Fairytale - Ink & Paper, part the first

[maderr]

Ink and Paper

The shop was blissfully quiet.

It had been a busy day, even more so than usual, and the current state of the shop showed that.

Nor was it quite closing time, though it was close enough that his stepfather had permitted him to begin cleaning the place up. A half hour more and he would finally be completely alone. Every now and then he could hear the rumble of voices, as his stepfather and stepbrothers discussed the day's business, profits and losses, the various customers.

The smell of food wafted out, making his stomach growl, but he knew better than to ask if he might share a bite. Once they left, and the store was clean, he would slip out to find some food of his own.

Until then, he cleaned.

First the inks – bottle after bottle, in a variety of colors and types. As he rearranged them, he jotted down notes as to what would have to be pulled from the backroom stock later. He dare not do it now; his stepfather detested being interrupted in any way when he was doing the counting – and seeing his bothersome stepson counted as an interruption.

He hummed softly while he worked, moving from inks to papers, then on to the quill and penknives, to writing cases and all the other miscellany which filled the little shop his mother had bought years and years ago – and which now belonged to his stepfather, something which still hurt.

At least his stepfather had not simply kicked him out, as he had feared would be the case. The shop would never be his now, as he had always hoped and thought, but he still worked there.

If only as a shop boy, and not a proper clerk…

Sighing, he pushed his morose thoughts aside and went back to dusting and polishing, and slowly the humming returned, bringing a soft smile to his face.

A dark auburn curl slipped free of the bit of leather he'd used to bind it back, and he pushed it impatiently away as he carefully cleaned the glass cases which held the finest of the shop's offerings.

Outside it was a quiet night, in complete contrast to the bustling day. The street lamps had been lit only a little while ago, and one stood almost right in front of the shop, casting a warm orange-yellow glow through the large front window.

Finished with the outside of the glass cases, he carefully opened up the first and began to clean the inside, pulling out a soft cloth to tend the ornate penknives that all cost more than he would earn in even five years.

The faint tinkling of the bell drew his attention, immediately making him equal parts anxious and excited.

Anxious because he was not a clerk, and his stepfather had forbidden him to tend customers. He was not, according to his stepfather, of a suitable nature for such important and vital work.

Excited because his mother had let him take up clerk duties, and he had loved it dearly.

Though, even he would concede he was not at his best at the moment. He was only in his shirtsleeves, and those rolled up past his elbows, the shirt and his breeches, stockings, and shoes all old, faded, worn – perfectly suitable for fetching stock and running unglamorous errands, but not for being a clerk in such a classy and reputable shop.

Never mind his hair and the fact he was probably covered in ink stains.

"You're out late," he said, smiling a warm welcome. "Is there something with which I can help you?"

The man smiled a bit sheepishly. "I suppose I am out a bit late for buying paper."

"Not at all. You actually picked the perfect time, my lord." He did not know the man was nobility, but he had that air about him – and the expense. Though unassuming and simple, his clothes were clearly expensive – fine fabrics, exquisite tailoring. The evening jacket was a deep peacock blue, set off all the more by the black breeches, and hair the color of shop's costliest blue-black inks. It was unfashionably short, but looked good that way. Just long enough to comb fingers through, take hold of.

He caught the direction of his thoughts and shook himself sternly. "It's only recently quieted down; if you had come any sooner, you would have been packed in here like a sardine. What did you need, that brought you out at so late an hour?"

"Ink," the man replied, gazing over the wall of inks on offer, mouth quirking in amusement. "I was told this was the best possible place to come, and I can already see that the advice was sound."

He flushed with pleasure, for the inks had always been his favorite, and his specialty, and he always kept up with the newest types, colors, brands. Even his stepfather did not take away that duty. "We do our best to please, my lord."

"Rem," the man said, smiling. "My name is Rem, please. You are…?"

"Oh, uh. Enitan, my lord. Rem, I mean."

"Enitan," Rem said. "I'm looking for a fine set of colored inks. They must be able to hold up to extensive travel, for they are for letters I intend to send to friends across the sea."

"Of course," Enitan replied, and closed the glass case he realized he still had open. Picking up his cleaning cloths, he moved behind the counters and tucked them away, then looped around the room to the side which held all the inks.

