by Renee Peters
“And they’re pretty enough that wants a look, Delilah Flowers,” Samuel said, brushing his fingers across her curls.
“You think they are pretty….” she sighed. “Very well.” She blinked slowly as if to focus on the face of the Doctor.
“Will she be… well?” Joanna asked quietly. “She is not… quite present.”
“Well, her fall rather knocked the sense out of her, didn’t it? We shall find it scattered across the field, no doubt,” the Doctor offered pleasantly. “Is there whiskey in the house? Unfortunately, I do not carry a bag on social occasions.”
“There is — downstairs… only….” Joanna felt a brief flyaway beat of panic. She could not go downstairs into the sunlight, or the buzzing company and gossip that the arrival of an injured Delilah had no doubt stirred. She lifted a distressed gaze toward her sire.
“I will find William to lead the way,” Lian said, sparing a last glance toward the Doctor with a quiet warning creeping into his tones. “The Condesa is allergic to the sun. Do leave the windows closed while I am gone.”
Samuel was the one to nod, but then his attention was on Delilah and speaking softly over her head as the Arch Lord passed through the door.
Delilah could not be moved that night, and so Dorian’s estate suffered two new guests in the form of the Fae-blooded girl and their young warden. A third visitor — the most mysterious of Joanna’s sisters, Efemina, had come and gone; though the lingering scent of herbs and the thrum of healing magic in the air seemed an echo of the African queen’s presence.
It was only Joanna who remained in the guest room as what remained of the day passed into evening. She occupied her time reading quietly aloud as her companion slept through the hours.
Mercifully, the change of clothes they had procured and a sponge bath had rid Delilah of much of the scent of Fae, and though her waking words had little sense to them, Joanna could keep her company without the threat of a want to bite.
That did not mean she was entirely unaware of her hunger, and she closed a hand over her brow as she willed her darkness back yet again. The approaching sound of Dorian’s violins threatened to bring it to the surface again in her weakness, if for an entirely different reason.
“Do you intend to keep her company through the night?” Her husband’s voice was quiet as he slipped into the darkness of the room.
“Will you miss me in your bed, mon cher?” she teased quietly and some wicked part of her nearly asked him to satisfy the hunger twisting in her veins.
She would not cross the boundary he had made; even if that thread danced weakly between them. “If I do not, Samuel will… and I do think she will be entirely scandalized if she comes to… or might scandalize him. We have had talks.”
Dorian’s brow inched higher. “Talks….” he said low tones, before his tone shifted to a tease. “If the chit has had nearly the education you possess she might well scare him off his intended course.”
She smiled, though his words caused the threat of a shadow to whisper across her flute song.
“I doubt our warden has a bone in his body so easily intimidated,” the queen answered softly. “But Delilah might not recover enough to live with herself for the shame, oui?”
The Conde passed a look over the paleness of Delilah’s form where she was stretched out and sighed. “Very well.” He offered her the dip of a bow from his place at the door. “But you will join me once she has been removed to Redmond Manor.”
Their thread sang from her with a note of guilt, and even before she had folded her book closed to rise, Dorian was watching her with a hint of wariness. She approached, closing her arms around his shoulders to lace her fingers behind his neck.
“I thought, perhaps, I should stay with her until she is out of bed rest. No more than a week. Longer than that, and I believe could not bear it.” Her smile softened. “You are a little maddening that way, mon Seigneur. I do not wish to be out of your company for long.”
Dorian’s gaze fixed on hers with a darker look that gradually mellowed beneath her attention. “Minx,” he muttered. “You have bound me in chains no less than those that held Ulysses to his mast.” He bent his head and brushed the tip of his nose over her own. “What is this madness that I cannot release you, even for an act of mercy?” His breath was warm in the space between their lips.
Her fingers threaded through the darkness of his hair, and for a moment, she was quiet, breathing in the scent of age like parchment and rain in a forest that clung to him. Against her chest she could feel the strength of his heartbeat, and she knew that she was plummeting.
Falling faster than he might be there to catch her, and with no promise that he was falling too.
It was not their arrangement.
But their mistimed duet gentled her thoughts and she tilted her head to smile at him.
“It pleases me entirely that I am a little maddening too, Dorian.” Her voice softened. “I am yours for as long a season as you wish, mon Seigneur.” With that, her smirk returned, and the queen scraped a gentle nip to his jaw. “Think on how to show me how much I was missed when I return, mon cher, oui? I expect poetry.”
He breathed a frustrated laugh. “You may expect considerably more than that,” he said huskily, before sealing the space between their lips with a kiss that sent a shower of hot sparks skittering through her music. Her fingers curled into his vest for a heartbeat, only to reluctantly unfurl as he gently gave her her space again.
“I will accompany you to Redmond Manor when you go, and see you settled.” His words did not allow for the opposition to the idea. “I need a word with Lian anyway.” The hint of a shadow furrowed his brow. “I am curious to know further details of this incident.”
He lingered long enough to touch a kiss on her knuckles, and then, with another pressed to her temple her husband left closing the door quietly behind him.
