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Poison 3 & 4
Chapter Three
Gael fell into his armchair and kicked his feet up on the ottoman, thinking that he should probably take his boots off even as his eyes closed. Just a few hours of rest, that was all he wanted.
A few hours of real rest, sleeping deeply and utterly relaxed, warm and sated. That was what he wanted, and sadly he would not be getting it. He was not going to risk anything, not so close to the Ceremony.
There was simply too much at stake.
Forcing his eyes open, Gael contemplated his boots, then made a face and reached instead for the brandy his manservant had set out for him earlier. Crystal clinked as he poured the brandy into a snifter. Sadly, the brandy would have no effect upon him. As the Unicorn, no manner of drug or poison could affect him – he was immune, by the power of the Form gifted to him.
Still, he liked to try – the most he got was a brief burn before his body undid the dulling effects the alcohol would otherwise have. A pity; he envied those who could drink away their problems for an evening.
A small fire crackled in the white marble fireplace, the spring nights still sufficiently chilly this high up in the mountains. He reached up with his free hand to unknot his elaborate cravat, tossing the silk fabric onto the table before picking up his brandy.
He sipped it idly, thoughts replaying the day, the highs and thoroughly depressing lows, the strains and problems that seemed to increase tenfold by the hour.
Mercy of the Gods, he wanted it all to be past him.
Despite his efforts, his eyes slipped shut again, head falling to rest against the back of the chair.
Only a brief, chill bit of breeze alerted him – for not a single sound had broken the silence of his bedchamber and he was too tired to let his senses roam to feel for anyone who might be close. Gael opened his eyes and glared at the figure sitting ever so patiently on his haunches, long black tail twitching back and forth on the carpet. “I told you no.”
The giant black panther gave him what could only be considered a pout. Gael set his glass down hard on the side table and stood up, stalking over to where the cat sat. “Noire, this is no time to defy me. I told you to go home. Leave!”
For reply, the cat merely shifted from pout to wounded glare.
Gael tried to hold onto his anger, born of fear, but he had ever been helpless against this man. He sighed, conceding defeat – for even he could only deny what he wanted for so long. “If you are going to defy me, Kitten, then I suggest you get on with it.”
Noire reared up, shifting to human as his paws landed on Gael’s shoulders, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, mouth immediately finding Gael’s and kissing him hungrily. Gael returned it full measure, pouring every last bit of the past two months of long, lonely nights into it, greedily tasting every bit of Noire’s mouth that he could.
His hands were no better, reacquainting themselves with the lines of a body he had ached to touch, had dreamed about, for far too long without the satisfaction of the real thing. “You feel like perfection.”
“Gael…” Noire said his name on a moan as Gael tugged his head back to tear away his neck cloth and get at that delectable throat, trailing kisses all along it, slowly tracing his way back to Noire’s mouth. “Missed you,” he said hoarsely.
“Not more than I missed you, Kitten,” Gael whispered softly, looking those pale blue eyes, seeing everything he felt reflected in them. “Come to bed.”
“Yes.”
Gael guided them toward the back room, out of the sitting area, not willing to release his hold or Noire’s mouth, trusting that his feet by this point knew the way. “You are still wearing those boots.” He shoved Noire down onto the bed, running his hands down Noire’s sleek body, soft and teasing, until he reached the top of Noire’s high boots.
“You like them,” Noire said with a playful smile. “I know you were trying not to stare in court.”
Gael said nothing, merely leaned over him to steal another kiss before setting to work removing Noire’s boots and then his own, a task that took entirely too long for his liking. He was rewarded for his patience, however, by the sight of bare skin as Noire slid his shirt from his shoulders, baring his chest to Gael’s hungry gaze.
He reached up and pressed his mouth to one of those fine shoulders, tongue flicking out to taste, teeth nipping, teasing. He climbed up onto the bed, trapping Noire beneath him, and leaned down for another kiss, hard and hungry, leaving his mouth bruised and aching. He licked Noire’s lips, wet and swollen from his kisses. “I hope you were not planning to get sleep tonight.”
“Definitely not,” Noire replied, and then nothing more was said.
He stirred as warmth was replaced by cool air, pale brown eyes sliding open to see Noire climbing from his bed. Gael lay still a moment, drinking in the sight of his dark, beautiful lover. He finally forced himself to move when Noire began to retrieve his clothes, throwing back the blankets – he would need to stoke the fire – and sitting on the edge of the bed. “You are leaving.”
Noire finished tugging on his second boot, standing up and stamping his feet to settle them properly into place. “I can hardly stay.”
“I wish you could,” Gael said quietly, willing Noire to believe him, to trust him. Keeping Noire a secret was tearing him apart, and he knew that it must hurt doubly so for Noire, who was fragile when it came to figuring out where he belonged. He motioned Noire close and took the shirt clutched tightly in his fingers, smoothing it out before helping Noire into it, pressing a soft kiss to his chest before reluctantly hiding it from view.
Noire fidgeted as Gael fastened his cufflinks and then set to work on his neck cloth. “You don’t have to help me dress, Gael.”