Bustling about with familiar ease, he began to pull down several bottles. "Did you have a cost limit?"

"No," Rem replied. "Cost is inconsequential."

Definitely a lord, then. Not even a wealthy merchant ever dismissed cost as 'inconsequential.' The request to use his name had thrown Enitan briefly, for nobility was never so casual, but the money removed all doubt.

Which just made it stranger, for normally a noble simply sent a servant or such to do the shopping.

Well, it made no difference, in the end.

He finished setting out a wide assortment, and as Rem drew close, began to explain all of them, the various plusses and minuses of each.

Rem nodded and asked several questions, arguing congenially, and slowly they whittled the selections down.

They seemed close settling on a few when movement caught the corner of his eye, and he drifted off in sudden horror as he realized he had forgotten entirely about his stepfather – who, sure enough, had a dangerous glint in his eye.

His voice, when he spoke, was seemingly friendly but Enitan could hear the warning in it. "You did not tell me we had a customer. I believe the stockroom is still awaiting your attention."

Enitan flushed in humiliation, because his stepfather had no reason but a mean streak to reprimand him and put him down in front of Rem. "Yes, sir," he said quietly, not able to bring himself to look at Rem as he turned away.

A hand over his stopped him.

"We are nearly finished," Rem said congenially, but even Enitan's stepfather drew up short at the underlying steel in his voice. "Please, you look as though you were about to depart for the evening. You do not need to stay on my account. Enitan is wonderfully helpful."

"Yes, my lord." Though he was obviously furious, Enitan's stepfather only nodded to Rem, shot Enitan a look that promised there would be suffering come the morning, and returned to the backrooms of the shop.

Enitan looked at the hand still covering his own, then at the ink bottles still on the counter. "I apologize, my lord."

The hand over his pressed gently, then slid slowly away. "Not at all," Rem said smoothly. "Now, I believe we were about settled on this set." He indicated the cluster of inks between them. "There is only one more I would like to discuss…"

"Which is that?" Enitan asked, confused. They had debated every color on the counter, unless he was mistaken, and he knew he was not.

Rem smiled and reached across the counter to gently cup Enitan's face, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. "This lovely shade here."

Enitan flushed and jerked away. So he had managed to smudge ink on himself. "I'm afraid there is never any telling which ones I wind up wearing," he finally said, staring hard at the counter.

"An excellent black ink, I should think. Deep hints of blue and violet." He gave a mock pout that was still remarkably pretty and devastating. "Do you not have a mirror? I should like to have it."

Sensing he was being mocked, crushed because Rem had seen nicer than that, he moved around the counters to where he knew Clement kept a small pocket mirror. Taking it up, he examined the smudge on his cheek.

Recalling all he had cleaned and sorted, it took only a moment's thought to determine which it was, and a couple of minutes later he presented a bottle of ink made from deep violet glass. "One of our very best," he said, not able to meet Rem's eyes. "You have excellent taste."

A hand cupped his face again, forcing him to look up into eyes that were, he realized suddenly, nearly the same shade as Rem's jacket. How had he not noticed them before? "I like to think so," he replied. "Are you here every day?"

"Yes," Enitan replied, licking his lips nervously. "I…I'm usually in the back, however."

Rem smiled, and slowly let his hand fall away. "So long as you are here."

Nodding, Enitan began to box and bag the inks, finally sliding them across the counter. "Thank you, my lord. I hope you are pleased with your purchases."

He reached into his pocket and Enitan heard the chink of coins as he set them on the glass countertop. "I believe I shall be in need of a penknife tomorrow," he said. "That should cover the inks; the rest is for your time, my dear Enitan. I will see you tomorrow."

Enitan watched him go, not quite certain how to feel or what to think. It had almost seemed as though Rem were flirting…but why would a wealthy lord flirt with a lowly clerk? And he was not even that, he was merely in charge of stocking and cleaning.

He glanced down at the money Rem had left – and choked.

Rem had left double the price of the ink, and they had none of them been cheap.

It was far more money than he would ever see on the pittance paid to him by his stepfather. Picking up the coins, he tucked his own half into one rolled up sleeve, carrying the rest to the back, which was blessedly empty.

He had feared his stepfather would linger to punish him tonight, but it would seem he had decided to wait until the morning after all.

