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Her mother is hopeful. Astoria is not.
The Queen has been looking for a proper wife for her son for years. So far no girl has been good enough for the precious golden prince. Astoria knows she won’t be either. Her faults are many—a family of middling status, an undistinguished school career, no significant extracurricular or volunteer service accomplishments.
There’s one more she keeps to herself: her crush on the Queen.
How could she not have a crush on her? Narcissa has turned a figurehead role into something with real power. Yes, everyone knows the Dark Lord is the power behind the throne, and that Bellatrix stands at his side. But Narcissa’s skills and persuasion and alliances keep the country running and better than their neighbours. Astoria sees how her influence winds through everything, from small changes to broad new laws in only the way a student of history could. She admires the way the Queen makes it all look effortless.
Her presentation takes place during the Court’s winter season. Mother has spent a fortune on a new wardrobe for her, hoping Astoria will spend the next several months dancing away the early nights and beguiling a future husband. Most costly of all is her presentation dress, an abomination that will be worn once, stiff with embroidery and lace, the heavy skirts a menace around her legs. She looks precisely like every other noble girl lined up beside her, all hiding their misery from the awful dresses and their excitement at becoming a proper member of Court at long last.
Compared to the sea of glittering girls, the Queen’s attire is understated. A flowing cloak of white werewolf fur falls from her shoulders, perfectly offsetting her tailored midnight blue dress. There’s elaborate embroidery on her bodice too, but instead of looking stiff, Astoria thinks the fancy stitches outline her collarbones and chest. Sapphires and diamonds crown her, matching the necklace around her neck.
Elegance, pure elegance. In her presence, Astoria feels unworthy.
Until her turn.
Narcissa spares her half a glance, eyes glacier cold, mouth tight and cruel. Her regal attention sweeps to the next girl, and the next, and when Astoria notices warmth in her gaze, the warmth that didn’t show for her presentation—
She aims a glare at the Queen’s back, fleeting quick and full of lust hatred. Who is Narcissa Malfoy to judge her? Narcissa is the queen only because her sister didn’t want it. (Not the blood traitor sister, they killed her and erased her name.) All of the heat of her intense crush goes into that glare, Astoria trying to wipe her past feelings from her memory.
It’s a tiny gesture in the grand scheme of things. From Daphne’s stories, Astoria knows that sort of thing is a game at Court. Displaying reactions one wants someone else to see whilst hiding one’s true emotions. She’s spent nights practising in front of the mirror, attempting to mask her usual fear.
She thinks she gets away with her blip in etiquette, but two days later, a letter arrives. An invitation to Court in pretty language. In reality, a summons she can’t ignore.
Astoria goes. Fearing the worst, because the Black sisters aren’t known for their kindness and empathy. That’s how she thinks of them, even though they are both married. It’s how everyone thinks of them. They are women defined by their sisterhood and bloodline and the power they’ve taken for themselves. Not by their husbands.
She envies that status and collective thinking. It’s partly where her crush came from. The Greengrass sisters are different, a third tier pureblood family with parents who don’t see them as sisters or powers in their own right, but as pawns in the court game of marrying for status.
In some ways, Astoria looks forward to the freedom that will come after marriage and duty. To having her own life and indulging her passions. She just hopes her parents manage to find her a husband rich enough to fund her desire for excitement. For life rather than being kept on a pedestal.
The guards show her to a bland waiting room that’s meant to intimidate her, with its high ceilings and troves of expensive paintings and furniture older than her family’s house-elf. Determined not to show her fear, Astoria stands near the door, hands curled in defiant fists, arms crossed over her chest.
And so she’s able to sink into a curtsey when the Queen unexpectedly sweeps in.
“Don’t.” Narcissa stops her with an electrifying touch on her shoulder. “There will be times when I want your obeisance. Today I do not.”
“What?” Astoria straightens, happily without a wobble. “I thought you were”—she dares glance up at her shoulders, unsure exactly what the Queen thought, but surely it wasn’t good—“mad at me?” she finishes feebly, picking the most likely option.