Gael smiled faintly and pressed a kiss to the pulse at his throat before reluctantly hiding that too from his gaze. “Believe me, Kitten, it is a pleasure rather than a chore…though I did enjoy taking them off more. You are temptation incarnate.”
Those fine-cut cheeks heated slightly at his words, making Gael smile and lean up to steal a soft kiss from those dark, tempting lips. “I am sorry, Kitten.”
Noire managed a smile, though Gael did not miss the pain deep in his eyes. “You don’t need to be. One day, right?”
“I do need to be,” Gael said softly, capturing Noire’s chin in his hand and dragging him down for a quick, hard kiss. “Three months and five days, Kitten, and they will all be lucky if I do not throw you to the floor of my confounded hall and have every last wicked way with you I can imagine.”
“Gael,” Noire said, eyes closing, throat working as the words ran through him. Then he opened his eyes and grinned. “I do not know what worries me more – that you actually might, or that the Lion or Eagle might ask if they could join us.”
“The answer would be no,” Gael said, hands running possessively over Noire. “No one touches you but me.”
Noire blinked at him. “Gael, I meant they’d want you – not me.”
Gael’s hands stilled, and he looked up at Noire with a fond smile, pressing his lips to the small bit of throat not hidden away. “Kitten, you are a treasure. My treasure, and I promise that on the day it is finally safe to do so, I will make certain every last person in Verde – the world – knows it.” He held tight as Noire pushed into his arms, smelling lingering traces of cologne, spring, and traces of them. It made letting go one of the hardest things he had to do.
“I love you, Gael.”
“Not a bit more than I love you, Kitten.” Gael gave him one last kiss before sternly telling himself that he had to let go. His arms, however, did not feel like obeying him.
Noire flashed one of his smiles that always made Gael love him more and more. Right from the first moment they’d met, those bright smiles had been his downfall. “I am going to get teased mercilessly when people realize you call me that.”
“No, you won’t, because you are my Kitten,” Gael said, the words growled. If anyone ever upset Noire when he finally was able to stake his claim publicly, he would skin every last one of them alive. “Now go, before I cave to weakness and drag you back into my bed where you belong.”
“Soon?” Noire asked, the word faintly whispered, but he leaned in and stole a last kiss, soft and full of longing, before Gael could answer, then turned and vanished out the bedroom window.
“Soon,” Gael repeated softly. Neither of them had been willing to voice the worry that underlined everything. In three months and five days the Ceremony would take place. He hoped valiantly that in three months and six days he was alive to tell the world that his heart belonged to Noire Chevalier.
Not even bothering to make an attempt at going back to sleep – there was no way he could when the bed smelled so heavily of he and Noire – Gael fetched his night robe from the foot of the bed and strolled back into his sitting room and the brandy that had remained untouched since he’d found something far more enjoyable.
Stifling a sigh, refusing to mope, Gael went to the small writing desk at the far end of his sitting room and lit the small oil lamp there. He knew he was alone, but always he fretted anyway, and sat for several minutes, letting his powers rise, feeling out that the house really was as still as it seemed.
He wished sorely he could still feel a presence in his bed, but he had already told himself he would not mope.
Finally he began to move again, opening the small, center drawer of the desk, fingers crawling all the way to the back of it, behind it, to the small release hidden there. Something clicked faintly, and Gael closed the drawer. He opened the bottom left hand drawer and removed the small portion of the bottom which was false.
There, in the bottom, was his last resort. Soft brown leather tooled with gold trim along the edges and binding, the edges of the paper itself to protect from dust. He lifted it from its hiding place and set it on the desk, opening to a blank page and pulling a quill from its well on his desk. In a neat, scrawling hand he wrote the date…then let his hand idle as he pondered on how precisely to recount the day.
If everything else failed, if in three months and six days he was dead, then this journal would hopefully help prevent the tragedy next time. Perhaps something about his life would offer vital clues that had been missed every other time. He had to hope. Gael closed his eyes against the fear that made his blood run cold. Fear of dying. Fear of not dying, but becoming a god instead…fear for Noire, for something in him from the very first had screamed that it would be a bad thing for anyone to know Noire was his lover.
Especially Etain and Freddie. They would not understand…though he had thought, for a brief time there, that Freddie would. He’d come so close to confiding in her, knowing his sterner ‘sister’ would understand, would somehow be able to help.
Then word had spread that she’d discarded her lover of the past couple years. A few days later Etain had called her Guardians Prospective to her Court and Gael had seen that nothing had changed.
Freddie and Etain, it seemed, were still very much in love with each other. Gael had felt despair crash through him – why couldn’t he feel it? They had been the closest of friends growing up.
Etain so bossy, but so sweet, able to make them do whatever she pleased – even when it got them all in trouble later. Freddie with her commanding presence, a strength of will that no one could defeat. Himself…the peacemaker, or so he often tried, though day by day he felt very much as though he were failing.
He wasn’t like his sisters, brave and bold. Just as alert and bossy, perhaps, but he did not charge about as his sisters seemed to love. No…he bickered, and argued, and otherwise hid away, writing secret journals and keeping the brightest, happiest part of his life a dark secret.