Stowing the money, leaving a note for his stepfather to find in the morning so it could be properly counted with the rest of the day's earnings, he darted upstairs to his little room above the shop and quickly hid the money away in his little hiding place.

What he was saving for, he still was not quite certain. 'Escape', was the vague idea, but he had no solid plans. His whole life had been this shop, this city. Leaving the shop that he had always believed would be his was hard…but he knew to stay under his stepfather's thumb was worse. He only wished he knew why his mother had broken her promise to leave him the shop.

Going back downstairs, he finished going through his chores, making certain the shop gleamed and shone, working hard to ensure that his stepfather would have as little as possible over which to punish him come morning.

Chores finally done, he returned to the back rooms to retrieve his faded green jacket and the pence that were his end of week pay. Neatening his hair, he locked up the shop and vanished into the dark streets to go find supper.

*~*~*

He was in the back taking inventory when Steven, the younger of his two stepbrothers, coughed noisily to get his attention.

"Yes?" Enitan asked, wondering bleakly what he'd done now. The bruise on his cheek still throbbed, and his back was fairing no better. At least the day was nearly done; in two hours his family would be gone, and in four hours he would be abed.

"Your customer is demanding your presence," Steven replied flatly.

Enitan almost dropped his quill. "What? Surely stepfather is assisting him?"

"He refuses to deal with anyone but you," Steven said. "Father is displeased, but the man is threatening to spread unfavorable opinions of the store if his preferred clerk does not come and assist. So do hurry up, stock boy."

Biting back a reply that would only get him a bruise for the right cheek to match the one on his left, Enitan removed his apron and attempted to smooth back his errant curls, wishing he had bothered to tie them back. He had thought he would not be permitted up front until well after close, however, and so had not bothered.

Sighing, he rolled down his sleeves and shrugged into his jacket.

He lingered over the bruise on his cheek, but there was nothing to be done about it. Sighing softly, he pushed through the curtain that separated the back rooms from the front.

The store was empty, save for the tall, dark-haired figure standing in front of the ink counter, leaning upon the glass with a scowl upon his handsome face.

All displeasure vanished the very moment he saw Enitan – then filled with fury as his eyes landed upon the bruised cheek.

He said nothing, however, merely smoothed anger away into a smile as Enitan reached him. "Good evening, Enitan."

"Good evening, my lord," Enitan replied. "I believe you said you were after a penknife, tonight?" He tried to remain serious and composed, but the absurdity of it was hard to resist, and he smiled.

Rem smiled back. "Yes. I am quite good at losing mine. My cat, I think, runs off with most of them."

Enitan laughed. "A cat that steals penknives?"

"I have not caught her at it, yet, but there are always suspicious amounts of fur about the desk," Rem said with a nod.

"We shall have to try to find your lordship a penknife that does not appeal to cats, then," Enitan replied, and moved along the counters to the set of cases that held their better penknives. "Were you looking for anything in particular?"

Rem smiled at him in a way that made Enitan's heart begin to pound something fierce. "Something with red and gold, I think."

"Um," Enitan swallowed, and gave himself a mental slap. "Yes…gold and rubies would be the obvious answer there, I believe. We have several."

The situation was not helped in the slightest by the way he could feel his stepfather's anger the same as he could feel the bruise upon his cheek.

Rem glanced down into the case, pointing idly to several to be drawn out.

They continued in such a fashion for at least an hour, though Enitan did not keep watch of the time. It was rare he spoke with the customers, and even when his mother was alive, none had ever demanded his specific assistance. Whenever Rem ceased to come, he doubted his stepfather would even permit him in the store unless it was closed.

Bent over the case, conversation having wandered from penknives to writing to tea to brandy, he did not realize just how much time had, in fact, passed, until he was jarred by the fact the clock struck midnight.

Rem laughed softly as he jumped.

"Oh, my," Enitan said. "I cannot believe I have kept you here so long." Stepfather would kill him. "I'm sorry, you must have far more important things to be doing."

"I'd much rather be here, I promise you," Rem said. He reached up to brush the knuckles of his left hand across Enitan's uninjured cheek. "Though, I confess, there are things I would rather be doing."

Enitan flushed, but did not pull away from the touch, or the hot, peacock blue eyes.

Nor did he draw back, despite the fact he thought he probably should, when Rem leaned forward and kissed him softly.

