The Queen's Mage

Chapter 90: Naeric Lessons

That evening, Serali entered the small family dining room with Mara’s warning still in her ears.

Do not let Princess Everly talk you into extra dessert.

As if Serali, who had survived Naerith, iron, council, and the gradual moral collapse of old romance novels, could be outmaneuvered by a four-year-old with jam on her sleeve.

She had not yet decided whether Mara was insulting her or offering useful intelligence.

The family dining room was smaller than the state dining hall, though still absurd by any reasonable measure. Its walls were painted warm gold, and the windows looked down over the winter gardens, where lanterns glowed along frost-covered paths. A round table had been set instead of the long formal one, which made escape routes more complicated but conversation less like a trial.

Everly stood on a chair beside the table, supervising place cards.

“Not there,” she told a footman. “Serali sits by me.”

The footman, wise in the ways of survival, moved the card.

“Not that side. The other side.”

He moved it again.

Everly considered. “No. First side.”

The footman’s soul visibly dimmed.

Serali stopped in the doorway. “Are you conducting siege operations?”

Everly spun around so quickly she nearly lost balance. “Serali!”

Allandra, already seated near the head of the table, lifted one hand without looking up from the small note she was reading. Everly corrected her balance before anyone had to catch her.

Serali noticed.

Allandra noticed Serali noticing.

Daravan, standing near the door, noticed both of them and looked briefly toward the ceiling.

Some things, Serali thought, did not improve with practice.

Everly hopped down from the chair and rushed across the room, then stopped herself two paces away.

“May I hug you?”

Serali’s chest did the foolish little tightening thing it did every time the child remembered to ask.

“Yes. Briefly.”

Everly hugged her around the waist with one arm and released her with exaggerated discipline.

“Briefly,” she announced.

“Impressive,” Serali said.

“I practiced on Lessa.”

From the wall, one of the nurses gave a tiny, exhausted nod.

Everly seized Serali’s hand and dragged her toward the table. “You sit here. Mother sits there. I sit here. Uncle Hagen is maybe coming, but Mother made a face.”

Allandra said, “Everly.”

Everly leaned toward Serali and whispered, very loudly, “That means yes.”

“Ah.”

The door opened.

Hagen entered as if summoned by his own name, which was exactly the sort of thing Serali suspected he practiced.

He wore amber silk tonight, his hair loose at the shoulders, his smile already prepared. His eyes moved first to Allandra, then Everly, then Serali, then the place cards.

“How fortunate,” he said. “I feared I might be late.”

“You were not invited,” Allandra said.

“Then I am remarkably early.”

Daravan muttered, “Tragically.”

Hagen turned. “Captain. How reassuring to find you guarding soup.”

“Soup is volatile.”

“Only if mishandled.”

“Many things are.”

Serali sat because standing while Hagen smiled felt like giving him too many angles.

Everly climbed into the chair beside her with only minor assistance from Lessa and immediately leaned over. “There is cake later.”

“So I was promised.”

“Only one.”

“A national hardship.”

“I wanted three.”

“Visionary.”

Allandra said, “Do not encourage her.”

Serali looked at the queen across the table. “I would never.”

Hagen took the chair opposite Serali with visible delight. “Oh, this promises to be excellent.”

“It promises to be dinner,” Allandra said.

“My dear sister, in this family those are rarely separate things.”

The first course arrived: a mild golden soup with herbs, cream, and small toasted seeds scattered over the top. Everly watched Serali take her first spoonful with grave attention.

“Well?” the princess asked.

Serali considered. “Not weird.”

Everly looked vindicated. “I told them.”

Allandra’s brows rose. “You approved this soup?”

“Yes. The green one was bad.”

“It was leek.”

“It was swamp.”

Hagen lifted his spoon. “I have always distrusted leek.”

Everly pointed at him. “See?”

Allandra looked pained. “Do not form an alliance.”

“Too late,” Hagen said.

Dinner unfolded with the strange rhythm of royal domesticity: servants moving quietly, guards outside, nurses near the wall, Everly narrating every thought that crossed her mind, Allandra attempting to be both queen and mother while not laughing at the wrong moments, and Hagen watching all of it with bright, dangerous amusement.