Gael buried his head in one hand, willing the pain away. He did this to protect Noire, because deep inside something told him that to reveal Noire to anyone – even his sisters – would end in a tragedy.
Etain and Freddie still loved each other – were as deeply in love as he had always tried to be with them. He did love them, and once they had all found pleasure with each other, but he’d always known his feeling didn’t match theirs…had not known what was wrong with him until that night in the glade…
He tried not to think about it, but how could he avoid reliving over and over the one night when his entire world had changed? Once upon a time, he, Freddie, and Etain had sworn to love one another for all time – Faerie Queen and Guardians, never to be separated, ascending to godhood to be together for eternity.
Except…Gael had found someone else with whom he’d rather spend eternity, though he loved his ‘sisters’ dearly.
The glade was situated at the farthest end of the property. No one but those who had permission to be on the premises would even think to go close enough to the glade to see it properly.
No one would ever actually enter it. The glade of sweet grass and a spring as pure and bright as crystal were used exclusively by his Grace.
Silvery moonlight spilled down from a clear, dark sky. Every last star was visible, an array of diamonds in finest velvet. The full moon was bright enough that travel was easy, even safe, for those that must journey.
In the distance was the manor, lights in nearly every window as the constant array of guests enjoyed the cool, bright spring night and servants raced about to accommodate them.
None of the noise reached the glade. There, all was still and quiet. Nothing but the gentle splash of water broke the silence, and the sound was almost painfully loud by contrast. After a moment, though, even the splashing ceased, and the figure at the edge of the spring made not a sound more as it lowered its head to drink.
The figure’s coat was perfect white, as bright as the stars that shone above it. His mane and tail were just as white, the perfect color almost painful to stare at directly. It was a magnificent creature, perfectly made, no flaws apparent no matter how long they were looked for.
More impressive than even its coat, the sheer perfection of its form, was the shining, golden horn on its head. A sliver of sunlight that reminded the moon overhead it was only second best.
The air around it shifted, blurred, and suddenly a man stood at the edge of the spring.
He was just as beautiful to look upon. Even in the moonlight, his hair was a fine, rich gold, reminiscent of the shining horn. Nor could the night hide the way his skin was sun-kissed, making it warm rather than the stark white that had been the Unicorn’s coat. He was dressed entirely in white, the clothes plain, simple. If he felt the slight chill in the air, he gave no indication, merely stood calmly at the edge of the water, watching the rippling reflection of the moon.
Abruptly he spun around, the tail of his hair whipping over his shoulder. His eyes locked upon a cluster of bushes on the far side of the spring, and he shifted effortlessly back into the Form of a Unicorn.
Who dares disturb me here? He demanded sharply, knowing his silent voice would thunder and reverberate in the head of the impertinent fool who was trespassing on his private property. Probably some curious child, or an especially foolish, curious adult – he had seen both tromping about his property before. A child would be sent home with a stern warning. An adult should know better, and he would be certain to drive that message home. Was it too much to ask that he be left alone to remember who and what he was, and to find reason to enjoy that fact? He did not like to think of his life as a burden, and this was his…
Oh. Gael felt his thoughts stutter and then simply stop.
He’d seen every manner of Form since being dragged away from the simple Baron’s estate of his parents, from delicate gray mice to fearsome red hawks and all the Great Beasts of the Court…including the White Panther.
This panther looked every bit like the Marquis le Blanc, except he was completely, unrelentingly black. Only Gael’s sharp eyesight, and the gleam in the panther’s pale eyes, gave him away. No wonder he had not sensed him at first.
More intriguing still was the clarity…the purity…of the panther’s spirit. It was as clear and pristine as his spring. Gael shifted back to his human form and beckoned. “Come out here and tell me who you are and what you do here. I do not take kindly to intruders.”
Obediently the panther crept out of the shadows and into the glade.
“Do not stay so,” Gael commanded, wondering at himself. It made little difference to him whether a person chose to stay in their Form or not – he was the Unicorn, he could communicate just as easily in silence as in speech. Something in him, though, burned to know what the man behind this Form looked like. He’d never seen a creature as beautiful as this midnight-colored cat. “Change and explain everything to me.”
The cat titled his head, as if considering whether or not to obey – then shifted, and Gael again felt his thoughts falter to a stop.
It made no sense. No one was the equal of his sisters for beauty…yet he thought that beside this man they suddenly fell quite short of that word. Even human, he looked something like a cat. Lithe, a little taller than average, and Gael could not keep his eyes from dragging over the muscles that shifted beneath the man’s clothes as he stretched. Dark hair fell around his head, just brushing against his face, and before he could stop himself Gael drew close enough that he could finally tell the color of those pale eyes – blue, so delicate and light they could almost pass for silver.
He wore simple clothes, those of someone who could afford nice things…yet something about the man made it clear he was not of the nobility. No…he lacked the arrogance that class wore like a second skin.
Ah. Now he recalled. He had been so busy lately, and hiding his sudden dissatisfaction with everything by hiding from Etain and Freddie, who knew him too well and would pester. “You are the cat hired by my sister to be her new messenger. Whatever happened to the elk she had?”
