Witches, Princesses, and Women at Arms

by Sacchi Green

  “Replacing my father’s image on Solistine currency? Only a decade since his death?”

  Nestrington bowed deferentially. “With a likeness of your faultless profile, Majesty.”

  “An unnecessary expense, my lord. I am not yet that vain. What else?”

  “The navy seeks funding for additional warships. And”—the prime minister ventured—“I suppose, the question of a royal union remains unanswered?”

  “Our armada is quite sufficient at this time, sir. As for the matter of marriage, fear not. I have that well in hand.”

  Ilyaviere allowed six months to spin out in thrilling courtship before proposing to Aivlynn, who was dazzled by that invitation to wed. Then overjoyed. Then doubtful. “But, Majesty…women betrothed to one another? How shall this be?”

  “Do I not possess the power to define and authorize marriage as I deem fit, sweet Aivlynn? And I see no harm in Solistine ladies loving one another. Nor for that matter, our gentlemen pairing similarly. Therefore, I choose you most happily for my Queen Consort, for my constant partner in both domesticity and regency. And with your calming presence in council meetings, what need for a torchwood table to enforce civility?”

  For one second, Aivlynn allowed herself the fantasy. To live, to work, to die within the circle of Ilyaviere’s love? That was her heart’s desire! Yet it was not feasible. “There is the troubling matter of an heir, Majesty…”

  Her queen’s smile was teasing, beguiling. “Is your magic truly so impotent, my love?”

  Indigo eyes widened, then slowly closed, as Aivlynn sought answers to questions never before asked. Lost to Ilyaviere just then, she was adrift in a world of archaic chants, sacred spells, untapped possibility. Certain flowers filled her mind, aromatic herbs clamored for her attention. But the enchantments for quickening and fruition would be something new under the sun, something of her own devising. And blood must play a part in the elixir, a few drops from each. Drawn at first light of dawn, melded then, inseparable…

  Remonstrate though he might, Nestrington could not dissuade his monarch from marriage to that damnable sorceress. Nor could he provoke opposition to her outlandish plan. Every cautious hint was heartily rejected. For the lord high admiral had overcome anger about limitations to the fleet when Aivlynn divined the whereabouts of his eldest son, gone missing on a hunting trip. The royal treasurer was deeply indebted to the white witch, whose invigorating potion had equipped him for delighting his wife once more. Lord Lethwith had been cured of debilitating insomnia, while Lord Quissic had not forgotten Aivlynn’s magical healing of his favored mount. And so it went. None of the councillors Nestrington surveyed would back a scheme to deflect Queen Ilyaviere from her reckless course. The others he dared not even approach.

  Wedding banns were posted throughout the empire and no citizen protested the joining of monarch with mage. On the grand day, Castle Paschendrale was hung with pennants from postern to pinnacle. Its halls were decked with garlands and cloth of gold. The streets were lined with teeming grandstands. Scents both sweet and savory filled the air as bakers and butchers prepared for feasting. Bonfires lay ready to brighten the night. Fireworks were primed to tint Solistine skies with celebratory starbursts.

  At the appointed hour, a contingent of the royal guard stood opposite one another on the drawbridge, crossing sabers overhead. When Ilyaviere stepped beneath that arch, Aivlynn was at her side. The prime minister strode close behind, his every ambition in disarray. They had not gone five paces when Nestrington’s desperate voice rang forth, drowning out lute and viol. “Seize them, men! The queen, that wretched witch! Seize them!”

  Before the baffled soldiers could respond, Ilyaviere was a whirling column of ire, of fire. Whipping a ceremonial dagger from her sash. Feinting. Forcing Nestrington to his knees. Challenging the guard to react. But none could, for Aivlynn had summoned howling Northalien winds, freezing all in place for a timeless interlude. Plucking out her flute, she walked the long aisle, playing a questing melody, sorting traitor from true. Freeing only those loyal to the queen. Most vile of all was Nestrington, whose heart seethed with hatred and resentment. Turned now to stone, frost creeping over him from head to toe, his face was a changeless mask of horror.

  Lifting her own voice, Ilyaviere gestured toward twin rows of living statues. “Let these conspirators stand outside our gates, forevermore a deterrent to all who approach Castle Paschendrale with treachery in mind!” Turning then to Aivlynn, she said quietly, “Pray let us continue onward.”

  They exited the military gauntlet, passed the cheering throngs, climbed ranks of marble stairs, and knelt in a bridal bower, where they exchanged eternal pledges before Taliander, the beaming high priestess. When they sealed their vows with a kiss, unbounded revelry claimed the crowd, and their dancing lasted long past dawn.

