by R. Cooper
Tu blinked several times. “I’m not,” he replied at last, again in his own voice. “I’ve already failed you.”
“But you’re here,” David answered.
Tu still could not follow.
“Of course, I am here.” Tu had to make that clear, at least. “I had to see you. I didn’t mean to bother you, or even to speak with you. But you were miserable instead of happy, and I… if there was a chance that I could fix that, then I had to try.” Tu sighed at himself. “Whatever the bravery of a bookseller is worth. I allowed myself to think this was possible. That I could belong here. That you might want me to. I’m sorry.”
David’s silence was crushing. He was too kind even though he must feel betrayed and angry, and would not shout or order Tu gone. Tu dropped his gaze, only to bring it back up at the composed voice of Prince David.
“If I were not the Heir, I would forgive you now.” David stood like stone. “But I am, as you reminded me that day. And my marriage is not only for me, is it? It must be to the Prince as well as to David. It must be with someone who believes in both of them, and who could be accepted by a kingdom and my family, and who is brave enough to try.”
Tu had not wanted any reminders of who David was for so long, but it was a part of him. It shaped his every decision, down to how he spoke and held himself. It was impossible to love David and not the Prince, too. But realizing that at last still did not make Tu a fitting consort.
“You were right to remind me, even though it hurt,” David continued. “I thought love would solve it all. You were afraid, and I didn’t notice.”
“That’s because you are that strong.” Tu held his hands out. “I never blamed you for it. I couldn’t. If anything, it only proves I am still no match for a prince.” The rest fell out of him. “But I love one dearly. So it seems… so it seems I must fight for him, in my way.”
David dragged in a long breath. “The first night you were here, I thought I was still looking for you, even through the mask. That I missed you so much I imagined you. But it was you.” He took another deep breath. “Will you come again? You stood in front of me and told me you would try.”
“If you want me to.” Tu stared at him wonder. “Do you really? Even though you know who I am?”
“Will you dance with me again?” David asked in return, without innocence, because he had warned Tu that a second dance meant the King and Queen would wish to speak to him.
“Your family will not approve,” Tu protested, but quietly. Prince David would be his undoing. “Yes,” he agreed in the next moment, shaking. “If you still wish it.”
“When have I ever said no to you?” David was also trembling. “Tabatha will like you. Flor has been wondering when you would reappear—he had more hope than I. Though I love you.”
Tu grabbed one unsteady, beautiful hand and brought it to his mouth to press painted lips to it. He lowered his head. “You are loving and kind. The best prince. Much too good for me.”
Someone called David’s name.
David stayed where he was, only turning his hand over as if wanting to feel Tu’s breath on his wrist. “I often thought the same when I was in your bed while you worked so hard to bring me pleasure. Being beneath you is like lying in sunshine.”
“David.” Tu briefly closed his eyes. “You should not forgive me so quickly.”
The calling of David’s name became decidedly more urgent, as though they had an audience and someone felt they had to be reminded of propriety.
Because David would not, perhaps would not ever, Tu was the one to let go and to straighten until they were standing at a more respectable distance.
David only watched him. “You were right to remind me, and wrong to doubt me. But you are here now, and if you return, I would grant you a dance. I would grant you anything, Tu, if you tried for it.”
Returning for one more masquerade could not possibly equal that declaration.
Tu was not brave like David. But he understood the knights in the books on the shelves of his shop now, and the promises they made to their beloved kings.
He took David’s hand again, and kissed it, and said yes, just to see the dimple on David’s cheek.
TU SPENT two weeks in a dream, alternatively anxious and hopeful. Lady Stephanie laughed at him, and Flor de Maga appeared in his shop on a search for some novels, he claimed for a gift, but he left behind an invitation to the final masked ball in addition to the payment for his books.
It was the only communication from anyone near the royal family. A test. Because Tu could not be forgiven or accepted if he did not answer David’s invitation.
