Matriarch In This Life Novels & Stories

They had spent their lives insulating themselves from reality, and now, reality was walking through the door in a pair of Italian leather shoes. Catrina walked beside me. She was pale, her side still bandaged, her gait guarded, but there was a fire in her eyes that made the most seasoned directors in the room shrink back in their chairs. She was the mirror image of the woman they had served for twenty years, but she was sharp, hardened, and absolutely, terrifyingly real. "Mr. St. Clair," the Chairman, a withered man named Halloway, stammered, standing up. "This... this is highly irregular. The Matriarch is incapacitated, the legal status of the succession is currently in a holding pattern...

Matriarch de Jardin shook her head at her grandson adamantly, her grimace still painted on her face. Of course she wanted peace. Of course she wanted the killing to end. It had been going on since before she took up the mantle of Matriarch. “Having power doesn’t mean pushing your own agenda,” she replied. “Power is service. In my terms, I serve the needs of the Dukedom, who themselves serve their fief. Since more than half the fief demands our defense of our colonies, then we serve that need.

And then, Elder Veda walked in. She was a small woman, shrunken with age, wrapped in layers of heavy wool shawls that smelled of sage and unmistakenly like wet dog. She carried a walking stick made of gnarled weirwood, topped with a clouded crystal. Despite her size, she sucked the air out of the room. She was the Matriarch of the High Council, the Keeper of the Old Ways, and the only person Fennigan had ever seen his father nervous around other than his mother. Everyone in the room stood immediately. It wasn't a choice; it was instinct. Even Jax, usually irreverent, straightened his spine.

“You’re the matriarch, after all.” Olympias rebuked anxiously, “I don’t want to be the matriarch, Grandpa! You should look for someone else to do the job. Furthermore, I am married, and my husband is still awaiting my return to Regal Palace.” “End of discussion! You must keep the position as the matriarch!” Regis insisted. “It’s fine if you really don’t want to do it! You can get your Uncle Dillon back. You can leave when he returns.”

At the center stood a dais, and seated in a perfect circle around it were thirteen thrones. The First Houses. Each elder a sovereign unto themselves. Older than kingdoms. Stronger than empires. United only by blood and the lust for dominion. At the circle’s heart was Seraphyne Valcoran, High Matriarch of the Black Rose, whose rule stretched back to the Age of Wyrms. Her hair shimmered like spun moonlight, her eyes fathomless voids. Her presence pressed against the chamber like deep water, silent, but suffocating.

“Unborn. Conceived through a fertility spell of the old tongue. That spell is forbidden to be used without consent.” The Matriarch’s smile faltered. Maika stepped forward. “The child carries my son’s blood. His power. His legacy. I want the truth, Matriarch. One of your family used him. And if you value your name and line, you will tell me now who it was.” Silence fell heavy as thunder. The Matriarch exhaled slowly, then gestured. “Summon the young witches. All of them.” Within moments, the younger Moonwell women—Lysandra among them—were gathered in the hall. They stood in an uneasy line, all too aware of the storm hovering in the vampire princess’s eyes.

Maggie explained and Livey sighed that she Atleast knew the beginning. “What has that got to do with you?” Maggie asked again. “Was your mother alive during that time?” Livey changed the question. “Yes” she said confirming the speculation that Loretta was really the witch who cursed her. “I am Patriach, I mean I was Patriach, your mother cursed me on the day I was born” Livey stated and Maggie got up puzzled. “I know my mother cursed Queen Patriach but how is she you, Queen Patriach is dead” Maggie stated what she knew so far about the connection between her family and the late Queen.

I tried to scream, but it came out as a weak wheeze. I looked out the shattered window. My father, Henry Williams, stood under the orange glow of a streetlamp. He was holding my daughter. He looked at her like she was a trophy, not a human being. The Matriarch stood beside him, her black veil fluttering in the wind. She held a long, thin blade that glinted like a snake’s tooth. "She’s perfect, Henry," the Matriarch whispered. "A clean slate. We will raise her to be the queen we always wanted."

Or we can drag this out if you prefer—I've got nothing to lose. I was about to walk out when Mandy's voice, frail with age, stopped me. "Emma, it was the Harris family who did you wrong. I'm the old fool who messed up, who drugged you. Scared of being blamed by the kids, I let you suffer all these years. I'm risking my reputation here to apologize to you. "Emma, you love James so much. And think of Calvin—he's still so little. Can you bear to leave him?"

I turned slowly back to the wooden wheelchair sitting beneath the looming shade of the ancient ironwood tree. Sitting in the chair was the Matriarch of House Argyros—the high elder who held the final power to break or seal the sacred mate bond between me and the Supreme Alpha. "Gorgo..." the old matriarch whispered, her fragile, withered hands trembling against the carved armrests.