A Stranger Sort of Fairy Tale, page 2
He met Tullia at the top, her crimson gaze deeper with annoyance, her lips a thin line across her face. “Took you long enough.”
“Just open the gate.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Tullia was imperious, brusque, and irritable at the best of times.
She peeled it back, still glowering as he slipped into the relative seclusion of the balcony. Tullia closed the gate again, peering down the stairwell to ensure no riffraff had decided to follow him up.
Tanaquil smiled demurely at him, ducking her head in deference. He leaned back as she did so; her branching horns, so unlike his and Tullia’s, were always at risk of stabbing someone, even though she would never hurt someone intentionally. The albino succubus was far too gentle for that.
He extended his hand to her, which she took and pressed her petal-soft lips to. She glanced up at him, a slow smile quirking her lips, even as they were flush against his skin.
He pulled away. Tanaquil was a rarity, an exquisite beauty, but she still unnerved him at times. Normally, her gentle nature had a calming effect for him, nullifying more vibrant energies such as Tullia’s.
Not so tonight.
“I heard you requested my presence, sister,” he said, turning to Tullia.
“I did,” she replied, lifting her head just a touch.
“I also heard our cousin was here.” He slid his hand along the ornately carved arm of one of the chairs.
“I am.”
He jolted. Aleks was nearly hidden in the shadows and the thick curtains drawn over the doorway at the other end of the balcony. He grinned at Tarquin, all fangs.
Tarquin tucked his hands into his sleeves, bowed low himself. “Your Excellency,” he murmured, “pardon that I did not see you there in the darkness.”
“Your eyesight must be going,” Aleks said, still grinning as he inspected his claws. “Is twenty-one really so old?”
He paced around Tarquin, who eyed the blond warily. “Hm? Or perhaps you’ve gone blind from lack of sleep. Or perhaps this new-fangled diet you’ve taken up has done more damage—”
Tarquin straightened. He sought Tullia’s gaze. “What did you tell him?”
“Oh, Quin,” Aleks scoffed, “she didn’t have to tell me anything. We’ve heard all about it in Rus, so Father sent me to get it straight from the lion’s mouth.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear,” Tarquin countered.
“No, but I don’t think my eyes deceive me, and you are a sorry sight to see, cousin!”
Tarquin whirled on Tullia. “Is this it? You’ve called me down here to have him badger me into what exactly? You’ve staged some sort of intervention for—”
“Quin.” Exasperation bled from her tone.
“For what? To what end, for what purpose? I can’t control it, Tullia. If I could sleep, don’t you think I would? If I wanted to eat, don’t you think I’d do so?”
“Quin.”
He threw his arms wide. “It’s pointless!” he cried. “Your concern is misplaced, your efforts misguided—”
“Quin.”
He glanced down at Tanaquil, who smiled up at him. “There’s someone you ought to meet.”
He groaned inwardly. He didn’t even want to know how many women he’d been gifted in the last two months alone, as everyone scrambled to curry favor with the new king of Arubio. The harem was overflowing.
He couldn’t keep them all, and he certainly had no desire to. He hardly slept with them. In the past few months, his feeding had become less and less frequent, such that most of the newer additions to the harem had never seen the inside of his chambers. They were beautiful, eager to please. But there was something faux and distasteful about it, as though they’d all been told to get on their knees, that if they used their mouths to worship him with more than words, one of them might be queen.
It made him sick. He could scarce stand the taste of ambition, the desire for love, the adoration they heaped upon him. And it wasn’t them alone; it was everyone in the palace, every noble he met, every warlord. They were all bitter with ambition, sour with ulterior motives.
He’d forced himself to eat before, but lately, he couldn’t be bothered. What was the point of feeding if it brought him no pleasure?
Aleks turned and pushed the curtains aside, leaning out into the hallway. He waved a couple of times, his robes swinging wildly. “Your uncle has taken it upon himself to ensure you begin work on securing and solidifying your reign. Your coronation tomorrow is excellent, but you ought to turn your attention to domestic matters, such as marriage.”