The man flashed a smile that made it hard for Gael to breathe. He struggled to remember how, tried to get his mind working again. Mercy of the Queen, was this what it was like to be drunk? What was wrong with him? He’d never known a smile could be so…devastating. “She retired,” the man answered, recalling Gael to the fact that they were having a conversation. “To live with a badger in the city.”
“I see,” Gael said, absently wishing the new couple the best – mixing Forms was not always well-received. “What is your name then? No doubt it was told to me at some point, I do apologize.”
Another one of those smiles hit him. “I hardly expect your Grace to remember my name. It is Chevalier. Noire Chevalier.”
“You come from the border,” Gael said thoughtfully.
“Yes, your Grace,” Noire said, smile fading away, looking suddenly downcast.
Gael blinked at that, and then realized that of course the man probably received much grief for that already. He struggled for something to bring back those smiles, furious with himself for turning so stupid. “Do you have relatives in Piedre? Do they make you give them rides and such? I once had a nurse who hailed from the Border Mountains. Her Form was a horse, and when she visited her grandmother in Piedre, her cousins always tried to make her give them rides.”
Noire looked at him for a moment, clearly startled, then threw his head back and laughed.
Perhaps mentioning riding was not his brightest idea, and Gael struggled valiantly to bury the thoughts that flooded his mind, hoping the dark hid the effect those thoughts were having on him. Confound it, he was never this affected by Freddie and Etain. What was the matter with him?
“Thankfully, my relatives in Piedre know better than to ask. My sympathies to your old nurse.”
Gael forced his mind to the questions he should be asking, and off the ones he wished he could ask. “What are you doing here, Master Chevalier?”
“I…” Noire ducked his head suddenly, hair sliding to shade his eyes, and Gael was struck by an image of a shy kitten ducking behind his paws. Obviously someone had finally discovered how to poison the Unicorn. Surely that must be the reason for this sudden, rampant stupidity. “Forgive me, your Grace. I gave in to an impulse. You have been remarkably tolerant of my impertinence. I merely wanted to…” He paused, and Gael realized suddenly that he was horribly embarrassed. Did his skin flush? It was impossible to tell by the moonlight. He realized he badly wanted to know and almost groaned aloud. “To see you. I saw you from a distance in the ballroom, and wanted to see you more closely. Curiosity, I suppose. You are quite different from her Grace.”
“No one is quite like Freddie,” Gael said dryly. “Is your curiosity appeased, Kitten?” The word slipped out before he was even aware he’d thought it, let alone said it.
Noire’s head jerked up, eyes wide with surprise – then it ducked again, and Gael didn’t like the look of shame that clouded that sleek, handsome face. He hadn’t meant to put that look there.
His feet moved before he gave them permission, closing the space between them and his hand was equally disobedient as it cupped Noire’s jaw and tilted his head up. “My apologies,” he said quietly. “I meant no offense…quite the opposite.” His mouth proved to be just as disobedient as the rest of him. “I believe I am jealous you belong to Freddie.”
Noire’s eyes widened in surprise, breath catching. He blinked, lashes long, eyes so pale and lovely, Gael could not have looked away had his life depended on it. “I…I work for her Grace…” He licked his lips, and Gael very badly wanted to do the same. “I do not belong to her.”
Gael gave up on preserving any of his good sense, ignoring the niggling sliver of fear that suddenly lanced down his spine. “Perhaps, then, you would consent to belong to me?” He hovered close, so close their breaths mingled, and his fingers went wandering of their own volition to the back of Noire’s neck, burying themselves in soft, thick hair and titling Noire’s head just so.
“Yes.” Noire breathed the word, and Gael repeated it before finally claiming those tempting lips.
Chapter Four
“You can’t make me,” Ailill said, folding his arms across his chest.
“I think he can, Highlander,” Luka said from where he reclined by the fireplace, boots propped on an ottoman that looked like it cost more than their yearly expenses. “The Boss is the only other one I know with a glare like that. No wonder you’re never intimidated.”
“Luka,” Ivan said levelly.
“Yes, Boss.”
Ailill glared at his valet. “I’m fine. Go back to your den.”
“You look appalling, my lord,” Andre replied with a sniff.
“Good.”
Andre merely lifted one thin, pale brow. Around the room Ivan’s men started howling. He shot a desperate look at Ivan, who leaned against the wall by the study window. Ailill never got tired of looking at his lover. Dark from head to foot, skin still tanned dark from all their time in Kundou, goatee lending much to the hard edge that made everyone describe him as ‘evil.’ He wished rather badly that everyone else would take themselves elsewhere. Ivan smiled at him in sympathy, then shot his men a warning look.
“My lord…”
“Fine!” Ailill said, throwing his hands up, conceding defeat. “By all means let us strip me of my dignity.” He stalked from the room, painfully aware of the sudden silence, not daring to look at Ivan.
Queen grant him mercy, he hated being nobility. He just wanted to be Ailill. Why had he come back?