She watched the barrier for a moment, entirely too aware that if he was not waiting at the bottom of the pit into which she had leapt, she would only have herself to blame for the broken pieces that would remain when she landed.
Chapter 23
The card room of Anowen Castle, like its counterparts in most residences of the ton, was named after its primary use as a place of entertainment. It bore little by ways of furniture or decor beyond the circular game tables and padded chairs. Wood paneled walls and white paint made for a plainer room than the rest of the castle, with a few landscapes hanging to give some life to the room.
A polished cupboard contained the various decks of cards and dice and a myriad of other entertainments as the mortals came up with them. Opposite of the cupboard was a sideboard that held glassware and decanters for those inclined to drink while they played.
Unlike its society counterparts however, Anowen’s card room welcomed women, and Dorian had found over the centuries that they made for quite formidable opponents — especially when their brothers were distracted.
“Are you certain you wish to stay, marido?” Ayla’s question, evenly spoken, reached Dorian’s ears through the haze of Matthias’ pipe cloud.
“Course he wants to stay Ayla —” Eden’s voice interjected on a snort. “A twelve is as good a number to lose coin on as any number, innit Dori?”
Dorian glanced down at the green top of the card table where his series of cards for their game of Blackjack had been spread out. He’d not even realized that he had given the signal to stay. That, and the significantly diminished number of markers at his side was all the proof he needed to know that he had not been fully present.
“My kona is as always, looking after my interests,” he said dryly, and tapped an index finger to the surface of his card to indicate that Eden should deal him another.
She dealt him a queen of hearts and crowed.
“Busted! An’ the House wins again.” Her milk white hand reached out to claim his bet and Dorian’s lips twisted slightly. He deserved the loss for his lack of attention.
It had only bee
n four days since Joanna had taken leave of his estate to take on her reversal of roles in serving as a chaperone to Delilah Flowers, and he had found his residence almost unlivable in her absence.
Despite his direction to William to throw the windows open to the sunshine that the mansion had been denied, light had done little to replace the living energy and presence with which the French queen had filled his home. The clocks ticked too loudly, William’s presence was a constant reminder of the duties he was no longer performing for his Mistress, and Dorian’s afternoons had stretched before him vacant of the familiar routine of her voice reading to him.
None of that even spoke to the emptiness of his bed.
It was no wonder he had grasped hold of the invitation Mathias had extended to join the family for an evening at the card tables. Any conversation was better than the silence that echoed around his home like a catacomb.
Marido, Ayla had called him — husband in his native tongue. And indeed, she had been the only other of his sisters that he had married in a public façade over the centuries. But he had never taken her to his bed. Theirs had been — and was — a companionable relationship built on affection and mutual trust. A relationship that had only grown in the years since the dissolution of their public union.
He found that he could not imagine as easy a transition with Joanna, if — when — they parted. His music grew darker on the harmony that the four had woven for their enjoyment of the evening and their proximity.
“You ain’t that upset for losing are you?” Eden asked, tilting her head. “You know I ain’t gonna feel bad for a sore loser.”
“Pretty sure you’re cheating anyway,” Mathias grunted. It earned him a flick of a betting token from the girl.
“Don’t gotta cheat when you’re all bad at playin’.” Her gaze turned back to Dorian, and she tilted her head. “But somethin’s wrong — We ain’t gotta keep playin’ blackjack, Dori.”
The Conde shook his head. “Forgive my distraction.” His lips twitched. “The game is satisfactory. I doubt I shall do better for one with more thinking involved anyway,” he admitted flatly. “I have given the House quite enough of my coin as is.”
He had not joined their party to weigh them with the megrims of his maudlin thoughts.
“I dunno. I can always get more of it,” Eden offered with a shrug and turned her attention to her deck. “Let’s get the deal goin’ then, hit or stay.”
“Stay,” Ayla answered.
Dorian did not get the chance to lose himself to his distraction again. He felt the High Queen’s eyes upon him and met her dark-eyed stare with his own.
“Is it so terrible?” she murmured, leaning slightly toward him, as if their siblings’ preternatural hearing would not catch the question.
Dorian breathed a short laugh and reached for the glass of brandy that sat warming at his side. There had never been getting around the woman; even for her inability to hear his heart in his song. He swallowed its burn and answered her.
“Only for my wife’s absence — a fact as unsettling as the realization that I have somehow forgotten how to live alone. If it is so now, I cannot imagine after fifty years.” His lips ghosted her a smile that was almost an apology. “It was not quite so with us.”
At his side he heard Mathias grunt, even before Eden’s hoot of victory rang out.
“Cheating,” Matty murmured.
“See if you win another hand, then, arse.” Grinning, the girl flipped her cards over, only to hit seventeen. She wrinkled her nose, sliding tokens Ayla’s way before she began to shuffle her deck.
“We were pretending at marriage,” Ayla offered quietly, her fingers tapping her tokens against one another as she measured out a bet. “And our love was as child friends playing house. Are you certain you are still only playing with Joanna, Marido?”
It was not a question he felt prepared — or even willing to answer. That he felt lost without Joanna’s presence was unnerving enough; especially when he knew that he had not yet given her the key to his heart.
