Sunny: Mona Lisa Blossoming

Bernard's eyes widened. "They are here to welcome you, milady." Milady, not madame. Using the more standard, formal Monère address to… what… calm the savage beast, I mean, Queen? My eyes probably did look a little wild.

"It's okay." I didn't know who I was reassuring, him or me. "Let's go meet them." I tried for a smile. Bernard didn't look too reassured by it. It was probably more of a grimace, but I couldn't help it. I was looking forward to this about as much as I would have liked having a rotting tooth drilled and scraped without Novocain.

Horace and Bernard ascended the wide, flat stone steps and opened the front oak paneled double doors, moving slowly so as not to spook the wild beasts. They were half right, I thought as we followed them up the steps. We were definitely spooked.

My inner voice was shrieking: What? Were we crazy? The ten of us deliberately walking into a houseful of hundreds of Full Bloods? Maybe that's what being a Queen was… crazy. No other reason why a sane creature would deliberately put herself among such outnumbered odds.

The entry hall was large and airy, reaching all the way up to the roof… Grand. A spiral staircase flowed majestically up and around invitingly to the second level. Veined marble tiles, rose white, gleamed spotlessly beneath our feet—had we wiped them before entering? I couldn't remember.

You didn't even need one of those big-ass overhanging crystal chandeliers to impress people, although there was one of those, too. Just the sheer size of the place, all that generous space—how could one place have so much damn space! — took one's breath away.

It was as if the steward read my mind. "Fifty-three thousand square feet. Many of the furnishings, paintings, tapestries, and rugs are originals imported from Europe," Horace informed us primly, his voice muted as though it would be a sacrilege to speak too loudly. "As is the marble, of course."

Of course.

I sniffed, not in a huffy way but because there was a distinct metallic tang in the air. "Is that… gold?"

Horace gestured to the walls, "fourteen-karat gold-leaf wallpaper.»

Was he for real? My nose said he was. Sheesh!

I followed him and Bernard in a near daze as they turned right, leading us down a wide expansive hallway to another set of double doors, paneled cherry wood, these. With a flourish, Horace swung them open. "The Grand White Ballroom," he intoned.

Grand and white was right. White tiles. White marble mantels. A sea of white faces all staring at us.

I swallowed.

The collective power from that room crept over me like thick sticky invisible fingers pressing down over my skin, almost smothering. I felt the power within me start to instinctively react and strangled it back, kept it choked. Definitely not a good time or place to let my aphidy run loose. I don't think even Amber or Gryphon could save me if it did. Not against so many. Jesus, how many people were there?

"We number four hundred twenty-three, milady," Bernard answered. Again that annoying knack. I didn't like it that he and Horace seemed to know what I was thinking.

My heart skipped a beat when the sea of faces suddenly dipped down and turned back up en masse, like a fluid wave. They had bowed, I realized. Just bowing to me. A normal courtesy, I reassured myself over my loudly pounding heart. Although they were the ones suddenly looking scared.

"Milady," I heard Bernard say in an odd tone.

I turned to see him staring with appalled fascination at my hands. At the two sharp long knives I was gripping. I resheathed them calmly, casually, without a blink, as if it was a normal occurrence for Queens to unconsciously call their blades to hand—one of them a silver blade I had taken from their own former Queen's hand. I wondered if any of them recognized it, as I dipped my head, nodding to the crowd in return.

Bernard cleared his throat cautiously. "If you will… uh… step this way, Queen Mona Lisa." He indicated a large ornate chair set on a raised dais—a throne, really. "I will introduce your people to you." He said it like a question, and appeared quite relieved when I nodded and took a seat calmly at the throne. Amber stood on my left. Gryphon on my right. After a brief hesitation, the other seven members of my little group followed, standing several yards behind me, keeping our formation of protection intact. And watching our backs.

A small group, all fair blondes, was led forward by Bernard. Two women and one man. The women were presented first.

"Lady Margaret Fruge," Steward Horace loudly announced as a lovely woman with delicate features, her hair swept back neatly in an intricate coil, curtsied gracefully before me. It felt awkward enough just sitting there as she did that, with her head so near my feet. What she did next shot my feelings straight past awkward all the way to aghast. Kneeling, Margaret picked up the hem of my dress and kissed it. Now I knew why Queens wore long gowns. So their subjects could kiss the hem. Jesus fucking Christ!

She remained kneeling.

At an utter loss for words, I fluttered my fingers at her, indicating she should rise. Uncertain she glanced sideways at Bernard, who nodded. She stood but kept her head bowed before me. My eyes flashed down to her hands and I saw that she wore a simple gold ring on her left hand as well.

"Your new Queen, Mona Lisa," intoned Horace.

Hesitantly, as if she was unsure of what to do next, now that I had disrupted their normal proceedings, Margaret curtsied low once more. "My Queen."

"Are you related to Bernard?" I asked.

Surprised, she looked up, bobbed her head, and quickly looked down once more. "His wife, milady."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Margaret." I gestured to my right, since it seemed as if Horace had no intention of introducing anyone. "This is Warrior Lord Gryphon." A hand sweep to my left. "Warrior Lord Amber."

"My lords." Another curtsy as she kept her eyes lowered. I wondered if her back hurt from all that scraping and bowing.

Margaret stepped back and the other woman moved forward and curtsied. Her hair was light and fair, like a sheath of wheat bleached by the sun, long and flowing. Her features were like Margaret's but a little sharper, bolder, the nose taller, the mouth fuller. The color of her eyes, I noted when she glanced briefly up at me, was an unusual shade of gray.

"Lady Francine Fruge" was Horace's crisp announcement.

She started to kneel.

"Just a curtsy is fine," I said firmly.

She stood.

"Queen Mona Lisa." There was a look of disapproval on Horace's sour face as he grudgingly continued his introduction. "Warrior Lord Gryphon and Warrior Lord Amber."

A second low curtsy from Francine. "My Queen. My Lords." Her gray eyes, I noted, lingered a little on Gryphon, eliciting mixed feelings in me. Mostly annoyance.

"Are you also a member of Bernard's household?" I asked. My guess was Margaret's sister, but with a Monère you could never tell. They all looked young. She could have been anywhere in age from twenty to two hundred—I think their hair started to gray after that—and anyone from great-granddaughter to great-grandmother. Safer just to ask how they were related rather than presume.

"His daughter, my Queen."

See.

My eyes sharpened upon her with interest. I'd never seen a complete Monère family before. A whole unit—father, mother, daughter… a precious child.

A man stepped forward next. His bearing was graceful and confident and more than a touch arrogant. It might have come from his looks. He was fair, like the others, with a thick wave of sun-kissed hair, strikingly handsome like one of the ancient Greek gods. Tall and moderately muscled, with lovely moss-green eyes. But his was a mere beauty of the world, a cold surface perfection. Something to admire from afar, like a figure on a coin, or a cold marble statue. Gryphon's beauty was otherworldly, like that of a fallen angel's, unmatchable, with a drowning sensuality that made you want to touch him, stroke him, to breathe his essence deep into your body and wrap yourself in his sweetness.