A stranger sort of fairy.., p.5
A Stranger Sort of Fairy Tale, page 5
They paused atop one of the hills, gazing skyward as the sunset turned the heavens a medley of brilliant hues.
“So you’ve sent me a fey—a male fey—because you think I ought to draw on different energy.”
“I merely ask you to consider the pleasures of a male body for once in your life, cousin. I don’t think you have, and I do believe the disdain you have for feeding isn’t borne of some unnatural whim to starve to death.”
“On the contrary,” Tarquin snapped, “I do think of the pleasures of a male body—my own, how I might slake my own hunger, how I might sate my lust on such mortal pleasures—almost on a daily basis.”
“So you are an incubus after all!” Aleks cried. “Very good, cousin—well. Tell me you’ll at least consider the fey.”
Tarquin made a face. “He’s fey,” he said, glancing down the path toward Viridian.
Aleks lifted a brow.
Tarquin shrugged a bit. “He has wings. It’s … weird.”
“You are so uptight,” Aleks sighed.
Tarquin snorted. “I’m not much bothered about genitals—either set is fine, both or none. But I’d prefer my partner a little less, well …”
He crinkled his nose. “If you’ll allow me to be perfectly frank, I’d imagine it’s like fucking a butterfly, and while I’ve certainly admired butterflies flitting about in the garden, I’ve never been so inclined to—”
Aleks wrapped an arm about his shoulder, drew him in close. “Listen here. A fey’s wings are the most sensual part of his body. Do with that information what you will, cousin, but I’ll be better satisfied if you use it to slay your curiosity about him.”
He held his gaze steady as he drew away from the other incubus. He backed up a few halting paces, then turned. “Viridian!” he called.
The fey turned. Aleks nodded. “Come along—we’ll get you tidied up before tea. You’re a mess. The future queen of Arubio can’t be so presented—”
“He is not the future queen of Arubio!” Tarquin snapped.
Aleks held his hands wide as Viridian returned to them. “I told you before,” Aleks said, “it is what it is—your uncle has made this decision for you. I suggest you lay down your reticence and accept it.”
With that, he laid a hand on Viridian’s shoulder and guided the fey back down the path, toward the south tower.
Tarquin shook his head, dislodging whatever scraps of conversation dared to linger. What kind of idiot did Aleks take him for?
He paused as he watched them go, lifting his tongue, pricking himself on his fangs yet again.
x
Dinner was another disastrous affair. He was still reeling over the ache in his fangs. He was sick with the possibility he wanted the fey. He could scarcely follow conversation, clutching a goblet of wine and smiling tightly as the nobles chattered around him. Noise, all of it, filtering uselessly through his ears.
Nothing made any sense. The world seemed to swirl around him, a strange dream, a waking nightmare. Everything was liquid, a gossamer reality he could shred with his claws.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized his own hunger. And he couldn’t reason why the fey, of all things, had made him feel it for the first time in months.
Part of him wanted to drag Viridian into a dark corner of the hall, sink his teeth beneath the fey’s skin, and find out why.
He mostly didn’t want to know, though. He wanted to send the fey away, to the deepest dungeon, back to Rus, and ignore him forever.
And yet, there he was, watching as Viridian made rounds of the room with Aleks, still dressed in the dusty red gown, curtseying appropriately to nobles, smiling and laughing.
He could. He could go over there right then and there, take Viridian by the arm and lead him away. No one would ask. Aleks would shut down any questions or rumors, and he could satisfy this curiosity once and for all.
And once that was done, he could get on with the important things he needed to attend to. The coronation. Ruling. None of this business about marriage alliances and Rus meddling in his affairs.
“Are you feeling all right?” Tullia asked.
He glanced up from his plate, jolted by her words. His hands were wrapped tightly around his knife and fork, his knuckles white, shaking with the effort of squeezing them so tightly. Both utensils were pristine, glimmering in the candlelight.
His meal was completely untouched.
He dropped the silverware, grabbed up his napkin and coughed into it. “Uh,” he said, “yes, of course. I’m fine.”