Tarquin couldn’t help how his lip curled in disdain. The last thing on his mind was getting married. He was even less inclined if someone had made the arrangement for him. Incubi mated for life, and, given that he could live a millennium or two, he didn’t fancy a marriage of political convenience.
“I present to you Crown Prince Viridian of Fiddach.”
Something—someone—ducked through the portal and stepped into the light, even as Aleks let the curtain swing shut again.
Tarquin stared at the creature, and the creature stared back. It was humanoid, much as any of them were, but it most certainly was not human. It had a shock of fire-red hair and enormous green eyes, like emeralds in its moon-pale face. Its nose was very slender and rounded at the end. Its mouth was thin-lipped and rosy, open just slightly, two tiny white fangs poking out.
It was long-limbed, slender, and it was swathed in an ornate gown of layers and layers of airy, red chiffon.
Perhaps most curious of all were its wings. There were four of them altogether, arranged in two sets, with the forepair extending some feet above the creature’s head. The hindwings were smaller, much more tailored. All four were brilliantly green, metallic and glimmering in the lights, dashed through with purples and golds.
“What is she?” he asked finally. He’d never seen anything like it.
“You don’t know?” Tanaquil had a hand to her lips, suppressing laughter.
“He’s a fey,” Aleks said, and the creature stood up a little straighter, a look of indignation crossing his face. “This is an estelline fey.”
“A star faery,” Tanaquil said, turning to him with that strange smile of hers.
Tarquin grunted, then tucked his hands in his sleeves.
The fey stared at him, blinking those unnaturally large eyes, and he stared back, unsure of what to say or do.
An arm settled about his shoulder, and he looked at Aleks, who grinned. “What do you think?”
He dragged Tarquin closer to the fey, who blinked again. His antennae bobbed as he tilted his head to the side.
Aleks grinned, holding out Viridian’s hand to Quin. “He emerged just before we left. Of course, you know with fey, you don’t know whether they’re male or female until they’ve come out of the cocoon. He’s the first male.”
“What do I want with a male?” Tarquin huffed. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m male myself, and so—”
The fey jerked away so violently, it was almost like a slap. Tarquin stared at him, and Aleks glanced between the two of them, almost laughing. “He’ll warm up,” Aleks said, offering Tarquin an apologetic grin. “It’s been a long haul, you understand, and he’s a little disoriented, likely—they’re not really nocturnal creatures either, so …”
He trailed off, sucked at his teeth. He glanced down at his feet, then gestured to the fey. “Well, go on! Say hello!”
“Can he talk?” Tarquin asked, tilting his head to get a better look at the creature’s face. His eyes were about the same color as his wings, rimmed with black markings. His features were delicate, almost feminine.
“Oh, yes,” Aleks said. “He’s just … shy.”
The fey curled away again, and one of those wings shot up, forming a barrier between them.
Aleks frowned. “Oh, come now,” he muttered. “Don’t be like that.”
Tarquin sighed, then turned to the pages. “Take him away—I’ll figure out what to do with him later.”
“Later?” Aleks said. “Where shall they put him in the meantime? Just shove him in a closet or the hallway, or the harem—”
“There’s no room for him there.”
“I take it you’ve received a lot of gifts lately,” Aleks chuckled with a sinister grin.
“And yet only one male purported to be a bride fit for a king,” he muttered, tucking his hands in his sleeves. “You can figure out what to do with him.”
“Very well,” Aleks said, “send him to the king’s chambers.”
Tarquin glared at his cousin. “Are you quite mad?”
“I believe I’m the only one in the room with any sense. Does it not make sense to send a bride to the husband’s chambers if every other room in the palace is full up?”
Tarquin gritted his teeth. “Enough. I’ll excuse myself from this chicanery,” he growled.
“Cousin!” Aleks cried. “You’re such a dour old man already. It’s scarcely gone midnight. Is your carriage going to turn back into a pumpkin?”