  Two years later, a princess was born of Ilyaviere. Aivlynn gazed worshipfully at tiny Ilyalynn napping in the queen’s arms. “Well done, my love! Our babe is near as fair as her mother.”

  Joy lit Ilyaviere’s eyes. “Not so, Aivlynn! She is more beautiful by far. For she looks exactly like you—another white witch, methinks.”

  And from first breath, all saw that Ilyalynn blended the best of both parents. In her, the chill rationality of winter had combined with the simmering passions of summer, forming a child of springtime—most temperate of seasons. A queen in the making, possessed of angelic beauty and incomparable charm, who would grow to be more leader than ruler. Wiser, kinder, more righteous than any before her. The enduring glory of Solisterre, Venestria, and the Prithian Islands.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  M. BIRDS (mbirds.tumblr.com) is a glam femme writer and filmmaker living in Vancouver, British Columbia. Her stories have been published by Freaky Fountain and Hot Ink Press. She likes witches and princesses and red wine, if you’re buying.

  EMILY L. BYRNE (writeremilylbyrne.blogspot.com) lives in lovely Minneapolis with her wife and the two cats that own them. She toils in corporate IT when not writing. She has stories in Forbidden Fruit: Unwise Stories of Lesbian Desire and The Mammoth Book of Uniform Erotica.

  LEA DALEY wrote fiction while raising children, claiming a lesbian identity, earning a BFA, teaching, and heading a nonprofit agency. She now writes full-time. Daley’s debut novel, Waiting for Harper Lee, received an Alice B. Lavender Certificate and was short-listed at the Golden Crown Awards. In 2015, her second book, FutureDyke, won a Goldie and was a Lambda finalist.

  A. D. R. FORTE (facebook.com/ADRForte) writes a variety of short fiction for adults. Her fantasy, erotica, and erotic fantasy appear in various anthology collections.

  H. N. JANZEN (hilary.n.janzen@gmail.com) is a Canadian writer who typically does her best work when she’s supposed to be doing something else. Her favorite mythical creature is the succubus.

  MICHAEL M. JONES (michaelmjones.com) appears in numerous publications, including Girl Fever, A Princess Bound, and Bedded Bliss (Cleis Press), and edited Like Fortune’s Fool and Like a Cunning Plan (Circlet Press). He lives in Virginia with a pride of cats, and a wife who helps him make up his mind.

  ANNABETH LEONG (annabetherotica.com) wears high heels and frequents the former haunts of H. P. Lovecraft. She is frequently confused about her sexuality, but enjoys searching for answers. Her work has appeared in Girl Crush, Women With Handcuffs, and many more. Her latest erotic novel is Untouched, from Sweetmeats Press.

  CARA PATTERSON is an Edinburgh-based Scottish writer. She has been telling stories since before she can remember, and progressed on to writing them down as soon as she had a grasp of the alphabet. She’s delighted to be able to say she is now a published author.

  MADELEINE SHADE (shadyladyfairytales.com) writes erotic fairy tales and cross-pollinated mythic fiction drawn from her extensive studies in folklore and mythology. In addition to her steamy short stories, she is also the author of the interconnected novellas in the Shady Lady Fairy Tales series.

  SALOME WILDE (salandtalerotica.com) has publish
ed dozens of erotic stories across the orientation spectrum, in genres from hard-boiled/noir to kaiju exotica. She is editor of Shakespearotica: Queering the Bard and Desire Behind Bars: Lesbian Prison Erotica (Bella Books), with coauthor Talon Rihai.

  BREY WILLOWS (breywillows.com) grew up in Southern California and now lives in England. She is the author of the Afterlife, Inc series and enjoys writing erotica in her spare time. She’s an editor and writing instructor and loves pretty much anything to do with words.

  ALLISON WONDERLAND (aisforallison.blogspot.com) loves to kiss the girl, especially one worth fighting—and writing— for. This Sapphic storyteller’s lesbian literature appears in a plethora of prurient publications, including Girl Fever, Summer Love, and Wild Girls, Wild Nights.

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  SACCHI GREEN (sacchi-green.blogspot.com) is a Lambda Award–winning writer and editor of erotica and other stimulating genres. Her stories have appeared in scores of publications, including eight volumes of Best Lesbian Erotica, four of Best Women’s Erotica, and four of Best Lesbian Romance. In recent years she’s taken to wielding the editorial whip, editing ten lesbian erotica anthologies, most recently Lesbian Cowboys (winner of a Lambda Literary Award); Girl Crazy; Lesbian Lust; Women with Handcuffs; Girl Fever; Wild Girls, Wild Nights (also a Lambda Award Winner); and Me and My Boi, all from Cleis Press. Sacchi lives in the Five College area of western Massachusetts.