“You seem distracted,” Tanaquil said softly. “You hardly had anything at tea.”
“Is a biscuit or two really enough to sustain a grown incubus?” Tullia’s look was withering.
Tarquin dropped the napkin in his lap. “I’m just … thinking of tonight’s meteor shower,” he said.
“It’s tonight?” Tanaquil laid her hand over his.
He nodded once.
“I suppose we should all make time to see it then,” Aleks said as he and Viridian finally made their way to the table. He tugged out one of the chairs and gestured for Viridian to sit.
“Don’t indulge Quin, Aleks,” Tullia sneered. “He has more important things to be concerned about.”
“Oh Tully, don’t be like that,” Tanaquil chided.
“A meteor shower upon the eve of the coronation is a sign from the heavens.” Aleks smiled, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Of course we should watch it.”
“You needn’t,” Tarquin huffed. He glanced up at Viridian, then hastily dropped his gaze to his plate again. He needed space away from the fey. He needed to think.
“Oh, but I think we should.” Aleks grinned at Tullia and Tanaquil in turn. “What time will it be?”
“The peak will likely be close to three,” Tarquin replied automatically, “if I’ve done the math correctly.”
Tullia exhaled with exasperation. “If only you’d apply such precision to the books.”
Aleks looked at Viridian. “Don’t you think that sounds delightful?”
“I’ve never seen a meteor shower,” the fey murmured, looking at Aleks, and Tarquin pondered why Theophilus hadn’t just married Viridian to his own son.
“Wonderful,” Aleks enthused, patting Viridian’s hand, “we’ll see you then, cousin.”
Tarquin glowered at him, even as one of the servants picked up his untouched plate. They were making ready for the dance to follow.
He lingered at the table a while after that, much like some of the other guests, until the wine had run dry and the minstrels had stopped playing, making way for the magicians and their music. The candles were burning low, and the first of the lights flickered from a glowing staff when Tarquin left the room, bidding goodnight to a few nobles on his way.
The candles that illuminated the corridor glowed softly, but the shadows were thick, swirling about him as he headed back to his chambers. His footsteps echoed, and Aleks’s words ricocheted about in his brain.
He wondered …
Did fey truly have access to a different sort of energy? Would that make it easier for him to feed? He’d always been more sensitive to aura than Tullia and Tanaquil, but it had been far more pronounced lately. During the days of the rebellion, he’d merely thought he was too busy for feeding. Now, however, his appetite was gone and he couldn’t seem to find it again.
He didn’t need to feed, just as he hadn’t needed to feed in the last hundred or so days—not that anyone had been counting. He could get by on human food. He wouldn’t die if he never ate energy again, but there was doubt about how healthy he’d be.
Zahir was in his corner, strumming his lyre. Two candles flickered in the evening breeze as it gusted in through the open balcony door. Someone had drawn the drapes around the four-poster bed.
Tarquin nodded to Zahir, who returned the gesture, then dropped his gaze to the lyre. Tarquin parted the curtains and crawled onto the bed. He let the curtains fall shut behind him, then hesitated.
He needed to sleep if he was going to entertain Aleks and the fey at three in the morning. He most definitely wasn’t hungry, and he most definitely wasn’t salivating at the thought of the fey being here, in his chambers.
Sleep. That was what he needed. He drew back the sheets and laid down, hoping to catch perhaps even the barest shut-eye. For the second night in a row, he tumbled into sleep, hoping vainly it would be sweet and dreamless. He begged the nightmares to stay at bay, to allow him even this brief respite.
And, surprisingly, they obeyed. Sleep might have been restful then, but his aching teeth begged to differ.
He wasn’t sure if he felt the motion or saw himself perform it, but he slithered across the room, which was warped around the edges. It was vague and shapeless, in that strange way dreams have, but he recognized it nonetheless, and he knew it was his bed he crawled onto. He sat there on his haunches.
The fey was in his bed, apparently sleeping, nestled under his covers. How he’d gotten there, the dream didn’t deign to explain. It merely was, and now he crept toward the sleeping creature.
It was classic incubus, he thought dryly as he straddled the redhead’s thighs. Night terrors, nightmares, that’s what they were. Humans told stories of being pinned down to the bed by a great weight, unable to move.
Tarquin flicked his tongue against his fangs, felt them descend again. The ache intensified, throbbing straight down to the roots of his teeth, begging him to sink them into something.
He’d never been so compelled, not even when he’d been teething, when the fangs had first broken through.
He leaned over the redhead, cupping his cheek, opening his mouth wide as he prepared to puncture him.
Viridian opened his eyes, then blinked a couple of times. “Hello,” he whispered in a voice that wasn’t quite his.
“Hello,” Tarquin purred as he dipped his head. Viridian seized up, shoving one hand flat against Tarquin’s chest. He made a nervous noise, and his wings curled in. “Imperator has never—never tried to …”
“You’re my bride,” Tarquin heard his own voice drawl. “You’re mine to do with as I please. And my cousin has given you to me that I might enjoy you.”
Viridian whimpered.
“You’re an adult now.” He ran his hands down the fey’s sides, felt him shudder. “It’s time for you to partake in adult things,” he murmured, leaning in closer, letting his breath wash over the fey’s neck.
Viridian squirmed underneath him. “But I …”
Tarquin turned his head, mouthed his neck, raked his teeth over his pulse. The fey tensed, cried out.
He kissed Viridian chastely—nothing more than a brush of lips against lips. He let one of his hands slide down the fey’s nightgown, down past his waist, down—
The redhead knocked his hand away. Tarquin growled deep in this throat. He settled his hands on either side of the fey’s face, held him still while he kissed him, deeper this time, demanding entrance to his mouth. Viridian granted it easily, but Tarquin took advantage, plunging in deep. Viridian met him shyly, and Tarquin encouraged him to play, their tongues tangling. The fey arched his back a touch, and Tarquin kissed him deeper, pressed himself against that supple body.
He pulled back, leaving the fey breathless. He nipped at the redhead’s bottom lip, nicking open the slightest puncture.
Viridian was flush with desire now, not embarrassment; his eyes were half-lidded and lusty, and even if he’d only dreamed it, Tarquin doubted he’d soon forget it.
He leaned back down, slipped his fangs back beneath the fey’s skin, through the puncture wounds, tapping into the creature’s energy.
It was completely unlike a mortal’s energy; there was something almost infinite, overwhelming about it. It was earthy and sweet, calm, almost soothing. He sucked a little harder, flicked his tongue against Viridian’s lip to stimulate the flow.
He needed more. He was hungry, starving even, and he craved it now. He clutched at the bedsheets; his claws slipped through them.
He opened his eyes wide and stared at the ceiling. He panted, then felt the tears in the sheets. He glanced to his right, but his bed was empty. Zahir was still strumming away in the corner, the soft sounds of his music coaxing Tarquin to relax again.
He dragged a hand down his face. What a ridiculous thing to dream. He touched a hand to his aching temples, then to his descended fangs. He let out a silent cry of anguish.
Why did they ache so much whenever he thought of the fey?
He opened his eyes again and blinked, waiting for the clock to come into focus. “Shit,” he spat, sitting up, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shimmied out from under the covers.
“Sire?” Zahir asked.
“It’s three.”
“So?”
Tarquin hurriedly tugged on a robe. Rapid-fire knocking echoed through the chamber, and he caught the minstrel’s befuddled glance as he scuttled toward the door.
Aleks smiled toothily at him. Tarquin leaned out the portal and frowned at Viridian. Of all the people he’d been hoping wouldn’t arrive.
The fey cowered a little.
“Cousin,” Aleks chided, “perhaps you ought to see that you’re decent.”
“Hm?” Tarquin glanced down. His robes were tied—
“It’s not exactly proper to greet people with one’s fangs on full display.”
Tarquin started, then flicked at his teeth until they ascended. “My apologies,” he murmured, glancing at Viridian.
“Mm,” Aleks said.
“I see my sisters haven’t accompanied you.”
“It would seem Tullia is rather less enthused about meteor showers,” Aleks murmured, stepping into his chambers.