Tanaquil held her hand across her mouth; it did nothing to disguise her laughter. Tarquin crinkled his nose. “A what?”
Aleks waved a hand airily. “The party’s just getting started! Why, sometimes, parties in Rus rage until dawn.”
“Ugh.”
“It’s not like you sleep,” Tullia huffed. “Where are you hurrying off to?”
“Peace and quiet,” he returned without hesitation.
Tullia rolled her eyes. “Not this again,” she muttered.
Aleks quirked a brow. “What again?”
“He’s ‘sensitive,’” she sneered, crunching her fingers.
“I am!” Tarquin snapped.
“Oh please!” Tullia whirled on him. “What kind of incubus are you? Can’t stomach anything—not even pleasant emotions, not even a little taste of the sheer euphoria in this room?” She pointed to the floor below them, the thronging crowd undulating to the music.
Tarquin gritted his teeth. “I can scarcely stand anything, least of all the hedonistic ecstasy of three thousand drug-addled barons, these peacocks, the—”
“Enough,” Tullia scoffed, crossing her arms. “The very idea is ridiculous. It’s pleasant—”
“It’s disgusting.”
“You two are making it rather unpleasant,” Tanaquil murmured.
Aleks laid a hand on either of their shoulders. “Quin, Tully,” he said, drawing a glare from either of them, “let’s stop this bickering. Quin, what’s say we continue your audience with Viridian in private?” He leered.
“I’ve no reason to entertain a man further than I already have.”
“Oh, I think you’d be surprised.”
Tarquin rolled his eyes. Aleks clapped him on the shoulder. “Come! There’s much to discuss about the marriage contract.”
“I am not discussing marriage contracts—”
Aleks tightened his grip on his shoulder, digging his claws in. He smiled at Tullia. “Good night, dearest cousin!”
Tullia kicked at the carpet, then muttered, “We’ll see you at breakfast.”
“And when, pray tell, is breakfast?” Aleks asked. “I can’t imagine the dining hours are very regular in your household, given the master’s dining habits.”
Tarquin ignored the jab. “We keep regular dining hours.”
Tullia was unmoved. “You’ll find us in the banquet hall an hour after sunrise—eight.”
Aleks nodded. “Very well,” he said, “I look forward to our next meeting.” With that, he herded both Tarquin and the fey out of the room.
2
A Restless Night
Tarquin folded his arms as they passed through the antechamber. Aleks glanced behind them, then pulled the door shut.
The fey, Viridian, glanced nervously between the two of them but said nothing. He kept blushing whenever Tarquin made eye contact.
Tarquin perched on the sideboard, glaring at his cousin. “Now, Aleksandru, allow me to be frank. I’m in no position to consider marriage—”
“On the contrary, you’re in the perfect position to consider a marriage. You’re about to be crowned king after winning back your suzerainty. You need to consolidate power—a strategic marriage, an heir is the perfect solution.”
Tarquin huffed. “And yet you’ve brought me a man, Aleks. Has the emperor gone daft? Should we relegate him to playing chess and allow you to rule in his stead? How do you propose I go about procuring an heir with another man?”
“Ah,” Aleks said with a sigh, “Viridian is male, but he’s fey. In fey, males are the ones who become pregnant.”
Tarquin squinted at Aleks. It was on the tip of his tongue to argue with that, but Viridian said, “We are? I can?”
He sounded just as surprised, and when Tarquin glanced over at him, his eyes were wide, his expression slack-jawed, as though he were baffled by the proclamation.
Aleks waved a hand, dismissing the subject. “Quin, the emperor has selected Viridian as your bride. You ought to know better than to question his wisdom, after all he’s done for you—do you honestly think my father would steer you wrong after he worked so hard to put you back on the throne? Mother wouldn’t allow it.”
Tarquin lifted a brow, tapped his claws along his biceps.
Aleks huffed a breath. “We’ve been charged with finding Viridian the most advantageous match by his parents, Monarchere Cyan and Monarchiete Jonquil of Fiddach.”
