Holt. This is a clever ploy on your part to carve yourself a name, but I have taken to you for your honesty. If you are sick of living in your family's shadow, I would make you my lady in waiting."

A furious pink crept into her cheeks. "Am I that obvious?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Would you believe me if I said that I would be honoured to accept your proposition?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" I asked wryly.

She frowned. "I guess not."

"Excellent. Then it's time we got to work," I said, folding my hands in my lap, the way I'd seen other ladies do the day before. "I'm hosting a garden party this afternoon and it's to be a grand affair. I want every witch available helping with the preparations." So that I could scout their ranks for a sign of my sister, of course, but winning over the nobility wouldn't hurt either.

Mila snorted. "A party of three?"

"Every woman at court is invited; they need to help plan my wedding in six days' time, after all. But I'll need your help writing the invitations. Personalised invitations, of course."

"But there's forty three women in total," Miranda protested. "And what could you possibly know about them after one day that would sway their opinion of you in a letter?"

Mila, on the other hand, leaned forward with a hungry look in her eyes, as if she sensed mischief afoot. "What do you want the letters to say?"

"Hmm. Let's start with..." I trailed off, tapping my cheek. "... the esteemed Lady Maresh: My heartfelt condolences on your tragic comedown yesterday afternoon. May you find this afternoon's garden party to be an uplifting experience..."

Miranda almost spat out her tea, choking it down with a lady-like grimace instead. "I'm on it," she croaked, standing up to fetch stationary.

Mila grinned with all her teeth. "What about me?"

"You'll be writing to Lady Powell first. Tell her congratulations on the pregnancy, and I look forward to meeting the father."

Miranda whirled around from my side table, a quill in hand. "Fuck off. Her husband's been in America for two years."

I offered her a coy smile. "I know."

"Where are you getting all this stuff?" she asked, guffawing at the gossip.

"I have my ways," I said blithely. "And what secrets I can't ferret out, Mila can make up for. I imagine you hear quite a bit, with your room next door to the servant's stairs."

Mila set aside her embroidery and rubbed her hands together. "This is going to be so much fun."

I took a precocious sip of my tea. "Oh yes."