“And Tanaquil?”
Aleks coughed, looking away. “Busy!”
“Ah.” Tarquin closed the door behind the other princes, trailed them across the room to the balcony, doing his level best not to look at Viridian.
“I take it you’ve been preparing for this?” Aleks asked.
Tarquin froze. He hadn’t prepared at all.
Aleks stepped onto the balcony. The telescope was standing there, pointed to the sky in a northerly direction. Tarquin relaxed, his arms falling to his sides with the sudden slack in his body.
Somebody else had set up for him.
Aleks crouched down, his hands on his thighs as he pressed his eye to the lens, even as Viridian hovered nearby, apparently awaiting his own turn. “You have a very different view of the sky here, cousin.”
“I’d imagine so,” Tarquin replied. “We’re much farther south.”
Aleks stood back, peering up at the heavens. “Can you see the cross from here?”
“No. I’ve heard you have to sail beyond the sea for that.”
“I’ve heard stories of it,” Aleks continued, “seen some drawings. Stunning stuff, really.”
He turned to Viridian. “Do you want to see the stars?”
“Oh, yes.” Viridian fluttered his wings again. He lifted his head, his emerald gaze meeting Tarquin’s.
Tarquin looked away abruptly. “Well,” he said, “we’ll miss it if you tarry.”
Viridian wrapped his arms around himself, pulled his wings in closer.
“Here,” Aleks said, guiding the redhead to the telescope, directing him to press his eye to the looking piece. “Look through there—now, tell me what you see.”
“Close the other eye.” Tarquin slouched against the wall, crossing his arms.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Let’s adjust it then,” Aleks said, then tossed a glare at Tarquin. The dark-haired incubus straightened up.
“What?”
Aleks gestured to the fey. “Can’t you see he’s cold? Get him a cloak or something, for the love of Selene.”
Tarquin huffed, but slunk inside nonetheless. He pulled a cloak out of the wardrobe, dragged it across the floor as he stepped back outside.
He settled the heavy velvet over the redhead’s shoulders, watching as it bent his wings; the fey folded them in, seemingly without a second thought, and the cloak fell evenly over his back, sweeping the ground.
Viridian glanced over at Aleks, who grinned, then stepped toward the door, his hands tucked behind his back. “Maybe Quin will help you,” he lilted, “after all, he’s the astronomer, not me.”
Tarquin hesitated, his hand still on the fey’s back, the kiss of the navy velvet beneath his fingertips and, underneath it, warmth.
He leaned over the fey’s shoulder, tipping the telescope upward a little. “There,” he said, “tell me what you see.”
“Still nothing,” Viridian replied.
Tarquin blinked. “That’s odd,” he murmured, then reached for the end of the scope. “Here—I’ve left the lens cap on.”
He plucked it off, pocketed it.
“Oh!” Viridian leaned in harder, put his hands on his knees. “It’s very red!”
“That should be Varaneus,” Tarquin informed him, sneaking a look back at Aleks. The blue-eyed incubus just gave him a knowing smirk.
Tarquin reached over the fey’s shoulder again and tilted the telescope again, this time in a more southerly direction.
Viridian sucked in a breath.
“The meteors will be bright streaks across the sky. You can see them with the naked eye, but with the telescope …”
The fey’s wings fluttered. “It’s all so pretty,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You’ve never seen the night sky?” Tarquin asked, shooting Aleks a questioning look.
“They’re not nocturnal,” the blond said sharply, and even Viridian turned to look at him.
The fey seemed to consider, then looked back at the telescope. “So pretty.” He fluttered his wings again.
Tarquin sucked in a sharp breath, grimaced at the ache in his jaw, driving up into his sinuses. Viridian’s energy was so …
Overwhelmingly cute. Innocent. Sweet.
Aleks sniggered. “What?” Viridian asked, pulling away from the telescope.
The blond waved a hand. “Nothing, nothing,” he chortled.
Viridian glanced up at Tarquin, who pursed his lips, hiding his teeth. He turned away, pointing. “Look over there, to the mountains.”
