She gives him a very fake, but very well practiced, royal nod of her head. “Better,” she says, catching sight of the grin on his face. She finds it rather infectious, and that mischievous smile of hers creeps onto her face. Queen Raven. It’s not quite her usual title, but she doesn’t mind the ring of it. Unlike so many ever-so-polite monarchs, she has absolutely no qualms about calling herself Queen. She attaches the title to her name, or enjoys making her title longer by using Straia, Queen of the Chamber, as an introduction as well.
Granted, as easily as she uses the title, she finds that it’s just as easy not to use it. Very few in her kingdom have ever been introduced to her as Queen, but they know anyway. She holds herself like a Queen, moves through the pines like she owns them. And of course, in a way, she does own them. She grew up in them, would likely die inside the forest one day, her body becoming food for the trees she loved. If, that is, she chooses to die. But she would, for the Chamber. If that is what the kingdom needed of her, then she would lay down her life.
His mouth goes back to her neck, snapping her from her thoughts, drawing her back into the present. Into the heat of his body and the tingling of her skin beneath him. Into a place that is entirely new for her, where she finds that want is the only guiding factor. Not need, not service to the Chamber. Just her own lust, her own desire. “I don’t seek respect,” she says, the shadow of a raven landing on the top of his neck, wings wrapping forward around his eyes. Power is far better than respect. She’s earned respect as a Queen through hard work, through earning her titles and power.
She slips out from beneath his touch, her turn to prowl around him. Where the thorns don’t cover his skin, she nips at his mane, lips at his skin. “Queens probably shouldn’t associate with Weeds, either,” she says, her voice smoky as always, but darker than normal. Full of the same animal instincts that drove the growl from his throat.
She finishes her circle and slips back beneath his neck, the raven disappearing from eyes (assuming he hasn’t shaken the shadow away by now, perhaps he has). “I have no need for traditional diplomats. So perhaps we can work something out.” She needed ideas. She needed chaos. The world had slumbered too long.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber