A stranger sort of fairy.., p.8
A Stranger Sort of Fairy Tale, page 8
Tarquin huffed. “Gaius,” he snapped, “that’s enough—”
“The hem is uneven, Majesty—”
“I’m late!”
“My apologies, Sire!”
5
Celestial Bodies
Tarquin had never been a fan of banquets and balls. They were useless events, filled with vain and shallow nobles engaged in nothing more than idle prattle. Rarely did they receive news, and it was even rarer anything actually got done at a feast, other than people becoming fantastically drunk, making asses of themselves, and wasting a good lot of expensive food and wine.
He liked them even less now. When he was bored, his mind wandered. A wandering mind was, perhaps, not so inherently bad, but his tended to wander into the deepest, darkest shadows of his memories.
He’d become more sensitive to crowds since the rebellion. He’d always been keen, of course, able to read the room better than either of his sisters, and certainly better than Mother had ever deigned to. But now he was used to scanning crowds for ill intent, for wrath and jealousy. And while he doubted any in the palace upon the solstice wished to do him harm, there was still malicious intent—ambition, pride, petty jealousies.
He hated ulterior motives, and moreover, he hated those who believed they could mask their true intentions from him. They did a disservice to his incubus nature.
One sometimes had to do things one didn’t wish to do, and it was especially true of a leader. Arubio’s happiness came above his own, the people’s well-being before his.
With that in mind, he strode into the banquet hall. Trumpets blared upon his entrance. He paused, glancing about at all the bowed heads, the nobles upon bended knee. It was a sight he’d waited a long time to see.
A hush fell over the room as they waited. He peered at the room a moment longer, drinking it in. Then he lifted his hands. “Most noble guests,” he boomed, “let us celebrate!”
Glasses were lifted; a hearty “hail!” rang to the rafters. Heads lifted; chatter resumed. The band struck up again. Someone handed him a goblet of wine.
“Well, cousin,” Aleks chortled, “how does it feel?”
“Little different,” Tarquin informed him flatly, glancing about for the fey. But Aleks was alone.
“Majesty.”
He turned to face Ephraim and Tullia. The dragon lord nodded stiffly to him.
“No sign of the mystery woman from the temple,” Ephraim sneered as he swirled wine in his glass. “I say.”
“There had better not be,” Tullia grumbled.
“Now what would be the harm in that?” Aleks’s tone was cheeky, drawing a glare from Tullia.
Ephraim snorted. “You know full well.”
Tarquin busied his mouth with wine.
“How long do you think it will take them before they actually serve the food?” the dragon asked.
“Are they slow?” Aleks inquired.
“Took them three hours last time,” Ephraim grunted. “We were all well and drunk before a single morsel was on the table.”
“Isn’t that how banquets are supposed to operate?” Aleks smirked.
“Majesty!”
They turned to see the duke of al-Kadi approaching, his hand outstretched. Tarquin extended his, allowing the duke to catch it and kiss the back of it as he knelt down. “Majesty, you have al-Kadi at your service. If you call, we will answer.”
“And I am glad of it. My forebears relied upon the strength and courage of al-Kadi to hold the northern border, and I too have now had cause to call upon the formidable strength and tremendous loyalty of the giants of the north. I should be honored to come to al-Kadi’s aid should that hour ever arrive.”
The duke bowed his head. “There is another matter, one that might bind our fealty more tightly.”
Tarquin frowned.
The duke glanced up, then said, “My daughter, Thurayya, has been in your possession for some time now, and—”
“Oh, not this again,” Ephraim snorted.
Tullia jabbed her elbow into his ribs, even as the duke glared at him. The duke turned back to Tarquin, then said, “Have you given any more thought to the marriage proposal?”
Tarquin suppressed a sigh. “My answer is unchanged, I’m afraid. Lady Thurayya remains well within my care, and her company does please me. Yet I think we should prove a bad match.”
“Who else is there?” the duke demanded.
“The lady in purple,” Ephraim laughed, lifting his brows.
“Will you hush?” Tullia snarled at him.