He drew a sharp breath, and for a moment considered doing the wise thing and finally pulling back, but the lips just barely touching his were warm, and sweet, and he could not remember the last time anyone had shown him any manner of affection – even a tryst would be a pleasant and welcome change from his bleak existence.

So instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer himself, opening his mouth easily when Rem pressed, welcoming the deeper kiss that—

Was cut off by a deep, annoyed cough.

Jerking away, cheeks turning hot, he rose to his full height and glanced to the door.

A stern looking but handsome man, dressed head to foot in severe black, stood in the doorway glaring angrily at Rem.

Rem pushed away from the counter. "Yes?" he asked coldly.

"Your father is less than pleased with you, and says if you do not get back home immediately—"

"I can imagine," Rem interrupted. "You might remind my father that I am a grown man, and may do as I like, whatever he might think about the matter."

The man merely stood silent.

Rem heaved a long, aggravated sigh. "Fine," he said. "I am coming." He turned back to Enitan, braced both hands on the counter, and leaned forward to plant a quick, firm kiss on his lips. I will see you, soon, my pretty clerk. Sweet dreams."

Before Enitan could get figure out what to say or do in response, Rem was gone.

He sighed softly when he was alone, and went to grab his keys and lock up before returning to his cleaning and inventory.

If he paused every now and then to touch his lips and linger over the tryst that might have happened, well…he was alone as usual. Who was to know?

*~*~*

He did not see Rem again.

Enitan tried not to feel disappointed. He had known the man a grand total of seven hours. The kiss – he wondered what sort of impression that had made, and tried not to cringe. He had been flirted with before, certainly, but had never felt inclined to act so bold so quickly.

A week had passed since that interrupted tryst, and he was torn between relief and disappointment. Relief because it had probably been a stupid thing to do…but mostly disappointment, because it had not felt stupid at the time, and now his loneliness seemed worse than ever.

Sighing and shaking his head at himself, Enitan resumed working on inventory, counting all the stock and making notes in his inventory ledger. From the front room came the chiming of the clock, signaling the tenth hour.

It was only as the last chime faded away that he heard another noise – someone knocking upon the front door.

Frowning, he set his ledger down and strode into the shop proper, shaking his head. "We're closed!" he called out – then stopped. Blinked. Then he strode to the door and unlocked it. "Can I help you?" he asked the man in the livery of a city messenger. Probably a message for his stepfather, but surely the sender would know to send it to the house, not the shop, at this hour?

"Message for Enitan Fitzgerald," the messenger said. "You fit the description I was given. Are you he?"

"I am," Enitan replied, startled. He accepted the message and fumbled in his pocket for coin, but the messenger shook his head.

"I'm to wait for a reply."

Enitan's brows went up at that, but he nodded and opened the door a bit wider, indicating the messenger should step inside.

Moving to the window, he used the light of the street lamp to see by, examining the envelope in puzzlement. It was made of expensive vellum; the sort they did not take out unless the customer requested and proved he had the necessary coin.

It was sealed with a crest he did not recognize – a delicate owl perched inside a triangle, pressed into blue sealing wax.

Breaking the seal, he pulled out the letter. Except it wasn't a letter.

It was an invitation.

Even he, who never went anywhere or did anything, knew that invitation at a glance. The paper, the colors, the lettering…he did not need to read the beautiful scrip to know it was an invitation to the Royal Carnivale.

The Carnivale was beginning in another two weeks. All the city was vibrating with excitement. His stepbrothers spoke of nothing else unless made. It would last a full five days, beginning at five o'clock every day and going all night. The bare minimum of work would be done over those five days, as much time as possible given over to the Carnivale itself. Those businesses which would open at all – theirs being one of them – would open late and close early.

But the Royal Carnivale…three days of festivities held at the royal palace, and no one got in without an invitation. They were highly coveted, for even position and wealth were not enough to guarantee receiving one.

He knew only one person who might have been able to send him one, and he wondered just who in the world Rem was that he could – and would – do such a thing for a lowly stock boy.

"Your reply, sir?" the messenger asked politely.

"What?" Enitan blinked. "Oh. Um. Yes, I suppose." Though, he didn't know what the devil he was going to wear. "Yes, I accept. I will be there."