Serali was aware of him.

Of course she was. Hagen was not the sort of man one forgot in a room. He listened with his whole face arranged into charm, which meant he was storing everything. The way Everly leaned toward Serali. The way Allandra’s gaze softened when Serali answered the child. The way Serali paused before touching anything Everly handed her, because children were unpredictable and precious and too trusting by half.

Hagen saw it all.

He also, damn him, seemed to be enjoying himself.

Everly was explaining that the peacock on the invitation had defeated Lord Merrow because “he looked like he needed a bird,” when the conversation veered, as conversations with Everly often did, directly into catastrophe.

“Serali,” she said, “will you teach me Naeric?”

Stolen from NovelFire, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Allandra’s spoon stopped halfway to her bowl.

Serali blinked. “What?”

“Naeric,” Everly said carefully. “Your language.”

Hagen’s attention sharpened.

Daravan, at the door, went very still.

Allandra set down her spoon. “Everly, learning Naeric is difficult. It is not in your curriculum for several years.”

Everly frowned. “Why?”

“Because you are still learning formal Avalusian grammar.”

“I know grammar.”

“You told Master Ilovan that verbs are bossy nouns.”

“They are.”

Serali covered her mouth with one hand.

Hagen looked delighted.

Allandra shot him a warning glance before turning back to Everly. “Naeric requires different phonetics, script training, and an approved tutor. It is not something one begins over dinner.”

Everly looked offended. “But Serali already taught me some.”

The room stopped.

Serali went still.

Allandra turned slowly. “She did what?”

Everly sat taller, pleased to demonstrate. “When we met.”

The playroom.

Serali half-starved, half-terrified, trying not to be discovered by guards while the smallest princess in Avalusia stared at her with wide green eyes and asked if she was a ghost.

Naeric.

Greeting.

No.

No, she had not.

Surely she had not.

Everly drew a breath.

Serali’s eyes widened. “Everly—”

Too late.

In flawless, crisp Naeric, with the precise northern consonant Serali herself had once spat in absolute panic, Princess Everly Luina said:

“Fuck.”

A maid dropped the tray.

The sound was tremendous.

Silverware, plates, and one unfortunate dish of buttered carrots struck the floor in a clattering, catastrophic burst. Lessa made a strangled noise. Daravan turned his face toward the wall with the expression of a man witnessing the fall of civilization and not entirely surprised by the method.

Allandra froze.

Utterly.

Hagen put one hand over his mouth.

For one heartbeat, Serali thought he was scandalized.

Then his shoulders began to shake.

“Allandra,” he said, voice strangled with delight, “your daughter has an exceptional accent.”

Everly beamed. “Thank you.”

“No,” Allandra said.

The word came out too calmly.

Everyone looked at her.

Allandra slowly set her napkin beside her bowl. “No one is thanking anyone.”

Everly’s smile faltered. “Was it wrong?”

Serali’s soul attempted to leave her body.

“Yes,” Allandra said.

“No,” Serali said at the same time.

Allandra looked at her.

Serali wished, suddenly and fervently, that the tray had struck her instead of the floor.

“It was not wrong,” Serali clarified, “in pronunciation.”

Hagen made a noise like a wounded animal.

Daravan said, “Your Highness, perhaps we should—”

“No,” Allandra said again, and Daravan wisely fell silent.

Everly looked from face to face. “What does it mean?”

“No,” Allandra and Serali said together.

Hagen said, “It is a versatile word—”

“Hagen.”

He held up both hands, eyes bright with tears. “I was only going to praise linguistic efficiency.”

Allandra’s gaze could have frozen wine.

Everly leaned toward Serali. “Did you teach me a bad word?”

Serali closed her eyes.

“Yes.”

Everly gasped, betrayed and thrilled. “On purpose?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I was frightened.”

Everly considered this with deep seriousness. “You say bad words when frightened?”

“Sometimes.”

“Mother says gods preserve me when frightened.”

“That is because your mother is better educated.”

