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When she realized what she was holding, she sat down on the closest Queen Ann chair, the one with the French striped satin, and waved a steaming cup of Rasputin into existence.

She believed the best way to enhance a moment was with an accompanying black Russian tea.

As she lifted a delicate china cup to her still full and youthful lips, she began to read the message written in perfectly penned calligraphy.

After a third reading, she set the scroll down and asked herself what kind of creature might be counted on to be stable yet fearsome enough to bring an enormous crowd of magic kind to heel.

If asked, she’d never be able to say what inspired the notion of a beautiful man with a calming temperament and demeanor who could instantly shift into a menacing, giant winged lion intent on keeping order.

Once the vision was fixed in place, she had no trouble dashing off a description complete with colorful and evocative illustrations. The scroll included instructions on how to submit her entry. After rereading them, she loaded her proposal into the scroll then set it on fire.

That done, she sat back with a self-satisfied assurance she would win and said, “Hmmm.” Only then did she realize she was late to officiate the lake christening. Even Maeve wouldn’t maintain her outstanding standing long by disappointing dignitaries and appearing ‘flaky’.

“Shite bitters,” she said, vanishing so quickly, she displaced air and caused the drapes to rustle in the breeze.

Maeve wasn’t the sort to be sappy about honors or recognition, but it would be impossible to ignore a commission that had come directly from the Powers.

After all, they could do whatever they wanted on their own.

Perhaps they thought involving fae in the project increased its chances of success.

Perhaps they were right about that, but she couldn’t spend too much time speculating on the thought processes of the Powers That Be.

Meanwhile, some thousand miles to the east, Serafina had just submitted her own entry.

Like Maeve, she had good reason for arrogance.

Unlike Maeve, who was merely honored by a direct communication from the Powers, Serafina was set atwitter and was vibrating visibly.

She really wanted to be the one to create the new Court’s enforcer and submitted a fine plan detailing a creature resembling Big Foot, or blond Wookie if you will.

One of the differences that figured into the final decision was that Serafina’s creature would be “programmed” to respond to commands, whereas Maeve’s creature would be autonomous, able to exercise good judgment and act independently.

It was a mystery how someone not known for good judgment, such as Maeve, might create an entity with good judgment. But mysteries are one of the best things in any world.

The two features of Maeve’s creature that won the Powers over were independence and shifting.

There was considerable appeal to an intelligent enforcer with the appearance of a highborn fae who would sit at the magistrate’s left hand and know instinctively when it would be necessary to warn and when it would be necessary to shift and step in without external prompt.

Serafina wasn’t devastated by the loss to Maeve. But she was disappointed. Not enough to cause it to break her stride or be noticeable, but...

She told herself that she didn’t hold a grudge toward Maeve and thought herself above resentment, but…

A nagging envy took root deep in her heart and, as the centuries passed, it grew every time she observed Maeve collect recognition that might’ve been and, she believed, should’ve been hers.

Though Serafina has come to like me, to the extent she finds it possible to tolerate a human, it’s clear she originally befriended me to vex Maeve.

She never said so, of course. That was just my take.

When the dust settled, Serafina gained something more beneficial that she hadn’t factored in - favor with the one and only magistrate.

Naturally, that is a confidential secret.

It would be disastrous if the community-at-large found out I’m only human and have favorites.

It was a coup that far outweighed the pleasure Serafina might get from needling Maeve.

Even more significant was the next familial encroachment.

When Serafina gained Evie’s affection and trust and became her mentor, she knew, once and for all, it was a victory far more gratifying than creating the court enforcer.

Maeve was far too self-absorbed to recognize the implications or care.

The fact that the Irish queen wasn’t bothered didn’t affect Serafina.

She was old enough to think in big picture terms and make plans that would germinate according to the turn of seasons and manifest over time.

It never occurred to Evie or me that we might unwittingly become pieces on a chessboard overseen and manipulated by the Italian queen.

Thinking Serafina was friendly, if not a friend, I wasn’t alarmed by the attention paid to my daughter.

Evie and I were both grateful. After all, Serafina could help with the esoterica and give Evie badly needed tutoring on the highly specialized skill of how to be an effective fae queen.

A rare genuine smile graced Maeve’s face when she received the news that her creature would be the enforcer.

She’d not once been burdened by doubt that she could complete the mission successfully.

Why would she be? Her power to create made her the closest thing to a goddess.

In fact, some might say there was little to distinguish between an old and powerful Irish fae queen and goddesses familiar to humans.

The missive informing of her selection included a list of specifications and physical plans for the court, presumably so she would know how big was too big when creating her enforcer.

She wasn’t expecting the additional list of mandatory attributes not part of the original outline.

But first, who’s going to question the Powers That Be?

And second, the stipulations were easily within her ability. So, no big deal.

The delivery date was inconsequential. The first court was to convene in six seasons.

Maeve had no preference as to whether the demand was immediate or years in the future.

There was, however, an unforeseen snag. The Irish queen, notorious for lack of self-awareness, hadn’t realized she was a perfectionist until she embarked on the project.