The messenger smiled and bowed. "Yes, sir. Then I bid you goodnight." He strode to the door and let himself out, and was gone as suddenly as he had come.

Enitan found a stool, and sat down hard, staring at the beautiful, ornate invitation in complete shock.

The Royal Carnivale. He had just agreed to go to the Royal Carnivale.

Feeling frantic and excited and numb all at once, he looked over the invitation one last time, touching it lightly to reassure himself it was real, then tucked it away in his shirt and returned slowly to his work.

Three days later the same messenger knocked again at ten o'clock.

This time he bore a box, and left right after delivering it, smiling rather as though he found something vastly amusing.

Enitan wondered if he was missing some joke, but the thought slid away as he saw the contents of the box.

Clothing. A costume, to be more accurate. The breeches and jacket were of a deep amber, made of superfine and velvet, respectively. The waistcoat and stockings were in a harlequin pattern of amber, cream and brown. Touches of gold and cream lace accented everything, including gold buckles on a handsome pair of brown leather shoes.

He pulled the jacket out to better gawk, and a small black velvet bag tumbled to the floor. Setting the jacket aside, he stooped to retrieve the bag, pulling the drawstring out – and nearly dropped the contents as they tipped into his hand.

Jewels. Amber for his ears, where he currently had only plain silver studs. A matching cravat pin, and three matching rings – one set with amber, one set with a yellow diamond, and the last set with a shockingly bright ruby.

He set the jewels down upon the glass, completely and utterly aghast. Why would a noble go to so much trouble for him? What was the true reason for all of this? He was not that skilled a kisser, as much as he might wish.

The last object in the box was wrapped in paper, and he knew what it was before unwrapping it – his mask. It was as beautiful as the rest of the ensemble, an owl's mask made of brown, cream, and gold feathers, with ruby teardrops in the corner of each eye.

Incredible. Frightening, really. If it was Rem, and he could not see who else it might be, why all this?

Of course, he would have to figure out how to get past his stepfather.

Hopefully it would prove a moot point. If he was lucky, his stepfather would be too preoccupied with Carnivale to pay him any mind past the usual orders to clean the store and stay out of the way.

Slowly he returned everything to the box, hands not quite steady, and it was only as he was replacing the lid of the dark green box that he noticed the small note which had been tucked inside. Day One ~R

If he'd had any doubts, that small letter dispelled it. Rem, for whatever reason, wanted him at the Royale Carnivale.

The second box arrived three nights later, sumptuous clothing in deep russet and brown, with touches of gold, with still more jewelry to match. This time, the mask was that of a wolf, made from genuine fur to which the clothes had been matched perfectly.

Three nights later arrived the last box, and the messenger by this point seemed far more amused than Enitan rather thought he should.

It was even more beautiful than the other two, and he did not need the mask to know the costume was that of some underwater creature – air, land, and sea, he realized suddenly, and smiled. His final set of clothes were made of deep blue breeches and a jacket that seemed green one moment, blue the next, ever shifting and changing with the slightest movement, decorated with pearl buttons, smaller pearls sewn at the cuffs and throat. The waistcoat matched the breeches, with simple white stockings, and mother of pearl inlaid in the gold buckles. Pearls, sapphires, and opals comprised the jewelry, and more of the same were spread across a mask that really did look as though it were made of fish scales, so skillful was the work.

Anxiety roiled in his stomach, but there was nothing to be done about it – he dreaded going, but he dreaded not going even more.

Returning everything to the box – this one the same dark green as the previous two – he made certain the store was clean and ready for the next day, then finally went up to his room. Though his stepfather never lowered himself to visit Enitan's room, Enitan was fearful he would someday change his mind.

Especially since he had 'stolen' a wealthy customer, and made his stepfather 'look like a fool'.

So far, however, nothing appeared to have been messed with, and he had taken great care to hide the boxes where his stepfather would not look – in the roof. His room was old, poorly cared for, and the floorboards and those that made up the ceiling were all loose. Removing a few, shoving the boxes out of sight, and then replacing the boards was an easy enough matter.

Putting the last box with the other two, he then moved about his little room getting ready for bed. Twice a week he permitted himself the luxury of a full bath; otherwise, the best he could do after a long day was heat enough water on his small stove to sponge and scrub himself as clean as possible.