Tarquin frowned more deeply. He’d heard of Fiddach, but he was hazy on his northern geography. “If Viridian is male as you contend,” he said, “then why is he romping about in a gown? Ought not he be attired as a male?”
“Optics,” Aleks grunted. At the same time, the fey blurted, “I like dresses.”
His eyes went wide, and his cheeks turned shockingly pink immediately after, as though he were horrified by what he’d said. His wings curled down, over his mouth. He dropped his gaze, twisting his hands around. “I mean, I prefer them. I-I didn’t ask to be like this, I wanted to be like my sisters, and—”
He paused, looking back at Tarquin.
The dark-haired incubus lifted his brows and shrugged, sliding off the sideboard. “Aleks—take him elsewhere for the evening. He can return with you to Rus whenever you depart—I’ve no interest in marriage. I have a country to run.”
“Oh,” Viridian all but cooed, his wings curling down.
“Where do you suggest I house him?” Aleks asked.
“Perhaps he can stay in your chambers.”
Aleks opened his mouth to protest.
“If not, I believe the south tower is free.”
Aleks frowned at him instead. Tarquin grabbed one of the candles. “In fact, that’s likely best—come along. I’ll show you the way.”
x
The south tower overlooked the sprawling gardens, away from the mountains. It had long been disused, even when Tarquin was a child, and in the two years the rebels had held the palace, it had been entirely forgotten. The door was almost rusted out on its hinges, which squealed angrily as Tarquin tugged it open. He gestured Aleks and Viridian inside.
The floor was covered with a thick layer of dust and grime, indicating no one had been here for some time indeed. He nodded to them, brushing by as he took the light and ascended the first step of the creaking spiral staircase.
The wood was weak and rotting in some places, and more than once, he heard Aleks whispering, “Now, watch your step,” and Viridian gasping softly, as though startled.
Tarquin had to slam his shoulder into the door at the top of the stairs to get it unstuck, and he almost stumbled into the room himself, dust flying up from under his feet. He coughed a couple of times, then glanced back at his guests.
Viridian clung to Aleks, his hands wrapped around the blond incubus’s arm tightly. His features were pinched in worry, his wings curling downward again.
Aleks just looked angry. “My dearest cousin,” he began, “this is hardly fit for the crown prince of Fiddach, and that you think it might be acceptable to lodge such a noble guest here, of all places—”
“I told you,” Tarquin retorted, “there’s no room for him elsewhere. The palace is full up, and the west wing is essentially uninhabitable—we’re still digging bodies out from under the rubble.”
Aleks shut his mouth with a click. Viridian’s gaze swept the floor when Tarquin looked at him. Then, he seemed to resolve himself. He released his grip on Aleks and took a very hesitant step forward, his gown sweeping dust and dirt out of the way. He curtseyed, saying, “Your generosity is appreciated—one might put uninvited guests up on the floor or with the dogs, so that there’s a bed provided is enough for me.”
“Viridian,” Aleks chided, but the redheaded prince looked back at him and shook his head.
He looked up at Tarquin again. “Thank you.”
“Viridian, this is far below your station, and you’ve every right to demand he ought to put you up in his own chambers and he might sleep here—”
“I’ll be all right,” Viridian said. “It’s late and I wasn’t expected. I’m sure we can look to something in the morning.” He glanced up at the rafters, the thick cobwebs hanging from them. “Perhaps some housecleaning, if nothing else.”
The thick wave of fear that rolled over Tarquin was unexpected, and he glanced at Viridian. An amused smirk curled the edges of his lips. “Tell me, Highness, are you afraid of spiders?”
The fey cut his eyes at him, then hastily looked away. “I can’t say as though I’ve any love for them, no.”
Tarquin couldn’t help the grin. “And pray do tell, why is that? Because they feed on your kind? Perhaps they mistake you for a giant butterfly of sorts, wrap you up in their webbing—”
Viridian gave him a dull look. “I assure you, I’ve no love for creatures with eight eyes or legs, or those who crawl about in the dark and threaten others with their little fangs.”