Ailill sighed as he reached his bedroom, and wondered morosely how hard Ivan would laugh. He’d tried a thousand times to get his blasted servants – servants! – to tone everything down, but that’s what he got for hiring the upstarts no one else wanted.
Though he’d had plenty of fun firing all the snots that had kept the house until a new White Panther appeared. He grinned briefly at the memory.
Movement caught his eyes and he glared balefully at his valet. “It’s no wonder you were fired so often. What’s that word they always use for people like you?”
“Depends, my Lord,” Andre flashed a grin, “on whom you talk to. Insubordinate, maybe?”
“Mouthy,” Ailill said dryly as he began to strip, tempted to toss his clothes everywhere but knowing that would just make him seem even more like a petulant child.
The valet made a face as he picked up the discarded clothes. “Honestly, my lord, it’s undignified to go about like this. You’re a peer of the realm.”
“I’m a man who can shift into a white cat,” Ailill said shortly. “What did you put in this bath water?”
“If you’d taken much longer to cooperate, I was going to toss in rose petals,” Andre taunted.
Ailill grumbled and slid into the bath, beginning to scrub himself clean, determined to get everything over with now that he’d finally given in to the inevitable. “I don’t suppose the rest are being tortured?” He asked quietly as his valet began to lay out his clothes, humming softly – smug little ferret. “You’re awfully chipper.”
“We’re glad you’re back, my lord,” the valet answered, turning serious. “Even if you’re not.”
“I am,” Ailill said, wringing out his hair and climbing out of the tub. “Did you put lavender in this? I hate when you use flower-scented oils.”
The valet sniffed. “It’s all the rage, this season.”
Ailill made a face. “At least it isn’t primroses again.”
A soft chuckle was the only reply, and then Ailill was being attacked with superfine, lawn, silk and—“Put that lace down or I’ll skin you alive, ferret. With my teeth.”
“It’s the fashion,” his valet replied, and continued the assault. He stepped away when he was finished, bowing low – but not quite hiding his smirk.
“Impertinent,” Ailill said, “that’s the word I was looking for.”
“Ah, yes. Shall I send for your man?”
“May as well get it over with,” Ailill said glumly, starring miserably at his reflection.
As a Beast of Verde, he was expected to wear white. Lots of it. A dumb idea, but most of the ideas in Verde were in his opinion.
His staff had outdone themselves in his absence. His pants were white superfine, and fit well enough he wondered how hard they’d worked to fit everything to his measurements so soon after his arrival. His jacket fell to mid-thigh, this particular style meant to be left open. It was white embroidered with palest silver, buttons to match. The lace at his throat and the ends of his sleeves were also threaded with silver, drawing out the color in his pale hair and eyes. The white was almost livid against his skin, darkened by his travels. Silver and white were not the best choices for him, but he managed. Ailill stared at his reflection, the glum face of the White Panther staring back at him.
The opening of the door dragged his attention away, and he watched anxiously as Ivan approached. It looked like the servants had indeed gotten a hold of Ivan and his men. Though Ivan was always clean, refusing to look completely like a reprobate, he had obviously been forced into his own bath. Hopefully without the lavender. Ailill smiled at the thought even as he devoured the sight of his lover. Still dressed all in black, but the clothes were of better quality, lawn and superfine. His hair and goatee had been trimmed, and it looked as though they’d somehow manage to temporarily relieve Ivan of his weapons. A stunning feat – but Ailill knew he had a knife or two secreted away. His Vanya looked like a rogue, straight from one of the theatre performances.
A rogue who was looking at him but not saying anything. Steel blue eyes looked him up and down. Ailill tried not to show his nervousness as Ivan continued simply to stare. "Vanya?" He finally asked, hating the uncertainty he heard in his own voice.
"You look good," Ivan said huskily. "Real good. Like I probably shouldn't touch you good."
“Oh,” Ailill said.
Ivan flashed a grin. “Doesn’t mean I won’t touch you, just that I probably shouldn’t.”
“Oh,” Ailill repeated, returning the grin this time as he closed the space between them and bent to kiss his lover hard, possessively. “So you don’t mind me like this?”
Ivan stepped back and slowly looked him up and down, blue eyes growing heated. “Like I said, you look good. I can see where you wouldn’t like all this, lover,” he motioned to the room, “but you wear it well.”
“I’d prefer I wasn’t wearing anything,” Ailill replied, closing the space between them. “I’d prefer you that way as well.” He dipped his head to bite at Ivan’s throat, which thankfully hadn’t been hidden by a neck cloth – his servants hadn’t been foolish enough to try and dress Ivan up.
Murmuring in agreement, Ivan tipped his head to the side to give Ailill better access. “Your valet might have my neck for far less pleasant reasons if I ruin all his hard work so soon.”
“He’s paid to suffer,” Ailill said, fingers going to his own neck cloth, his other hand moving to the laces of Ivan’s shirt. “Let me show you my bed.”
“Please do.”
A few hours later, Ailill smiled pleasantly as Andre grumbled and groused about the mess they had made of their clothes, of the room. “It is not my fault, Andre, that you help make me look so good.”