A thunderous look crossed the duke’s face. “Yes!” he cried, rising to his feet. “What was the meaning of that?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask myself,” mumbled Lord Zakir, who had just arrived. He glanced at Tanaquil, who frowned, even as she took his hand. “Have you been seeing someone?”
“It wasn’t my niece Amira,” Ephraim remarked. “Too slender and willowy—like a twig you could snap in half.”
“It wasn’t Thurayya,” al-Kadi huffed.
“I can’t think of a better match,” Zakir said, “than my sister Yasmin.”
Aleks was looking across the room, his hands outstretched as he cried, “And here, I think, is another contender!”
Tarquin glanced over his shoulder toward the door. Sure enough, Viridian had just passed through the portal, distinguished from every other veiled creature in the room by the twin peaks of his wings high above his head.
He was swathed in purple still—no longer the drapes, but a proper gown, glittering with amethyst beads and gold embroidery. Aleks steepled his fingers, grinning broadly at Tarquin. “I had Themis the dressmaker whip something up,” he all but gloated, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight.
Tarquin half-debated spitting his mouthful of wine into his cousin’s face.
“You didn’t.” Tullia’s tone left no question as to how she felt about the fey’s arrival—a mixture of abject horror and disappointment.
“And why wouldn’t I?”
“Brother,” Ephraim began, even as the duke thundered, “Majesty! What is the meaning of this?”
Viridian placed himself between Aleks and Tarquin. He offered his hand to Aleks, who took it and kissed the back of it.
Tarquin glanced at the others, checking their reaction. Both Zakir and al-Kadi looked quite perturbed. And why shouldn’t they be? The grand prince of Rus kissing the hand of another was an act of deference rarely witnessed.
Ephraim’s eyes glinted, and Tarquin took another hasty sip of his wine, trying to wash away the taste of dragon anger as it rolled across his tongue.
“Gentlemen,” Aleks said, “I present to you Viridian of Fiddach, the heir to the throne and Majesty’s intended.”
“Aleks,” Tarquin hissed.
Viridian pushed back his veil. “Thank you, Your Excellency. Lord Ephraim of Jokeithe, I’ve already had the misfortune of making your acquaintance. I hope that we might come to be on better terms soon.”
Zakir snorted with laughter, then looked away when Ephraim glared at him.
“Majesty,” al-Kadi began, shifting his attention to Tarquin.
“I believe your business is with me,” Viridian interjected, and the duke turned back to him, startled. “You must be the honorable and noble duke of al-Kadi. Majesty speaks highly of you in private audience. He has nothing but effusive praise for the most loyal of his allies, the strength and courage of al-Kadi. I hope that we might find allyship ourselves, in protecting both Arubio and the throne.”
The fey lifted his glass. “A toast,” he offered, holding it aloft in al-Kadi’s direction, “to His Majesty’s health. May Helios guide us in our common quest to assist him.”
“Hear, hear.” Tullia’s tone was grudging, almost reluctant, but it belayed her surprise at the fey’s words.
al-Kadi nodded twice, his eyes glazed, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He lifted his glass, although he peeked at Ephraim and Zakir in turn.
Tarquin managed an uneasy smile. “If the bond of loyalty is so strong,” he said, “then I do not think al-Kadi and Arubio would turn their backs on their oaths over such a small matter.”
“The bug speaks eloquently,” Ephraim sneered, “but your marriage is no small matter, brother, and pretty words will prove no match to mighty deeds and noble actions.”
Viridian met his gaze unwaveringly. “I will move heaven and earth for His Majesty, and I suspect none of you will be so bold as to suggest you might do the same.”
Tarquin turned away slowly, unable to bear the conversation longer. Ephraim was shaking with rage, and al-Kadi was a mess of disappointment and hurt. Zakir seemed amused, but that emotion was lost underneath the groundswell of blacker feeling.
He couldn’t discern anything untoward from Viridian—no ambition, no pride. The fey wasn’t boasting. His easy confidence wasn’t a facade either; there was no fear emanating from him.
