A/N: Not mine, naturally. All characters and locations belong to the inestimable Garth Nix. This is a one-shot.
As many complicated and often sordid things do, it began innocently enough. Lirael, though she was more than glad Orannis had been reimprisoned and no one was in any immediate, life-threatening trouble (for now), couldn't seem to get into the mood of the parties that sprung up nightly in the wake of the royal family's return to Beslisaere. This might have had something to do with the fact that she had lost her best friend in the binding, and her hand. It was slightly difficult to properly enjoy a flute of champagne when one's dominant hand was now merely a wrist, and one's undominant hand had a tendency to slosh due to poor fine motor skills. It might also have been related to the fact that Lirael had been declared a member of the royal family; on the surface it sounded nice, until one considered all of the dressing up and parties and talking involved, things which she had never particularly cared for. She was soon known for leaving a party as soon as was socially permissible, if not sooner.
So it was no real surprise that she had left the fourth party of the week celebrating the safe return of Prince Sameth and his task as a Wallmaker (to be differentiated from the parties celebrating the safe return of the other royals, and the binding, and the eighth's choice on a side, and his choice on the side of good) a scant hour and a half after it had begun. Sam had promised he would build her a new hand, and she couldn't fault him for the time it was taking; it seemed everyone now needed something made by Sam. And she was just a cast-off half-aunt.
What was a surprise, however, was the princess standing and following her.
"Aunt Lirael!" Ellimere sounded slightly drunk. She probably was. "Wait, I need to talk to you." Lirael waited, still, until Ellimere caught up. "Come with me? I'd prefer not to talk about it in the hall." Her tone made it clear that Ellimere believed that the hall had ears, and would report to someone—possibly her parents—whatever she said. Lirael knew she was drunk. But she followed anyway.
Ellimere closed the door behind them both, and locked it with an apologetic smile. The room lit up at a whisper, activating the Charter marks on ceiling and walls, as Ellimere sat primly on her bed. Her room looked nothing like Lirael's, though they were nearly the same age. Ellimere's was filled with the trappings of a princess, colours rich and fabrics lush; Lirael kept her room calm and simple. She couldn't help but make the comparison every time she passed by the door or stepped inside, and was so busy with her mental tally of the differences that she missed Ellimere speaking.
"…so I'd like you to do it."
Lirael flushed slightly with embarrassment, and blinked. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"
Ellimere smiled—or was that smirked?—and stood up from the bed. With every word she took a step closer to Lirael, until she had her backed against the locked door. "I have never kissed a girl. I think I would like to try. So I am going to kiss you now, and you are going to kiss me back." And before Lirael could protest, she did kiss her. Not so drunk after all.
If she had ever had control of the situation, Lirael lost it after that.
"I want you to suck my nipple into your mouth"—"I want you to lick my clit"—"Aunt Lirael, you're going to fuck me now"
Ellimere was a demanding sort of princess, and a demanding sort of lover. Lirael certainly had not intended for things to get that far—she hadn't intended for any of it to happen at all!—but a kiss had become two or three stolen in a quiet hallway a few days later, and then more when the bustle and glamour that was Ellimere's court outfit for the day invaded Lirael's room and held her to the bed.
Lirael found herself unwittingly discovering that if she licked Ellimere's nipple just so, or stroked her inner thigh with one fingertip, Ellimere would become slightly less demanding, and slightly less controlling, and she could escape sooner. Because that was what she wanted: to escape. To want anything else would be wrong. It would also have been wrong to lie in bed and slowly stroke her own clit until she came, crying out the princess' name, and if she did touch herself in the dark, it certainly was not thinking about how earlier that day Ellimere had crawled up Lirael's body so that her cunt dripped over Lirael's mouth and demanded that her aunt lick her until she couldn't come any more. It must have been for improving her dexterity with her left hand. Never mind that Ellimere said she was becoming more than capable with it.
After a particularly rough encounter—Lirael knew there would be bruises to account for in the morning, ones she could not blame on Sabriel's sword training—she looked up at Ellimere. The princess was still flushed with desire, legs still trembling from her orgasm, but she didn't smile back. This was unusual. In the nearly four months that she had been seducing Lirael, she had always been in charge and happy.
"…so that will be it." Lirael blushed, realizing that she had missed most of what Ellimere said.
"Pardon? I wasn't paying attention." She left it unspoken that she had been distracted by watching sweat cool on Ellimere's stomach. Romance and niceties were unnecessary and unwanted when they were alone.
Ellimere frowned. "I was saying that this has to end. People have begun to notice my preoccupation with you, and it's simply not right that a girl should be so interested in her aunt. Besides. I'm getting engaged tonight, to Nick. You know Nick! He's sweet, if a bit slow, and he lets me boss him around. So that will be it. It's over."
When she was alone again in a very hot bath, scrubbing the feel of lips off her skin, Lirael wondered when she had begun wanting Ellimere back. And when it would end.