Andre rolled his eyes and did not rise to the bait. “A message has arrived for you, my Lord, from the Palace.”
“When?” Ailill asked sharply, stirred from his thoughts on the man fast asleep in his massive canopy bed.
“While you were occupied.”
“Have it fetched at once,” Ailill said, snatching his arm away and fastening his cufflinks himself.
Andre sniffed. “At once, my Lord.”
Honestly. Andre would have more fun playing Marquis than he ever did…except he rather thought Andre’s greatest joy was telling the nobility how to do it.
“So you’re off to the see…the Queen? The Duchess? Saying you’ve a message from the palace is rather vague, isn’t it? There’s like, what, three of them?” Ivan asked from the bed, sitting up and rubbing at his close-cropped hair, his chest.
“Not me – us. If you’re willing, that is. It would be considered rude not to introduce you to Freddie, at the very least, though if the Queen is available she will probably want to meet you as well.” Ailill shrugged. “Not that I care about how rude or not we are. If you do not want to go I—”
Ivan cut him off with a snort. “Lover, I have never seen you worry so much. The Ailill I know worries about nothing. Stop fretting so. If you’re not embarrassed by the fact that your lover is an uncouth mercenary who should probably still be rotting in the dungeons of the palace, then I certainly do not mind going to meet all these fancy people.”
“You are never an embarrassment, Vanya,” Ailill said, finally getting his second cufflink into place and smoothing out his jacket, more interested in watching Ivan dress. “If anything, I will be horribly embarrassed when you meet the people I must call peers.”
That earned him a laugh. “They cannot be so different than what I encountered in Pozhar.” Ivan grimaced, and Ailill shared it, their thoughts wandering briefly to Zholty, imprisoned for life in the cells that had briefly held Ivan, his men, and two mermaid friends of Raz – now Zhar Ptitka, the Sacred Firebird.
It was strange to think he could call a god a friend…hopefully he would be able to say the same of his own would-be gods in a few months. Ailill shoved the thoughts aside, having more than enough to keep him occupied. He sat down to tug on his knee-high white boots. White. His loathing for the color knew no bounds.
“You really do look good, dressed so,” Ivan said, drawing close and soothing his hand up and down Ailill’s spine. “Not necessarily the color I would pick for you, lover, but you manage it.”
Ailill smiled and stole a kiss. “Thank you. Me in white, you in all that unfashionable black…” He winked. “They will accuse me of doing it on purpose, just to cause a scene.”
“Oh, I do not think it is the clothes which will cause a scene,” Ivan said. “I am hoping they’ll have the good sense to be too intimidated to cause trouble.’
“Your men?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Wishful thinking, Vanya. I am looking forward to the scenes they’ll cause.”
Ivan smiled and moved away. “Are we allowed to carry our weapons?”
“Yes. If they decide they have a problem with it, they will take them at the palace.”
Ivan nodded and started to speak, but was interrupted by a knock on the door right before it swung open to admit Andre with a thin, white envelope bearing silver writing and a gold wax seal.
“I was starting to think you’d gotten lost, Andre,” Ailill taunted. “Taking so unreasonably long.”
Andre shrugged, not caring – taunting back. “I was delayed by a conversation with…Karp, I believe his name is. He is enthralled with your bookkeeping, it would seem. I told him he was quite mad.” His brow furrowed suddenly. “He told me to take my scorching self off and burn. I think that was perhaps rude, but I cannot tell for certain…”
Ivan threw his head back and laughed. “He was being quite rude.”
“I believe our rough equivalent would be to call you a carnivore, Andre,” Ailill said with a laugh.
Andre glared at the absent Karp. “Oh? How remarkably rude, especially when I intended no offense and he is messing around in things that are none of his business.” He absently handed over the note he still held and turned back toward the door.
Ailill didn’t bother to hide his laughter. “Well, before you tear him to pieces tell Karp he is more than welcome to assume responsibility for my bookkeeping. Also – have Ivan’s sword brought to the front hall.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Andre said over his shoulder as he departed.
“My money is on Andre,” Ivan murmured, “but if you tell him that…”
Ailill grinned. “He won’t hear of it from me, as I fully agree with you. To Andre, that lace is just a different kind of armor.”
Ivan snorted in amusement. “Shall we to the palace?”
“Yes,” I suppose we shall,” Ailill said with a sigh, taking Ivan’s hand as they traveled downstairs. “Where are my guests?” he asked a footman.
“Two are sleeping, one decided to investigate the stables, another two decided to explore the city…and the last is currently engaged in battle with Andre.” The words were said blandly, but it was obvious the footman was vastly amused, especially by the last part of his statement.
“Your thoughts on the battle?” Ailill asked as the footman helped him into a light spring coat – every formality must be observed when going to her Majesty.
“Andre is formidable, sir. I think he will take the battle…but battles usually only lead to wars…”
Ivan grunted. “That is true. If you see Luka – the tall, lighter-haired one with sharp eyes – tell him to keep Karp under control. Please.” He accepted his sword as a footman appeared with it, strapping the thick leather belt into place and settling the weapon at his hip, hand resting casually on the hilt.