“Mad? Oh no, darling. You were the only one who interested me this season.” Narcissa seats herself and waves an elegant hand for Astoria to do the same. “I didn’t think so at first—your presentation was quite ordinary, but that glare of yours? That showed me you had potential.”
Astoria nearly falls as she sits, undone by that vital word. Potential. Will she be the one to snare Draco Malfoy at last? He doesn’t appeal to her, but the potential of life as a princess? The power she could wield? The closeness to the Queen? That appeals to her.
The Queen, whose subtle perfume is tickling her nose and reminding Astoria that simply glaring can’t erase a years-long crush.
“The search is over? For Prince Draco’s betrothed?”
“You as Draco’s wife? No.” Narcissa has the audacity to laugh, a sound like faerie bells and lost hope.
Astoria speaks through numb lips and buzzing ears. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I don’t understand.”
Narcissa studies her with the same cold eyes Astoria remembers from the humiliation of recalling that snub over and over. “I want you for myself, Astoria.” Warmth suddenly shines on her face, transforming her from an ice queen to a golden summer queen. “I read your lust in that stare, and your disappointment. You are perfect for me.”
She’s still confused. None of this makes sense. Why would the Queen want her? Even in her wildest dreams, she hasn’t dared imagine Narcissa’s perfect lips forming such praise. Astoria deliberately folds her hands and places them in her lap, so nervous gestures don’t give her away anymore than they already have. “I apologise, I still don’t—”
“I want you,” Narcissa repeats, interrupting her so smoothly, so confidently that Astoria can’t find it within herself to care. “I need someone to be me. To carry out my orders when I cannot. To be the Queen’s justice and vengeance.”
Astoria blinks. Is the buzzing in her ears overwhelming her? “To be you, Your Majesty?” She is nothing. No one compared to the Queen. How could Narcissa want Astoria to be her? How is that even possible?
“You’ll see shortly.” Narcissa stands, the sleek fullness of her trousers drawing Astoria’s eyes as she does. “You’re going to watch as I take care of a problem. The sort you’ll take care of for me in the future, if I’ve read you right.”
Take care of a problem? What is the Queen going to do? Astoria glances around the room, but it’s the same as when the guards showed her in. “Er, should I,” she shrugs and guesses again, “cast a concealment charm?”
“There’s no need for that.” A casual flick of Narcissa’s fingers results in a knocking noise on the door, a peculiar sound that must be some sort of signal. The door opens and two guards come in, dragging a third man between them. The guards shove the man to his knees in front of Narcissa, forcing him to kneel. From her position next to the Queen, Astoria can see loathing in every inch of his forced veneration.
“Imperio,” Narcissa purrs softly, as if commanding a lover to please her.
The curse hits the man impressively quick, his face shifting from hateful to dreamy in a second. Narcissa lifts her chin at one of the guards, who hands the man a wand and then they both step back.
“Point your wand at yourself and cast the Killing Curse.” The man’s hand doesn’t even shake as he obeys, proof of Narcissa’s strength of will in forcing him.
Avada Kedavra.
A flash of green light.
A dead man at their feet.
The guards levitate the body away, leaving Astoria alone with the Queen again.
She should be terrified, having watched the Queen command a man to kill himself. She should be looking for an escape route, not that she’d get far in the Queen’s own palace. She should be doing anything but standing calmly, using the court face she’s practised with Daphne to hide the want coursing through her.
Under the Queen’s knowing stare, Astoria folds in half a minute. There’s a dozen questions she could ask, but she tries to pick the right one, wanting to impress the Queen. Gone is her pitiful attempt at forgetting her crush. “You think I can do that?”
Narcissa’s pleased smile shows she did pick the right one. “Yes. Under my tutelage and mentorship, you’ll learn to do more than most others expect of you. I’m offering you power and influence. A real life rather than an ornamental one.” She pauses, gaze turning heated as she looks Astoria up and down. “And you will be mine.”