Tu downed brandy in Lord Hyacinth’s library and allowed the Countess al-Nihar to fuss with his hair, and did not look in the mirror at the remarkable creature they turned him into.
His mask was feathered, in the colors of sunset. His suit much the same. But his hair fell in loose waves to his shoulders, with strands of pearls at his throat and enormous feathered wings at his back. He felt like a peacock made of fire, and would have balked if Lord Hyacinth and his husband had not been smiling dragons, and the Countess an exquisite fae.
The third and final masked ball began at twilight, the sky still light enough to give the event a bold, daring air. It also took place outside, on the balconies and steps leading down to the gardens, as well as in the gardens themselves.
The Countess detached herself from Tu’s arm the moment they stepped out into the purple dusk, and went over to an Amazon that could only be the Lady Stephanie. The Lady Stephanie toasted Tu with her glass, then inclined her head as though Tu outranked her, making Tu freeze before he nodded awkwardly in return.
He wondered what he was, or the picture he made, until, as always, he searched for and found David and all his worries momentarily vanished from his mind.
Someone, very probably David himself, had dressed David in the clothes of a storybook prince, glittering silver mail along his arms, a thick red cloak flung over his shoulders, a silver circlet at his brow. What a test David had designed for his suitors with these masquerades, and none of them had even realized it. Asking people to wear masks was asking them to show their true selves, and David was a prince in all aspects of life, though Tu had not wanted to believe it before. David’s pretend crown was only a reflection of David’s truth, like any other ornament.
Tu was moving up the steps without thought, scared beyond measure, and yet in possession of the one thing none of the others had. Him, an older, insignificant book shop owner. It beggared belief. But David turned before Tu had reached the last stair and he smiled with such relief and joy that Tu hurried to stand in front of him as fast as he could get there without running.
It was only once there that he noticed David was not alone.
“Ah,” Tu could not help but whisper in alarm, because the royal family were dressed like illustrations of royalty in a book of romantic tales. He looked desperately at David. “Dav…Your Royal Highness.”
“Sir Tomcat,” David answered lightly. “Or is it Sir Phoenix today?”
Tu was not a remarkable creature, although he supposed he was being given a second chance, making him a phoenix with gray hair that would not lie flat, and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Lord Hyacinth had dressed him as a harlequin, a trickster with a secret romantic agenda. Lady Stephanie had made him a prowling cat, without saying what he was prowling for, because she had already known.
“Mr. Tulip,” Tu gathered enough of his wits to answer, “Tu, to my friends. I’m… just a bookseller.”
David released a long, contented breath, then startled Tu by taking hold of his hand and turning toward his parents. “Mother. Father. May I present Mr. Tulip? Or Tu, if he prefers?”
“He has no preference,” Tu said with quiet shock, while he was studied from head to toe by his King and his Queen.
“Tu owns a bookshop near the University, and is a close friend of Lord Hyacinth and Lady Stephanie, as well as many others here tonight,” David infor
med them, all but telling them everything; Tu’s commoner status, how long David must have known him, possibly even that they had been lovers, and that Tu was inclined to somewhat radical friends.
A friendship with the iconoclastic Lord Hyacinth was not the recommendation David thought it was. Or it was exactly the recommendation David thought it was.
“My admiration for David—for His Royal Highness—has never diminished in the years I have known him.” Tu had forgotten to bow and did not know if bowing now would make up for the slip. He met the eyes of each of David’s parents, then swallowed. “I know I am no fit match for a prince.”
“Not a fit match yet,” Flor interjected. “All of this is taught. None of it is innate.”
“Egalitarian ideas,” sighed the Queen.
The King’s stare became a little harder, but he said nothing.
David tugged Tu’s hand. “Would you care to dance, Tu?”
Tu had been supposed to ask David, but he was grateful for the rescue, and nodded. David smiled again, though his grip tightened with anxiety he did not otherwise show. For that, Tu clasped David’s hand in his and led him slowly down the many steps toward the musicians, and the empty space between rows of flowers which seemed as good a place for dancing as any.