There was little in life, other than her own pleasures and comforts, that Maeve took seriously, but recognizing the future of the proposed court and the honor of being the enforcer’s creator, she committed to giving her best.

Somehow, she found time between dazzling attendees at the Blue Moon Ball and cutting the ribbon for the opening of the Extinct Species Petting Zoo.

The queen liked to think of herself as someone beyond error, but quickly learned about the division between delusion and truth.

On her first try at a winged lion shifter, she realized she’d placed too much emphasis on ferocity.

The thing was so hideous she was forced to wish it away, which meant it was as if it had never taken physical form in the first place.

After half a dozen more attempts, all aborted, she was satisfied with the appearance of her creature in sephalian form.

After another series of edits, she was happy with the look of her masterpiece in biped form, but when she asked a question for simulated feedback, it was clear that her creature’s personality was not in line with the job.

Back to the drawing board.

After a handful more failed attempts, two ideas she thought of as brilliant tumbled into the mix of factors straining to be part of a perfect equation.

The first was that her sephalian would begin life in early childhood and mature over the course of six seasons under her supervision.

She reasoned that was the surest path to independent good judgment.

To ensure control over the young prototypes, she restricted her creation’s ability to fly so that it wouldn’t mature until close to adulthood. She’d be able to manipulate development at every stage so that the result would be the perfection she sought.

The second was that she’d create three, just in case. At least one would be her ideal. The first she named Kagan. The second was Killian. The third was named Keir.

She hired an even-tempered nanny named Grenvelma, who was an ogre shifter.

Grenvelma wouldn’t be able to curb the behavior of fully grown sephalia, but in her ogre form, she could manage to keep them in check while still very young.

If the plan was sound, by the time they were strong enough to overcome an ogre shifter, they’d be conscious of their own behavior and raised to make good choices.

Should there be any undesirable traits unaccounted for, they’d be caught and addressed during upbringing before they had a chance to became a problem.

Next, she hired a tutor to make sure the enforcer-to-be wouldn’t be missing a single nugget of information necessary for brilliant performance on the job. He wasn’t Merle the Mathemagician, of course, but he’d be able to match wits with almost anyone.

In an instant, Maeve rearranged the castle and added a nursery with tower.

The castle staff wasn’t the least fazed by floor plan changes because they were a common occurrence.

There was nothing remarkable about reporting for work in the kitchen only to find the kitchen had been moved to the wing where the ballroom had been before.

Staff jobs weren’t affected because their jobs were mostly decorative in nature. Maeve made sure the castle could clean and maintain itself without external support, but insisted on a full complement of staff so that she’d have admirers at all times, at every turn.

It didn’t take long for castle occupants to fall in love with the sephalian triplets.

They were beyond adorable, but it was still remarkable to have infamously narcissistic fae gush over others.

Maeve wasn’t jealous of the attention the young sephalia commanded.

After all, in her mind, the fact that her creations were irresistible was further testament to her genius.

The little ones grew visibly day by day. They played in the tower playroom next to their bedroom, learned command of wheeled vehicles in the long hallway, and studied liberal arts in the classroom next to that.

One day, Killian grew angry when Kagan threw his favorite toy through the tower window.

Killian’s little brow tried to crease as he attempted a snarl for the first time.

It didn’t sound like a snarl. More like, “Pffffft.” His tiny fangs, new and white as snow, involuntarily popped out.

When Kagan got over his surprise, he laughed at his brother while pointing at Killian’s mouth.

Of course that made Killian even angrier.

He lunged at Kagan, but Grenvelma arrived just in time to separate the quarrelling pair, holding them aloft by their collars, one in each hand.

Keir, who was the most even-tempered of the three, was indignant on behalf of his brothers.

He didn’t understand how he knew that they were too proud a species to be held by the scruff of the neck.

He just intuited that it was wrong. To the shock and amazement of Kagan, Killian, and Grenvelma, Keir shifted into his small sephalian form.

When his wings spread, they made a thunderous pop, but after filling his lungs with air to give Grenvelma a mighty roar, what came out was more like a squeak that caused his small body to bounce a little.

When he stood there looking more comical than ferocious, with one ear up, the other cocked to the side, the nanny laughed. She might’ve exercised some effort and restrained herself, but she didn’t try.

Keir remembered the toy that had been chucked out of the tower window.

He’d been surprised by the sprouting of wings, but reasoned that, if he had wings, he might be able to fly.

On impulse, he willed himself aloft. Once airborne, he cleared the window ledge and tucked all four feet for a nosedive, looking for Killian’s toy on the way down.

Grenvelma dropped the other two and rushed to the window from which he’d launched himself. “Well!” she said. “Would you look at that?”

Kagan and Killian weren’t particularly interested in her question. They stared at their nanny for a couple of seconds before their baby brains reasoned that, if their brother could become a winged lion, they could, too. Within seconds, they had shifted and flown through the window after Keir.

It seemed that Maeve’s built-in safeguard of restricting flying until late adolescence had been overpowered by Keir’s will, which wasn’t a trifle even as a baby sephalian. From that time forward, he’d most often been the one the other two deferred to for guidance. Or tie-breaking when necessary.