The next few months were… tense, to say the least. As hard as she tried to keep things civil between her lovers, Sera constantly found herself having to soothe the heated arguments Iracebeth got into with Stayne. These arguments were often followed by periods of cold, pointed awkwardness in which Sera was the only one willing to speak, and even then… what could she say? That she was sorry? For what?

Why had they made this arrangement if they weren't going to be able to adapt to it like adults? Sure, Sera had some difficulty dividing herself equally between the two, but she didn't act like a spoiled child when one of them didn't have time for her.

Iracebeth had taken to publically embarrassing Stayne in front of the court whenever possible, often snidely questioning his stamina and occasionally insinuating loudly that, although his height was impressive, other aspects of him were… lacking. (An insinuation that both she and Sera knew was far from accurate… Nothing about the man was disappointing. Nothing.)

Stayne didn't dare insult the Queen to her face. However, he retaliated in other ways. He occasionally let little rumors about the Queen surface, although he made sure that they were never traced back to him. The courtiers had a number of different tidbits to discuss amongst themselves, some of them far too close to accuracy for Sera's comfort. (Iracebeth had a taste for bondage… although the court couldn't agree on whether she was a submissive- or a Dominant-type.) (She was both. She liked to switch.)

By now, the fact of their arrangement was common knowledge in the palace. (Sera supposed they had Stayne to thank for that.) Sera frequently found herself walking into sudden hushes whenever the court was gathered without the Queen. Whispers followed her as she wandered the corridors.

Harlot.

Trollop.

Gold-digging whore.

Sera had begun avoiding the rest of the court as often as she could. Despite being, officially, a "lady" of the court, she felt more out of place than ever. The women sneered at her when the Queen wasn't looking, and the men fixed her with lascivious stares that made her skin crawl. Stayne wasn't spreading rumours about her, she knew, but she had overheard the theories the men had developed on their own. (She couldn't bring herself to eat anything remotely phallic when the court dined together, their knowing smirks making her shift uncomfortably in her seat.)

This place was changing her. Back home, she wouldn't have cared what they were saying. She wouldn't have taken their subtle abuse. Back home, she'd been fierce. Obedient, yes, but she'd had a spine. Nobody dared to insult her back home, not because she was Chief Ledney's daughter, but because she would strike without a second thought. Numerous men and women bore reminders on their faces that they were not to test her. Her teeth and nails had been some of the sharpest in her city, and her reflexes some of the swiftest. Now, though, she was soft. Weak. Slow.

Useless.

But back home…

"Sera, sweet one?"

Sera was roused from her thoughts by Iracebeth's sweet voice. She rolled over in bed, looked into her Queen's sparkling dark eyes, and smiled. Iracebeth kissed her, and the clouds of rage in Sera's mind cleared.

Iracebeth was her home now. Iracebeth was all that mattered.

"It's time for breakfast, love." Iracebeth murmured between her kisses. "Come now."

The women rose and began to get ready. Sera paused in her dressing to admire the way the sun's rays played on Iracebeth's porcelain skin. The Queen was like one of those fancy dolls that Sera's mother collected but never let her play with: unblemished and perfect. Even her admittedly bulbous head failed to faze Sera anymore. It was just one more thing that made the woman she loved so very… lovable.

Iracebeth glanced at her, her cheeks going pink.

"What are you staring at?" she asked softly.

"A vision." Sera smiled, going over to her. She helped her lace up her corset, taking the time to run her hands down Iracebeth's hips and press a kiss to the back of her neck. She continued to dress as Iracebeth began her makeup routine.

Sera glanced down at the dress she was putting on. The heavy red and black velvet was such a change from the light cotton dress she'd worn when she'd first arrived. It was so much more constricting. Even now as she slid it on, it felt tight around her middle. The heavy food they served here was taking a toll on her.

Once they were dressed, they made their way down to the dining room. As the court sat around the table, Sera met Stayne's eyes across the table. He was seated at the Queen's right hand, and she on the Queen's left. He gave Sera a gentle, hesitant smile, the smile that he reserved specifically for her. She returned his smile demurely, vaguely recalling how sweetly he had kissed her the day before.

Despite her devotion to Iracebeth, Sera couldn't help but feel warmth in her belly whenever she looked at him. The man oozed sensuality from every pore. He was both lust and sweetness, a raging fire and a gentle rain, and Sera melted into a puddle whenever he so much as spoke to her.

As the court tucked into their meal, Sera looked vaguely at the other courtiers, who had greeted her coldly and with mocking smiles. Surely, there was some way to show them that she was not to be trifled with. She was far past fed up with their snooty, condescending treatment.

As if on cue, the man with the large forehead looked over at her. He gave her a smirk, eyeing her up and down appreciatively. A tiny rage flared through Sera, and she suddenly felt wicked. Visions of leaping over the table and slamming his head down into his breakfast filled her, but she forced herself to remain calm. She smiled sweetly at him, carefully spearing a sausage from her plate and teasing the end of it with her lips.

The man glanced around, wide-eyed, but looked again at her eagerly. She ran the tip of her tongue teasingly along the sausage's end, not breaking eye contact with the man who was watching her, entranced. She slid the sausage partly into her mouth, bit down hard, and spat it delicately onto her plate.

The color drained from his face as she tried to silently send him her message:

Keep it up, my friend, and you'll be wishing you were this sausage by the time I'm done with you.