He spoke the truth, plain and simple. Tarquin wasn’t sure what unnerved him more—the angry dragon in their midst or the purity of Viridian’s intent.
He sat down heavily, staring at the far end of the hall, the tapestries hanging there. Tullia was beside him in an instant. “I didn’t know you’d agreed to the engagement,” she snarled into his ear as she leaned down.
“I haven’t,” he assured her.
She looked back at the party. Viridian was silent now, standing at Aleks’s side. There was a clear edge to the conversation. Aleks was protecting the fey while the other three were undecided as to what to do with the news.
“You’ve got to be careful,” Tullia whispered. He met her eyes, the concern inside those wine-red orbs. “We’ve already heard rumblings. Word’s gotten out about this already, and some people are very displeased at Rus’s involvement—”
“I’ll handle it.”
She pursed her lips. “You know exactly what they’ll say. That you’re nothing but a puppet for Rus, that Rus has staged a coup and they have you on a string—”
“Tullia.”
“Dammit, Quin! We’ve barely had this settled two months—stop them. Go over there and dispel this immediately. Send Aleks and the little insect back to Rus. Write to Uncle Theo and tell him you refuse.”
“I can’t do that,” Tarquin almost laughed. “Tully, how much wine have you had? Listen to yourself. You’re telling me to write to our uncle, the ruler of the most powerful nation on Uchakka, and refuse the bride he’s handpicked for me from among his vassals? Not only will I anger Fiddach, I’ll run afoul of Uncle Theo too.”
He paused, sneaking a look at Viridian. The now-familiar ache was building in his teeth again. He inhaled quickly, then set his goblet down. “Besides, how can I refuse? We’re deeply indebted to Rus. They could cause us to default or demand immediate repayment or cancel the loan—and then where are we?”
“You could at least tell them the fey isn’t your intended. That much is true, and it will quell dissent for the moment.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Of course.”
“Then get over there and tell Aleks to stop—Ephraim’s got smoke curling out of his ears, and al-Kadi’s likely going to put Aleks through the wall. And if you think telling Uncle Theo no is likely to cause a stir, I can guarantee you telling him his son and heir apparent has been injured …”
Tarquin grabbed his glass again, drained it. He snapped his fingers. Domitian arrived in an instance with another tray. The servant smiled, bowed low. “Majesty,” he said.
“Thank you,” Tarquin said, plucking up another goblet. He slammed it back, then left the empty goblet on the table.
Two glasses of wine weren’t normally enough to get him drunk, but it hadn’t exactly been a good idea to drink so quickly and with so little food in his stomach. He felt a bit dizzy even as he approached the group.
He came to a halt beside Viridian and stared at the fey. The conversation ground to a halt as he stood there, and he felt the lords turn their eyes on him, questioning.
He stared down into Viridian’s enormous eyes, which were shining like emeralds, the light refracting through them.
He reached for the fey’s hand. “Would you like to dance?”
That wasn’t what he was supposed to say, but Viridian hesitantly gave him his hand, and he was committed now. He closed his hand over the fey’s and led him out on the floor. They took up a space between the other couples.
Viridian glanced away, even as he wrapped a hand around Tarquin’s shoulder. “That was rather abrupt of you,” he said.
“Yes, well,” Tarquin huffed, stepping into the first motion as the band struck up again.
“If you thought I needed to be saved from the conversation, you’re sorely mistaken. Ephraim doesn’t like me, but I do believe Lord Zakir is inclined, and al-Kadi will come around—”
“No,” Tarquin answered, “I didn’t think that. I merely—wished to ask you to stop presenting yourself as my intended.”
“But that’s what I am.”
“Perhaps that’s what you were sent here for, but there’s no agreement between us yet. You’d do well to stop making enemies of my allies before we’ve come to terms.”
He twirled the fey about, then reeled him back in, before dipping him toward the floor. Viridian didn’t seem at all surprised; he simply leaned into the motion. It was unusual, because although this was a dance that had originated in Rus, the variant in Arubio had several distinctive features.