It was easier to be bold with David’s hand in his, to think of David’s worry and not his own. Still, Tu had to apologize. “I’ve made mistakes again. I’m sorry.”
David stopped though they were on the stairs, and leaned in with his eyes closed, his breathing fast. “You came.”
“David.” Tu reached up to curl a hand to the back of David’s neck, gently bringing their foreheads together. The circlet was warmer than he’d imagined it could be. “I could not stay away, even when I tried.”
“Please,” David said as though they were alone and not watched by a crowd of confused and curious nobility. “It’s been so long. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
“I’m sorry,” Tu answered. Sorry for sending David away and for leaving him alone. He wouldn’t again, and to show it, he tipped David’s face up and kissed his parted lips once, in veneration, the way a vassal might have done in an old story. David met the kiss with a sigh and then a weary, happy smile that Tu traced with his thumb. Tu did not deserve this, but it seemed to be his. “I will strive to be worthy of you, and to make you happy, both David and prince.”
David opened his eyes.
“How very like you to think yourself unfit, then offer vows to me in front of family and friends and half of the nobility.” David inched back to consider Tu with far too much fondness. “All the grace of a courtier, and all the romance to make the people love you. Which they will.” He smiled, wider this time. “Now, will you remove your mask?” he asked. “Now, will I have your kisses again at last?”
Tu should not be kissing him at all, surely. But he already had, led into such a joyful misstep at David’s urging.
As helpless to that as ever, Tu pulled his mask away and gave himself one moment to bask in David’s pleasure and to not worry over the obstacles to come.
“Shall we dance, then?” he asked softly, before taking the hand David offered and leading his prince down the stairs to the dancing.
A Beast and a Beauty
ZARRIN CRANED his head to stare at the tangled branches of dried hawthorn, wild roses, and wattle that had been stacked together to form a wall taller than most human men, and as thick as the stone masonry of the Quaking Palace with its many towers.
He had walked the perimeter of the wall of thorns, more curious than angry at the dedication it took to build it, although he was tired from his journey through the woods and up into these foothills. The wall must have taken weeks to complete, and the builder must have bled for it. A remarkable feat, truly, even if it was a problem for Zarrin.
It seemed the rumor the Princess had heard was correct.
Zarrin sighed heavily. It was one thing to be such an oddity among dragons that his parents had decided to interfere and find him a companion since he had yet to find one on his own. It was quite another to realize he was so unwanted that someone had constructed a barrier to keep him away.
He told himself he was not entirely the cause of this wall. It had likely been here for some time before the royal family had sent out a decree for each city, town, and village to send their most accomplished or beautiful young person to the Quaking Palace so that Prince Zarrin might not be alone.
They had sent beauties who had cowered at the sight of Zarrin’s bronze scales and long tail, schemers who could barely look at Zarrin but gazed with avarice at the luxury of his rooms, poor farmhands who were overwhelmed by the palace, musicians who thought Zarrin would eat them, scholars who did not want to be anyone’s companion, and one nosy baker. Zarrin had sent them all home, save the baker, whom he had directed to the Princess since the baker needed a job and Azar liked sweets.
Everyone had sent their best, or, as Zarrin suspected, someone they would not mind being rid of. Everyone, that is, except for one town. One town barely more than a village had sent no one. When Azar had inquired, she heard that the beauty chosen had scorned both the offer and the town itself, and taken off into the foothills, scaring the townsfolk away when they had tried to force him to go.
The townspeople did not want to offend the royal family, but apparently no one else in their town was worthy—or worthless. Zarrin was not sure which applied here, but he had decided to interfere. It was his companion problem, after all, that had gotten this beauty into this trouble. Zarrin should fix it.