Hagen lost the battle and laughed outright.

Not a polite laugh. Not a court laugh. A genuine, helpless, delighted laugh that made two servants stare at him as if he had become briefly mortal.

Allandra pointed at him. “Out.”

Hagen pressed one hand to his chest. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“I have done nothing.”

“You encouraged linguistic treason.”

“I admired it.”

“Out.”

Everly frowned. “But he is eating.”

“He can eat elsewhere.”

Hagen’s laughter only worsened. “Sister, please. I would not miss this for the throne.”

The room went cold for half a breath.

Hagen realized the words after they left him.

Allandra’s face did not change.

Serali felt the bond contract, just once, like a hand closing.

Then Everly said, “You can’t have the throne. Mother is using it.”

Silence.

Hagen stared at her.

Daravan made a sound and turned it into a cough.

Serali looked at her plate.

Allandra closed her eyes.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Hagen laughed again.

Softer this time.

“Quite right,” he said. “And very well, too.”

Allandra opened her eyes.

The moment passed, but did not vanish.

It tucked itself somewhere beneath the table, beside every other dangerous thing no one was discussing over soup.

Everly remained focused on the more important issue. “Am I in trouble?”

Allandra turned back to her daughter.

“No,” she said after a moment.

Everly brightened.

“Because you did not know what the word meant,” Allandra added.

Everly’s brightness became cautious.

“However, you may not say it again.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“What if I am very frightened?”

“Then you may say gods preserve me.”

Everly looked unimpressed. “That is not as good.”

Serali made the mistake of breathing.

Allandra looked at her.

“You,” she said.

Serali sat straighter. “Majesty.”

“Will not teach my daughter any further Naeric without my permission.”

“Gladly.”

“Especially not words spoken while fleeing guards.”

“Reasonable.”

“Or hiding in playrooms.”

“Specific, but fair.”

Hagen wiped at one eye. “This is the finest dinner I have attended all season.”

Allandra said, “You remain one sentence from exile.”

“To somewhere Naeric-speaking? I may need the vocabulary.”

Daravan stepped forward. “Your Highness.”

Hagen lifted his glass and fell silent, though his smile remained unbearable.

Servants began collecting the fallen tray with the brittle concentration of people determined not to react. The maid who had dropped it looked mortified. Serali caught her eye.

“I am sorry,” Serali said.

The maid blinked, startled.

Everly said, “It was my fault.”

Allandra said, “It was no one’s fault.”

Hagen murmured, “I could assign fault if needed.”

“No,” said Allandra, Serali, Daravan, and Lessa at once.

Everly giggled.

The tension broke.

Not entirely.

Enough.

Chapter 91: One Cake Approved

Dinner resumed, though the carrots did not survive. Everly was given a firm lecture on the importance of not repeating unfamiliar words, especially in front of visiting dignitaries, nurses, priests, councilors, animals, or Lord Merrow.

“Especially Lord Merrow?” Everly asked.

“Especially,” Allandra said.

Serali tried not to imagine Merrow’s face.

Failed.

Hagen caught her expression and smiled over his wine.

“Do not,” Serali said quietly.

“I said nothing.”

“You are thinking too loudly.”

“So I have been told.”

Allandra’s gaze moved between them.

Hagen raised both hands. “Peace, sister. I am merely admiring the educational breadth of your household.”

“My household,” Allandra said, “is going to finish dinner without another diplomatic incident.”

Hagen leaned back, still smiling, and for once Serali could not tell whether the warmth in his face was mockery, affection, or simple gratitude for an absurd evening in a palace that had lately offered too few of them.

Perhaps all three.

That made him no safer.

But it made him harder to hate.

Cake arrived at last.

One cake, as promised, though Everly eyed it as if considering whether it could be argued into plural. It was orange and almond, glazed with honey, cut into neat slices by Lessa before the princess could propose revisions.

Everly watched Serali take a bite.

“Well?”

Serali tasted citrus, sugar, warmth, and the first dinner in a royal household where she had not been weighed, tested, or ambushed by law.

Only by a child with a catastrophic memory.

“It is good,” she said.

Everly beamed.