The first footman sketched a deep bow. “As you wish, my Lord.”
Ailill burst out laughing, then quickly muffled it and dragged Ivan from the house as the patient footman opened the door for them. “Ready to face the Queen, my Lord?”
Ivan rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be dragged into the waiting white and silver carriage that had been pulled around to the main entrance. “I devoutly hope my men do not hear your servants doing that – and you had better tell them to stop.”
“Does it look to you as though I have any control over my household? I hired them specifically so I would not have to constantly manage and fret over them. Honestly, they do as they please. I feel sorry for you if Andre and the Butler take it into their heads to hire a valet for you.”
“They had better not,” Ivan said. “I am quite happy dressing myself.”
Ailill smirked as the carriage door closed. “I would rather undress you.”
Ivan’s eyes raked over him, making Ailill shiver and lean back, displaying his lean form as much as the confined space of the carriage would permit. “Yes, there is much to be said for undressing.”
“You are much more relaxed than you used to be, Vanya,” Ailill said with a smile, leaning across the space between them to give his lover a kiss. “I bet if I pounced you in the middle of an open field now, you would quite happily be molested and not put up much of a fuss at all.”
“Not that you ever gave me much choice, cat.”
Ailill shrugged and tried to look innocent. “I do not believe in wasting good opportunities.”
“I am glad,” Ivan said softly. “There is very little I have not done, leading the life I did, but attempting to approach you as I wanted was far too difficult to manage.”
“Yes, well, if you’d been that brave I wouldn’t have gotten a chance to pounce you and I rather liked that part.”
Ivan suddenly smirked. “It was rather funny seeing you get pounced, at least in retrospect. I hope we see your friend again.”
Ailill made a face. “Noire is probably around the palace, never fear. You two can look all dark and unfashionable together while I have to be nice and well-behaved.” He peeked out the carriage window. “It looks as though the Grand Duchess is here, I wasn’t entirely certain…then again, I’m sure nearly everyone has found an excuse to be here, if they’ve caught wind I’ve been summoned. No doubt they are hoping to hear some clue as to my mission and its success or lack of.”
“Did we bring them?” Ivan asked, meaning the jewels.
“Yes. My servants all knew the nature of the message, if not the exact contents. Everything has been tended to. Do you have the key?”
“Of course,” Ivan said, and shifted his right foot slightly, a silent indication that the key to the cask which held the jewelry was secreted in his boot.
Ailill gave one last sigh as the carriage halted before the grand entryway of the Palace of the Faerie Queen. He waved away a footman who rushed over to help him, smiling as Ivan alighted behind him and taking his lover’s hand as they walked up the steps of the Palace. Though it was redundant, for everyone here would recognize him even after his long absence, he handed over a small, thin white card to one of the half-dozen footmen standing just inside the door. The footman immediately raced off ahead of them to announce his arrival. Ailill spoke with another, sending him off to fetch the chest containing the jewelry, then tugged Ivan further into the Palace.
“Raz would have fun here,” Ivan said, looking around at the lavish decorations – silver, gold, extravagant wall hangings and paintings, lush plants in every corner, bouquets of exotic flowers spilling out of vases on top of glass-topped tables, perfuming the air with a delicate sweetness.
They walked through the halls, and Ailill hoped that the only sign of his anxiety – he did not want to be back amongst all this finery, he didn’t – was the tightening of his grip on Ivan’s hand. The way Ivan simply held his hand tight and smiled helped more than Ailill could express. He stole a quick, hard kiss as they passed from the hallways and into the main reception room.
Various people milled about, most of them servants running this or that errand for their masters, but Ailill’s eyes landed immediately on a familiar, friendly face. “Verenne,” he said, smiling. “I am glad to see you again. How are you?”
“Ailill,” the woman looked up, startled, but broke into a smile. “I have been better…I am guessing you are not caught up on the gossip…” Her face twisted briefly into pain, but she almost immediately smoothed it away.
Countess Verenne Tolbert, the White Bat, was a beautiful woman. Breathtaking, some would say. Like most of them, white was not truly her color, but she managed well enough – getting away with a pale cream, for one, that matched exactly the shade of her blonde hair. Currently her hair was braided and then intricately knotted at the back of her head, a few wisps brushing along the sides of her face to soften the severe lines of her almost too-skinny frame. Her eyes were a light gray and at present filled with much anger and sadness.
“Do not tell me you and Freddie are having another fight.”
Verenne’s laughter was bitter, nearly hysterical. “Oh, Ailill. You have truly been gone too long. She broke it off with me several months ago. I keep trying to make her see reason but…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Well, I guess I really cannot compete.”
Ailill’s brows went up. “Compete with who? It was always obvious the two of you were meant to be.”
“Thank you,” Verenne said with a sad smile. “I always felt so…but I cannot compete with the most beautiful woman in the country. Freddie says nothing, and keeps it quiet…but it is patently obvious who she has suddenly taken up with.” Anger fell like a dark cloud across her face, but a moment later it was gone. “Come for dinner tonight, if you are not already occupied. I have missed you.”