“We are not bonded — if that if your question,” And he could not help the cooler tone that had crept into his voice and music. “She is yet free to chart her course, and I my own. It is our arrangement.”
“It was not my question,” Ayla offered evenly. “I asked what I meant to ask, Marido. You owe me no answer. Though you may owe yourself one.” Her smile was there, a ghost of what it once was, before she flickered a look to Eden.
The girl was watching them both. Her lips popped open as though she intended to speak, but it was Mathias’s tap of his tokens on the table that secured her attention.
“You aren’t getting all my coin so easily, sprat,” he said, but there was almost a warning shadowing his tone that did not seem related to the game. “You focus on the game.”
“I ain’t a bloody child, you bastard.” Eden huffed and began to deal the cards. “I know how t’mind my damned business. You ain’t gettin’ any of your coin back now.”
Dorian ignored them both. He had no answer for Ayla in any event. How could he, when he had none for himself? He had not secured a pair bond with his wife — it was enough to signal that there was a part of himself that did not trust… whatever it was between them to last, and he was damned if he knew why.
But did it even particularly matter? Had he not begun this journey with a focus on the now? Joanna was happy. They had found a mutually satisfying place in the bonds they had established. To borrow the future’s trouble merely for the sake of her current absence was foolishness that loomed more ridiculous with each passing moment that he dwelled upon it.
“It matters not,” he said to the air in general. “Not nearly as much as my need to recover my losses.” His gaze flickered toward their dealer. “Deal, Kitten.”
At least he knew the rules of this game.
Chapter 24
I love you
As the moon must love the night sky
Joanna leaned back in her armchair staring at the words on her paper before setting her quill aside. She had not expected a week to last nearly so long as it had, and she was just as certain the next three days would be as maddening as she imagined.
To think that she had managed one hundred and sixty-two years in relative peace and solitude. Now the High Lord, her husband, had invaded her every thought, and his song was settled into her marrow. Her finger twirled in the air as if to catch the thread that bound them before she dropped it again with a sigh.
Only a thread.
Her gaze lowered to rest on Delilah Flowers’s sleeping form and softened. For the healing effect of Efemina’s ministration and magic, the girl was recovering well from her misadventure. Joanna doubted she would even need the full week before the Fae-blooded woman was back on her feet. And then she would be home again.
The French queen tilted her head to listen to the stray sounds of violin music echoing through her blood and found another note that chilled her.
Flutes.
Angelica.
The grandfather clock in the foyer below stairs began to call out through the empty halls. Beneath the sound of the gongs, Angelica’s music began to swell in Joanna’s veins like venom.
Setting her book aside, the French queen unfolded to a stand and made her way quietly out the door. She stood at the top of the stairwell, scenting expensive perfume on the air and listening to the quiet sound of footfall.
Angelica climbed into view wearing a beautiful red dress. Lifting her head, the older queen fixed dark eyes on the blonde.
“You should not be here, Angelica,” Joanna said steadily, meeting her gaze. “Lian is on a hunt. He is not here.”
Angelica smiled and tilted her head. “My, haven’t you grown a bit of a spine, sweet. A proper Condesa. No doubt Dori enjoys parading around his frog in silks.” She waved her fingers. “Hop along, love, I’ve not a mind to play with you tonight.”
The Condesa set her hand on the bannister, steeling herself.
Ang
elica’s smile was set firmly in place, despite the huff of breath that escaped her. “Well, if you insist on being a bother. Wherever have we put the little maid strutting about the ton as your friend? Does it gall you terribly that she’s prettier as a mortal than our gift could ever make you? I would certainly hate to be the uglier companion. But you’re of a kinder constitution than I.”
Matchless. Dorian had called her matchless. She had known it wasn’t true, but she had believed him when he said it.
Angelica’s eyes flashed red, stirring the darkness in Joanna’s blood into a shining peridot. A note of warning sang out in the other queen’s song. “Move, Joanna.”
Joanna tightened her hold on the bannister, but nothing could have kept her anchored against Angelica’s superior strength. An iron grip closed around her wrist, and suddenly she was stumbling to keep up with the older queen’s preternatural speed.
The woman was speaking in a trilling singsong, but Joanna could hardly hear what she was saying. She was too focused on trying not to crash into Angelica’s body with the suddenness of each stop. They had covered nearly half the distance of the hallway when the queen’s music suddenly found a strange stillness and she slowed to stand, her nails flexing into the skin of Joanna’s wrist.
Turning her own nails so they bit into Angelica’s skin, Joanna hissed out, “Lâche-moi!”
Their blood’s perfume drifted to mix in the air.
“I do not speak frog, pet,” Angelica hummed, “try again in the King’s tongue, will you?”
She yanked Joanna along again, and with an icy grip taking hold her chest, the French queen realized where they were headed. With a crash, she was shoved through the door of the suite where Delilah slept.
Just managing to keep her footing, Joanna threw herself between the queen and Delilah’s bed, listening to the sounds of the girl stirring behind her as she pinned Angelica with a glare. The other queen ignored them both as she closed the door and turned up the lights.