That done, he pulled on a night robe and pulled out the bits of lunch he had kept back so he would not have to go out in the rainy weather to find dinner.

His room was composed of his bed, the stove, a rickety table, a chest, and a cupboard. Lacking a proper chair, he simply kept the table near the bed most of the time. He set his dinner out, not much more than bread and cheese and one of the three apples the fruit vendor had given him in exchange for writing a letter.

Reaching under his pillow, he pulled out the book lent him by the bookshop clerk across the street – another exchange, this time for a bit of accounting assistance.

When he realized he'd been reading the same page for nearly half an hour, he gave up and put the book away again. Finishing his last bites of dinner, he stripped out of his night robe and blew out the lamp, tugging up his thin blankets as he settled into bed.

He lay down in the dark, listening to the sounds of the city – a shouting match down the street, drunks singing as they stumbled from pub to pub, cats and rodents, people returning late, or departing for those jobs which began at the oddest of hours. Weak light filtered in through the battered shutters covering his one window, falling across his bed.

Though he didn't feel particularly tired, too anxious about the day that was now just over a week away, the familiar, comforting noises of the city eventually lulled him into sleep.

*~*~*

The crowd of Carnivale was nothing like the ordinary crowds of the city. Ostensibly, it was the same group, same people, same throng of visitors…but it was not the same at all.

He moved through the crush as swiftly as was possible, grateful for the cloak that was his only respectable bit of clothing – large, and fit for whatever manner of weather might fall upon the city.

Every now and then he reached up to press against his velvet amber jacket, feeling the press of the invitation. What if it was a joke? What if he was laughed at upon his arrival?

This was a mistake, and everything in him screamed to turn around, go back to his safe little room. Whatever he was involved in, it was a game far out of his league.

But that interrupted kiss still burned on his lips, in his mind, driving his feet inexorably onward toward the palace.

He ignored the rows upon rows of carriages, ignoring the looks he could feel following him, no doubt wondering what sort of idiot walked to such an affair.

The receiving line stretched all the way to the door, but it seemed to move quickly enough once he was in it.

As he finally reached the front, he found himself approached by a man in the ornate formal livery of the royal servants, black with touches of gold and silver, severe and sharp. He took in Enitan's cloak and seemed amused by something, but as Enitan pushed back the hood to better display the mask he wore, the amusement faded into one of surprise. "May I take your cloak, my lord?" he finally asked.

Enitan nodded, barely biting back a laugh at being addressed as 'my lord', and allowed the servant to help him out of his cloak.

Then he was at the reception table and presenting his invitation – and nearly fell over in relief when the gargoyle behind the table nodded and held out a silver ring. "Wear this the length of the Royal Carnivale. Do not remove it, do not give it to another. Welcome, my lord, to the Royal Carnivale."

"Thank you," Enitan murmured, and then he was suddenly part of the throng headed into the grand ballroom itself, a place of dazzling lights and colors and personages the likes of which he had only ever heard about.

Though, tonight it was impossible to tell who might be in attendance. Behind the masks, there was no telling the reality. Anyone could be a lord, a fruit vendor, a prince, or a simple stock boy.

He wondered where Rem might be, but was too enthralled by the splendor surrounding him to focus on any one thing long enough to try to find Rem. Crystal dripped from the ceiling, colored glass here and there casting rainbows across the white marble floor. All manner of lush flowers added further splashes of color, their scents battling with those of food and cologne and people for dominance. The number of costumes was impossible to count, enough jewels flashing in the light to purchase a small country, he suspected.

That he was part of it all…the thought was beyond his comprehension.

A hand fell suddenly at the small of his back, making him jump, and he jerked around – and drew up short.

"You made it," Rem said with a smile, and despite the peacock blue of his eyes, it was the curve of those pretty lips that Enitan recognized first. "I knew you would look lovely in those colors, but I admit you outshine even my most…ardent…imaginings."

Enitan flushed behind his mask. "M-my, lord—"

"Mm, none of that," Rem replied, grin all mischief beneath the edge of his mask – an owl, precisely like Enitan's, but the feathers were white, black, and gray, with brilliant blue sapphire teardrops at the outer corners. "I have told you before to call me Rem, pretty Enitan. You are my guest for three nights; do not insult me by being formal."