Ailill kissed her softly on each cheek and nodded. “Of course I will come, it will be a pleasure.”
“Good. I would like to properly meet the handsome man standing beside you.” She smiled briefly at Ivan, then turned and strode from the reception room.
“What was all that?” Ivan asked.
Ailill shook his head. “I think maybe I have been gone too long. Freddie and Verenne have been lovers for years…granted, it was always…tempestuous, I guess. Neither woman is what you would call mild-mannered, but if you asked anyone they would have told you no two people could be more in love. I cannot believe Freddie would end their relationship…” he frowned. “Nor can I believe she is having an affair with the Queen…”
Ivan tilted his head, confused. “Why would that be a problem?”
“It…” Ailill shrugged, face clouding in thought, frustration. “It’s not, really, I guess…but they are considered sisters and brother, the three of them…it would rather be like you taking up with one of your men. Not wrong, per se…but…”
“It doesn’t feel right,” Ivan said, nodding in comprehension.
“Precisely.”
A clerk approached. “My Lord, the Queen is prepared to see you now.”
“Very well,” Ailill said. “Announce Master Ivan of Pozhar as well.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the clerk said, bowing low before scurrying off to relay the orders.
“Ready?” Ailill asked as they were escorted to the massive set of wide double doors that led the way to the Queen’s Throne Room.
Ivan grinned. “I’m a mercenary, lover. We’re ready for everything.”
Ailill nodded and led the way inside and across the massive room, decked with colored glass windows, tapestries, a rich, thick carpet, candles, flowers, all manner of beautiful things. His titles and name boomed out through the room as he was announced to the woman sitting on a high dais at the far end of the room.
She was tall, even seated, fine-boned, fair-skinned, with a warm, welcoming smile as they drew close. Her ears were finely pointed, just peeking out of the long tresses of her pale hair, which seemed at turns almost silvery or nearly gold. Her dress was simple – a sleek, sleeveless piece of white silk – but it was overlaid with delicate lace dyed a rainbow of colors. The dress was a masterpiece, showing to perfection the beautiful woman who wore it.
Nothing, however, was more beautiful than the delicate, iridescent wings upon her back – every color imaginable shone in the sunlight spilling in from the glass set into the ceiling.
She wore no crown, only a simple silver diadem to keep her waist-length hair from her face. One eye was the bright green of new spring, the other a perfect match for the blue of a summer sky.
Ailill stopped at the foot of the dais, Ivan right beside him, and knelt before the Faerie Queen of Verde.
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Hee! And I love the icon. :3
*tackle hearts*
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And Freddie and Etain in love, huh? I wonder why she took another lover? It doesn't sound like the three are still intimate... which is good for Gael, as I doubt he wants to be anymore, but... makes me wonder.
And we get more tonight!! Makes it sound like a bonus, really. ^_^
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Ivan and Noire are gonna bring black back in style, I just knows it!
Oh, and the icon is perfect! I was thinking 'Green is perfect for this...' and then that was closely followed by 'Duh!' ^_^
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*ponders why she loves the outcasts so much*
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Mmm... love these two so much. ^.^
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And the notion Ivan had of Raz having fun in the palace just makes me snicker like a madwoman. *cackle* Somebody (Cortez? Ivan? Raiden?) So needs to put him up to that. ^.^
And and and! NanananaNananana BATGIRL!!! *insert mad cackling here* Poor Verenne. ^^
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You are in so much fucking trouble when I get off the phone.
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Much love, and I can't wait for the next chapter.
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Andre is quite amusingly evil with the way he seems to look forward to dressing Ailill up in all that white and lace. *cackles*
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Andre = ♥ ^10
And I am so rooting for Verenne & Freddie >_>
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Anyways, of this installment, I love, love, love how Gael and Noire met, and how you've described the faerie queen! Ethereal, to say the least.
The overlay of suspense, of something far darker than the obvious makes me shudder deliciously. Your fiction is a treat!
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MMmm, Harry/Draco. I used to read that all the time. I always liked that one fic with the love potion....
^____^ Thankee!!
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one day i will finish a comment before clicking post
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Oh, hey, how would you pronounce the name "Gael"? Um, while I'm asking that, how would you pronounce "Pozhar" as well?
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I feel for her.
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Though all of Gael's 'bad feelings' are really worrying me... it actually really, really makes me hope that no one does find out about them too early. I don't want anything bad to happen to Noire! *fret, fret*
Hmm, Freddie and the Queen, eh? Wow. I hope everything goes okay this time around, but just from looking at this people and their situations, somehow I can already see things being poised in such a way as to invite quite a bit of potential tragedy - if things have been so tempestuous in the past, I can see where whatever happens during the ceremony may have been allowed to come to pass, in a vague sense. If that made any sense at all.
Anyway, we've got the gods of three other countries who've made it through okay, so I guess we all just have to hope that you wouldn't be so cruel as to give us a tragic ending ^^;
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It all made plenty of sense ^___^
Heh. Yes, I think I''ll have to give Andre his own story, the scene-stealer ^_~
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