“Better than the word?” Hagen asked.

Allandra looked at him.

Hagen sipped his wine.

Serali, because she had self-control now and a title and at least three privacy wards in progress, did not answer.

Everly did.

“No,” she said thoughtfully. “But Mother says I cannot say the word.”

Hagen choked on his wine.

Daravan covered his eyes.

Allandra stared at the ceiling.

Serali took another bite of cake and decided, privately, that Everly was the most dangerous person in the room.

Possibly in the kingdom.

After the cake, Everly’s energy began to fray at the edges. She leaned against Serali’s arm while explaining that Royal Mages probably had rules about naps.

Serali looked down at her. “Do we?”

“You should.”

“After council, perhaps.”

“Because of foolish people?”

“Yes,” Serali said solemnly. “Royal Mages nap after foolish people.”

Everly nodded as if receiving law.

Allandra’s eyes narrowed. “Do not give her phrases she can weaponize.”

“I would never.”

“You just did.”

“Then history will judge me.”

Everly yawned hugely. “Queens should nap too.”

“Absolutely,” Hagen said.

Allandra turned her stare on him.

He smiled. “In support of public health.”

Daravan murmured, “An unprecedented concern.”

Everly slid farther against Serali’s sleeve.

Serali froze.

Only for a breath.

Then she remained still.

Everly’s head rested against her arm, warm and trusting and heavy with approaching sleep. Serali did not move. Did not know where to put her hands. Did not know why her throat felt tight.

Across the table, Allandra watched.

Not with heat.

Not with hunger.

With something much worse.

Tenderness.

Serali touched her cuff beneath the table.

Not council signal.

Not exactly.

Still here.

Allandra’s fingers brushed her signet.

I see.

Hagen’s gaze lowered briefly.

Damn.

But Everly yawned again, and Lessa came forward with practiced mercy. “Your Highness, it is time.”

“No,” Everly murmured, already half gone.

“Yes,” Lessa said.

Everly allowed herself to be lifted with the tragic resignation of a fallen general. “Good night, Serali.”

“Good night.”

“Come to breakfast sometime.”

Serali glanced at Allandra.

Allandra’s expression had gone carefully neutral.

“Perhaps,” Serali said.

Everly opened one eye. “That means yes later.”

“It does not.”

“It does if I write it down.”

Then she was carried away.

The room felt quieter without her.

Larger.

More dangerous.

Hagen finished his wine. “Well. That was instructive.”

“Leave before I remember how much quieter rooms are without you.”

He stood with exaggerated grace. “As ever, I remain underappreciated.”

“Accurately appreciated,” Daravan said.

Hagen bowed to Serali. “Royal Mage. Thank you for the linguistic enrichment.”

“Learn the word yourself next time.”

His smile brightened. “Tempting.”

“Hagen,” Allandra said.

He laughed and left.

When the door closed behind him, Serali exhaled.

Allandra looked at her. “I am sorry.”

“For which part?”

“My brother.”

“That is an ambitious apology.”

“Yes.”

Serali looked toward the doorway where Lessa had carried Everly. “She is very pleased with herself.”

“My brother?”

“Your daughter.”

“All of my relations, apparently.”

Serali almost smiled.

Almost.

Allandra’s gaze softened, and the bond warmed under its careful ward, quiet enough not to command, strong enough to be felt.

Serali stood before it could become too much.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said, the words stiff because gratitude was still an unfamiliar garment and this one had seams.

Allandra rose too. “Thank you for coming.”

As if Serali had brought something more important than scandalous vocabulary and suspicion.

Serali looked away first.

Daravan opened the door.

The guards outside straightened.

Serali paused at the threshold. The dining room behind her still smelled of orange cake, spilled carrots, candlewax, and warmth. Everly’s place card sat beside Serali’s empty plate, her name written in purple ink with one backwards letter.

Friend, the invitation had said.

Royal Mage, the office said.

Maybe, the room had said.

Serali did not know what to do with any of it.

So she did the only thing available.

She lifted her chin and walked back to her new rooms before anyone could see how carefully she held the place card in her hand.