Enitan nodded, grateful for the mask which hid his hot cheeks. "Yes, Rem."

"That is much better," Rem said with another smile, and took Enitan's gloved hand, kissing the back of it. The gesture put them in an intimate position, for Rem's other hand was still at the small of his back, forcing Enitan to turn into him, pulled closer still when Rem kissed his hand.

This close, those peacock eyes were impossible to stop gazing into.

"I am glad you came," Rem said softly.

Enitan nodded. "Me too."

Rem smiled in satisfaction, and finally stepped away, giving Enitan a chance to breathe again. He didn't let go of Enitan's hand, however, merely used it to tug him closer, tucking Enitan's hand into his arm. "Come, refreshment first, I think. Then perhaps we can dance?"

"I don't know how to dance," Enitan said, lowering his head in embarrassment, not quite able to resist turning his head just enough to peek at the dancers on the floor below. They moved as though born to it – and in a way, they were, for only nobles learned such dancing as below.

"Then I'll teach you," Rem said. "Carnivale is a good time to learn – everyone is too drunk to care if it's being properly done." He looked toward the dancers Enitan had been furtively watching. "Case in point – I don't think a single one of them has managed to complete all the steps, never mind complete them properly."

Enitan looked at the dancers again, but could not figure out what in the world Rem was talking about. They were beautiful.

"Hopeless," Rem said cheerfully. "You'll dance much better."

Not certain how to reply to that, Enitan did not bother, merely let himself be tugged along to a massive table where Rem immediately commanded two flutes of champagne.

The first sip was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted, better even than the one bottle of decent wine he had scraped for to celebrate his birthday. Several sips later, he was willing to attempt those dancing lessons – but instead of the dance floor, Rem dragged him outside.

Crowds filled even the garden, but in smaller pockets, tucked into shadows, and to judge from the groans and giggles and grunts, dances of an entirely different nature were already underway.

He flushed and took another sip of champagne as he saw they had found a shadowy nook of their own.

"I really am happy you came," Rem said softly. "I wanted to ask you properly, but…well, that is neither here nor there. I hope you have a good time…and do not think me too forward."

Enitan smiled faintly, licking champagne from his lips. "Of course I think you forward, my lord – Rem – but I would say that I was just as forward, several nights ago…and I did come."

"Good,"Rem said, and tore off his own mask, then pushed Enitan's away and immediately kissed him.

Surprised, Enitan dropped his champagne – but only so he could grab hold of the broad shoulders he had been surreptitiously admiring since seeing Rem that evening. He had liked the champagne before…but he liked it a thousand times more combined with Rem.

It seemed ages later that they finally broke apart, though it could not have been more than a moment or two.

Rem licked his lips. "I definitely want more of those later, my dear, but I did promise you dancing – and I want very much to dance with you. Shall we?"

Enitan pulled himself together through sheer force of will, and placed his hand in Rem's. "Dancing, yes. I fear I will be terrible at it."

"Nonsense."

Nearly an hour later, it seemed as though Rem had the right of it after all.

Or perhaps that was merely three glasses of champagne.

He went easily as Rem tugged him close, as they stepped and turned in time to a slow, easy rhythm.

"I told you so," Rem said with a grin. "You take to dancing as though made for it – indeed, you take to the Royal Carnivale as though born to it."

Enitan laughed. "Hardly. I was born to order ink and paper, not dance and drink champagne and wear clothes that cost more than my shop." He shook his head. "I do not even know why I'm here, not when I can see hundreds far more beautiful than I…"

Rem snorted and dared to brush a feather light kiss to his jaw as the dance brought them into close contact. "You are far more than a simple clerk."

"You sound certain."

"I am," Rem replied, and risked another soft kiss.

Not that it was much of a risk, really – a quick glance showed that many were taking far greater liberties.

He smiled and turned, pulling them close again. "I disagree, but I am happy you think so."

"Mm," Rem said, and abruptly stopped, tugging him from the dance floor.

Far away in the distance, a clock began to chime, and it was only as it kept chiming, and chiming, that Enitan realized it was midnight.

"Would you care to take our dancing to a more private dance floor?" Rem inquired, the words the definition of polite, but the curve of his mouth wicked.