If the Queen could look into her head and pluck out what she wanted the most, it would be that.
Her façade slips lower, blood rising in her cheeks. “You want me?” she repeats, scarcely believing she’s asking Narcissa such a question. Never in her fantasies has Astoria dared dream Narcissa—only ever Narcissa, as she thinks of her in those moments—would share her desires.
Narcissa steps closer, so close that Astoria can feel her presence. The magic that thrums in her pure blood, the air of expectation that everyone at Court will obey her slightest whim. A statue carved from marble, regal and impassive. All very impressive, but now Astoria knows there’s even more. She saw the Queen handle her own dirty work minutes ago, which only increases the respect she has for her.
Astoria summons every bit of strength she has to stay upright instead of swooning at her Queen’s feet.
“Your feelings for me will make you even more loyal.” Narcissa touches her cheek, fingertip barely grazing her heated skin. “And I’ll enjoy having such a devoted, adoring lover. A few months at my side, and all the eligible men and women—and married ones—will be wondering what they missed in you. But you won’t stray, will you?”
Astoria already knows she won’t. Who would, given the chance to realise so many dreams? “No, Your Majesty,” she says, overjoyed when her voice doesn’t squeak.
“Good,” Narcissa says crisply. “Loyalty is extremely important to me.” Her thumb glides over Astoria’s lower lip, a touch as fleeting as the glare that led to the summons for this meeting. When Narcissa moves away, Astoria feels a sense of loss and leans towards her before she can stop herself.
The Queen raps on another door Astoria hadn’t noticed, using her hand instead of magic. Astoria tries to take note, assuming she’ll have to learn all the subtleties of Narcissa’s actions as part of her duty.
She was right to watch. The Queen’s sister comes through that door.
“She’s agreed, then?” Bellatrix asks, already shaking her wand into her hand. Astoria has a split second to be embarrassed at being a subject for their conversation, then Narcissa gestures for her to join them, right hand outstretched.
Astoria takes it with her own right hand, touching the Queen for the first time. But like her embarrassment, she stuffs down the elation of their first real contact. For Bellatrix has put the tip of her wand on top of their clasped hands, showing how serious the Queen is regarding fealty.
“Do you, Astoria Greengrass, promise to be loyal to your Queen in all words, actions, and thoughts?” Narcissa’s pleased smile is back, a matching brightness in her eyes at the anticipation of Astoria’s reply.
Astoria’s stomach drops at her own reckless behaviour whilst warmth suffuses the rest of her body. Her lips are numb again, but for an entirely different reason this time. “Yes, my Queen.”
A chain of silver fire snakes from Bellatrix’s wand and wraps around their wrists, binding Astoria to the Queen. She’s disappointed when the flame disappears, missing the visible evidence of their link.
Using their still joined hands, Narcissa pulls her close, other hand going to the small of her back. “‘My Queen.’ I like that. Continue to please me and I’ll allow you to refer to me that way with everyone.”
The implication of that is thrilling, but yet again Astoria doesn’t have time to think about it. Because suddenly the Queen’s blood-red lips are on hers, taking her mouth in a heated, exploratory kiss. A slow kiss that has the most promise of all the Queen’s pledges and lasting long enough for Astoria’s daze to end so she can kiss Narcissa back. She dares to settle her free hand on Narcissa’s waist, palming the crest of her hip, whilst Narcissa’s grasp slides to her wrist, mimicking the chain of her Unbreakable Vow.
“I’ll do my best to please you,” Astoria promises, mouth dropping to Narcissa’s neck. She should be asking about the Queen’s expectations, but right now, lost in the lust of a thousand dreams, she’d rather learn what Narcissa does and doesn’t like. Narcissa looked so pleased after her immediate promise, Astoria feels hopeful that she can get away with indulging her immediate desires.
A sharpness at her wrist stalls her mouth. Narcissa’s nails against her inner arm. “No visible marks. Glamour spells are so tawdry.”
“Yes, my Queen.”