The Song Of The Wolf (Unedited)

Chapter Twenty-Five

The elongated oak table of the dining room was piled with delicacies, lying in wait for its dinner guests. Whole roasted pigs, poultry with stuffing and platters of fruit de mer; wide varieties of vegetables, cheeses and breads, countless wines and spirits whose colours cast shadows on the walls in the flickering light of the candelabras.

The closing of the double doors indicated the late arrival of the last guest and Maebh could feel a pair of eyes blazing into the side of her head. From her spot in the middle of the table, she kept her eyes trained on her cutlery and busied herself by pointlessly straightening them. 

"Good evening, everyone. Maebh." Hèmène said pointedly.

Maebh had successfully steered clear of the queen for the past 48 hours, skipping out on dinners and lessons alike. Not so much as an act of defiance but rather an attestation of her determination to stand her ground. Tonight however, was a full moon, a day on which attending 'family' dinner was mandatory.

Once his Childbearer had settled in the chair adjacent to his, the king took his first bite, thus wordlessly authorising everyone else to dig into their meal as well.

For a moment, only the sounds of chewing and savoring filled the air. And in addition to that, a persisting tension that obstructed the food from going down Maebh's throat. Each forkful was tinier than the next, even pausing in between as if the amount was too overwhelming for her stomach to bear.

Meanwhile, the crown prince was too preoccupied to eat at all. Engrossed, he watched his intended struggle with the emotions so clearly written on her face, free for the entire room to observe.

"Mother, I have agreed not to go through with the custom." He announced suddenly, effectively stupefying all dinner guests, but Hèmène and Maebh in particular.

Silverware loudly clattered onto white porcelain.

"Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire. Gustav Mahler." the queen snapped at her eldest son.

"When men are oppressed, it's a tragedy. When women are oppressed, it's tradition. Letty Cottin Pogrebin." Fillin replied calmly.

His topaz eyes constricted as he sent a quick wink in Maebh's direction. Captivated, she could have sworn he resembled the earthly embodiment of a supernova, an explosion of luminous calibre that detonated every bit of suppressed fervour. It was the last coherent thought that crossed her mind before he averted his gaze.

"Darling," Hèmène began sickly sweet, with an undertone that made Maebh's skin crawl. "I'm all for female progression but some customs are in place for a reason. It is a crucial and defining factor of who we are as a species. The final phase of bonding transpires in your true form, as has been customary since the first Childbearer."

The Irish girl flinched at her words, the mental imagery plaguing her intellect. Still, she opted to refrain from interfering.

"New traditions are in order and sacrifices must be made." Fillin's voice was now climbing in volume. "And that is final."

The queen was on the brink of responding when the king's temper got the best of him and he slammed his palms flat on the table, thunderously. "Enough."

The exchange was instantly smothered and dinner progressed with no further conversation safe for the hushed whispers between Hèmène and her youngest son, Marrok. After alcoholic contents had been guzzled and refilled by servers, and empty platters removed, she clinged her glass –capturing everyone's attention.

"I realise we are all on edge considering the time of month but let us forgo the testosterone overload that accompanies the full moon, I beg of you."

The queen's sentiments had left a bitter aftertaste in Maebh's mouth, but as long as she wasn't forced into dead ends, she would adopt a forgive and forget mentality. With that, she raised her glass to toast to the lunar completion.