Enitan nodded, and went eagerly as he was taken away from the crowd and a long, wide hallway which turned onto a somewhat smaller one. Their hands were tangled together, and they stumbled as much as they walked, stopping more than once to exchange heady kisses in dark corners.

The sound of voices made him jerk away from one particularly enthusiastic kiss, and he glanced down the hallway to where two men stood at the point where three hallways intersected.

"Shh," Rem murmured in his ear. "We don't want to be caught by that one." He nodded at the man on the right, a tall, old man with an indefinable air of authority.

"Who is he?" Enitan asked. "He looks sort of familiar."

Which he did, though Enitan could not say why. His hair was short, the color impossible to tell in the dark, but probably gray or mostly gray. Something about his features…but he could not quite put his thumb on it, and shook his head in defeat.

"The Grand Duke," Rem replied, voice still little more than a murmur in his ear. "Sharp as a blade, and wily as a fox, though he is only a shadow of what he was before his son died years ago."

Enitan nodded, but said nothing, and they waited in silence until the Grand Duke and his companion finally moved on.

Then the heated kisses resumed, and the stumbling along, until at last they reached a room that was dark save for a single lamp on a small table beside a lavish bed.

Their clothes took some effort, and more than a bit of graceless fumbling, but it was worth the struggle to see the beautiful body laid out beneath him. Rem might be a lord, but he sported none of the softness that Enitan associated with that group.

He reached out to stroke and touch at random, faltering as Rem snuck in some touching of his own, and Rem was the bolder by far. If Enitan were not already hard, the talent in that hand would have done the job.

Slowing down proved impossible, and while there was much he wanted to do with his beautiful, generous, and mysterious lord, for he now he was content to get lost in touching and stroking, rubbing and writhing.

They collapsed in a sweaty pile only a moment later, sticky but sated – for the moment.

If his answering grin was anything like the one Rem gave him, the night was only beginning.

Comments

[falconer007.livejournal.com]

I really like the role reversal: That it wasn't "Cinderella" aka Enitan's identity that was a secret, but the prince's. It was the opposite in the Disney's version (which really is the only version I know). In the original, the prince thought Cinderella was a princess or lady or whatever, which she wasn't, but here the prince knew Enitan was not a noble...and it was him who was 'trying to pass off' as something he wasn't. I thought that was really cool.

I also liked the prince's reaction to Enitan's escape. He didn't come all apologetic, but rather was angry and assertive and totally hot!!

Hmmm...what else? I liked that the whole relationship wasn't as love-at-first-sight-ish and fairytalish as the original. It really was an 'adult' relationship. None of that blushing-virgin crap. It was more mature, not because they had sex, but because they knew each other and were so open together (barring the prince's little secret, of course). That's why the prince could be as bold as he was when he found Enitan in that village I think.

I think it's interesting how you had Enitan not be from a well-doing family but turned servant because of his step-father, but made him a bastard whose biological father is a noble. I never thought of it like that, I find it quite original, even though I didn't really like it. I think that having Enitan be a noble (he may be a bastard, but it looks like his father's family is ready to take him in) took away from the pauper-gets-prince quality of the story, and made it kind of romance-novel-ish.

Finally, I like how 'absent' the steps were. The evil-ones were not there...the angst came from the interaction between the two main characters and not from any outside source... I liked that. I was glad you waved away the cliche of the evil step-father/brothers. Although I find it slightly contradictory that Enitan was rather independent (didn't really live with the inlaws--he took his own meals and stuff) and adult, but still got beaten up by the step-father for something that seemed quite trivial... I'm thinking it was deliberately that you kept the appearances of the step-father/brothers to a minimum? Have you a side-story in mind? :)

Anyways, great job!!
Cheers!
Falconer

[falconer007.livejournal.com]

Oops, totally forgot about the handsome man in black. Maybe you're saving him for the side-story, eh? *grin*

--
Btw, since you're drabbling (!!) have you ever thought of writing a drabble for Rumors? It's my favorite fairytale of yours, and I'd love some glimpse into the jester and the prince's life together!! Pfftt....hopefully some day...

Ciao! Gotta watch some gymnastics!

[scary-sushi.livejournal.com]

ENITAN IS THE DUKE'S SON, ISN'T HE? OOOOH, 'MORE THAN A SIMPLE SHOP CLERK' INDEED xD

Quick, for the rest!