He considered the wall again. His scales were hard but they would not keep out all the thorns. He would bleed. That he hesitated at all was a sign of his strangeness and his weakness, the dragon prince who hid in the palace. But all the dragons hid behind the stone of the towers. The humans had forgotten them, feared them, did not know what an honor it was to be chosen.
Zarrin lowered his head, shut his eyes, then shoved forward through the brambles. Thorns slid off his scales and caught around his ankles. They sliced the soft underside of his tail and left stinging trails around his nostrils. He exhaled, not fire, not wanting to set the entire wall and whatever lay beyond it aflame, and stumbled when the branches not dry enough to break wrapped around his legs, thorns piercing the flesh between his toes.
He roared, something he had never done, an earthshaking sound that sent more branches tumbling to the ground to both make his way easier and bring him more pain as new thorns found their way beneath his scales.
A moment later, he was free, the echo of his roar the only sound for several moments, except for his harsh breathing.
Then someone shouted.
Zarrin opened his eyes and beheld a beast. It ran toward him from the direction of a small house only to stop several yards away. It also breathed harshly.
Humans were afraid of dragons now, Zarrin remembered. And this was a human, for all that it was dressed as a beast.
Humans came in many sizes and varieties, but Zarrin thought this one might be a man, from the height and general build, though, of course, he would need to ask to be certain. A large coat of thick gray fur hid its body from view. Spikes of carved bone had been sewn onto the shoulders. Gloves made of thick leather, with eagle or hawk talons at the tips of the fingers, added to the beastlike appearance, but it was the helmet of a Great Wolf’s skull that took Zarrin aback. Where he should have seen a human face, there was only a long snout and teeth.
He stared, and the human in the beast suit stood still and said nothing.
Zarrin was a dragon, if small, and bleeding. He had come this far, so he raised his chin. “I’m sorry you were driven to this. Tell me, please, how should I address you? I do not want to offend you further. Humans are different, you see. Are you a they? A he? She? A word I’m not familiar with but would like to be?”
“I do not care if you are a dragon or a dragon prince royal, I did not invite you here,” the human in a beast suit declared in a husky voice, th
en visibly paused, as though Zarrin’s apology had confused it. “What? I don’t care what you call me. You were not invited. He,” the human added a moment after that.
“That is true. I was not,” Zarrin admitted in the momentary silence. “But the people will not let you be until this is resolved. If you cannot deal with me, others will be sent. I have no doubt of that.” Zarrin nodded toward the pieces of the wall of thorns on the ground around him. “They already forced you to this.”
The human man did not move. “If they are afraid, then they will stay away.”
“Or they will send more like me,” Zarrin pointed out, reasonably, he thought, despite the pain he was in. “Or not at all like me,” he added, whipping his tail around to emphasize that he was little. Zarrin was larger than a tiger, perhaps as big as one of the Great Wolves would have been, if they still lived. Most dragons were well beyond that in size.
“What makes you so different?” the human demanded. “That you are dragon?” Zarrin stopped, bewildered by the question, but was given no time to answer. The man snorted derisively. “Dragons and humans are the same where it matters, and the dragons in their towers care nothing for us except when they summon us for some whim.”
Zarrin tossed his head, which dislodged several pieces of hawthorn from his mane. “Marriage is hardly a whim,” he huffed, and had no idea what to make of the utter stillness from the man, or the small, garbled noise he made. “And I am not in a tower. Surely, this is obvious.” His family might still be, but Zarrin had come down.
“You could cook me where I stand.” The man was very stubborn and also a bit rude. Although very few of the humans Zarrin had met recently seemed to know anything about dragons or how unlikely it was for Zarrin to roast anything.
“But I haven’t.” Zarrin studied the claws in the human’s gloves and wondered if they were longer than his own. “I could have set fire to your thorns, too, and forced you to flee. It would have been much easier.”
“You’re bleeding.” The man was either ignoring Zarrin’s words or incapable of linear conversation.