He pulled the fey back up and spun him about again.
“I think,” Viridian panted, “that we ought to come to terms rather quickly then.”
Tarquin fixated on the fey’s heaving chest, the rise and fall of his clavicles, the thrum of his pulse. He lifted his gaze; Viridian was staring him dead in the eye. “Your uncle seems rather partial to this arrangement, and I’d wager my parents have no objection to his choice. There’s no point in stalling.”
“You evidently don’t understand my situation.”
He dipped Viridian again, leaning over him, exhaling deeply. His teeth ached, right down to their roots.
“I think I understand you a little too well,” the fey retorted, a slight smirk curling across his lips.
Tarquin lifted him again, spun him about, gritting his teeth as they came back together. Viridian smiled and twined their fingers tightly together. Tarquin wanted to know where he’d learned that—he could practically taste the fey’s sweet energy, as if he’d dug his teeth in deep, even though they were scarcely touching.
Viridian’s eyes showed he knew exactly what he was doing.
Tarquin heaved a breath and spun him, faster and faster this time, as the music reached its crescendo.
He grabbed the fey about the waist, pulling him out of the spin, and dipped him down toward the floor. The music stopped; the final note reverberated on the air, slowly fading away. He inhaled deeply, trying to slow his thundering heart, still the ache of hunger, even as Viridian was suspended in his arms.
A smattering of applause drew him back to the room, and he released Viridian slowly, helped him back to his feet. He bowed and the fey curtseyed to him.
The band called out another number. Viridian cut his eyes at the dark-haired incubus. “I don’t know that one,” he said, “but there is another number I think we could practice, if Majesty is so inclined to give one a private lesson?”
Tarquin couldn’t help the growl that crawled its way up his throat. The offer was so tempting, and it was all he could do to resist. It would have been so easy to forget the politics of the situation, especially with so willing a partner …
The redhead just smiled up at him glibly, and Tarquin’s jaw ached.
He clenched Viridian’s hand. “Make it inconspicuous,” he rumbled, glancing about. He gave the fey’s hand another squeeze, then retreated to the table.
Viridian drifted back to the conversation with Aleks. A few moments later, he excused himself. Tarquin watched him leave from the corner of his eye. He noted the time, then called for another drink.
x
The clock had just struck midnight when Tarquin stumbled out of the banquet hall. The party had been dwindling for a little while, and at last, he saw fit to retire. He said his good nights, and headed out of the hall, wine goblet firmly in hand.
He finished the last of the wine, then left the cup on a window sill. He took the back stairs to the third floor. He bypassed his chambers and swept on toward his destination.
He let himself into the garden through the door between the banquet hall and the harem. It was dark, almost pitch. The air was biting. In the distance, he could hear the chamroskas calling to each other, their haunting howls renting the still winter air.
Slowly, he became more accustomed to the dark. He could hear the dying sounds of the party. He glanced up and saw a candle burning in the tower window.
He picked his way across the lawn, avoiding the shrubs and the bushes that littered the way. The door squealed when he opened it, but it gave much less resistance this time.
He closed it tightly after him, then slithered up the stairs, silently as he could. His fangs were already out. He could feel the shift coming on in anticipation of feeding.
Incubi were predators. There was simply no other way to describe them, and every sinuous move he made called out to some basal instinct to catch his quarry and drain him dry. He’d have to be careful. He was hungry, starving even, and incubi were dangerous in that state.
He crouched low to the ground and pushed the door open. He crawled across the floor, his nails clicking as he drew closer to the bed. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried; he was magnetized, hypnotized.
He wondered if he’d been cursed, if this was that fey magic Aleks had been talking about.
Viridian had drawn the drapes of the fabler—tattered and moth-worn as they were—and Tarquin gained the foot of the bed without so much as a peep from the fey. He rose to his knees, then flung the curtains wide.
Viridian was reclined on the bed, his wings slowly opening and closing, like a butterfly at rest. “Were you trying to sneak up on me?” he inquired. “You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.”
