Midnight of the Fae [Tangere Tales 2] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

by Heather Rainier

“Oh. I love to dance, but I’m not familiar with your dances.”

  “I’d be happy to teach you,” he murmured as he led her down the path between the neat rows of trees.

  She got a gander at him while he looked out into the orangery. He was taller than her by several inches. His jet-black hair was gloriously thick with a slight curl, and in the light on the terrace, she’d noticed his eyes were bright blue. The formal suit he wore followed his tall, lean lines and accentuated his strong shoulders and long legs, feeding into her Lord of the Rings elven fantasies.

  The smile faltered from his lips, and she looked away. He must’ve realized she was staring at him. Maybe he was uncomfortable with being assessed in such a fashion.

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to stare.”

  “The crown is solid gold, but responsibility comes with it, Caresse. My family doesn’t indulge itself at the expense of our subjects.”

  “I admire that. And just so you know, I wasn’t looking at your crown. I was looking at you.” Butthead, she added to herself.

  He tilted his head, and his gaze captured her, a hint of surprise in his expression. “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re used to people seeing your title and your crown—your power—before they see you?”

  “The prestige of an invitation to the palace, the possibility of being chosen as my bride and future queen, is understandably intoxicating to many in the palace tonight.”

  “Well, I don’t know what that would be like. I just see you.” His smile held a boyish tilt, and a faint flush darkened his high cheekbones.

  “Leandre claims fae don’t blush,” she said, hoping to lighten his mood.

  “We don’t,” Sebastien replied, but she heard the humor in his tone.

  “Your orchard is gorgeous.” The trees neat and tidy in their symmetry, the branches filled with verdant orange-skinned fruit that reflected the flickering light as if they’d been polished. The scent of so much fruit should have been cloying in its sweet abundance, but she wasn’t overwhelmed. In fact, the scent seemed to tug at something deep within her, some happy memory, so evocative her eyes stung.

  “Thank you. My mother thinks of it as our true crowning glory.”

  Her pace beside him slowed as they reached the boundaries of the natural lighting and she was unwilling to go farther…into the dark. Not because she didn’t trust Sebastien. It’s too dark.

  More torches suddenly flared to life, and she nearly tripped in surprise as they revealed just how large the orangery was, row upon row of trees revealed as the torches flared on and on.

  Sebastien paused at her side and placed his warm palm over her hand in the crook of his elbow. His smile was broad, and he gave an appreciative sigh. “Now that’s more like it. Come. I’m going to teach you to dance.” He drew her in a diagonal path between the trees, and she followed without question, her hand tingling under his.

  “How do you plan to do that? We’re in the middle of…wow.” How had she missed the courtyard that came into view?

  The circular surface was made from the same ivory marble that had been underfoot on the palace terrace. The tracery of gold- and copper-colored veins in the marble shimmered beneath the flickering torchlight. Gracing the outer edge were stone benches, and in the center was a ring of trees laden with white flowers. White gauze drapes were festooned between the trees, providing a gossamer canopy for a large flat chaise, so big it was almost a bed. A peaked copper roof shaded the chaise as well as providing protection from the elements. She imagined it would be the perfect place for a nap or other more sensual pursuit.

  He led her up the shallow steps to the wide expanse of floor.

  Soft strains of a lone violin filled the night, and she looked around, as he lifted her hand into his palm and placed the other around her waist and faced her. “Where is he?”

  “Who? Leandre? By now Poutina is probably halfway through her sonnet dedicated to my lusty manhood.”

  “No, I mean the—your what?” she sputtered, unable to control her snorting laughter.

  “What? You don’t think my lustiness could inspire a whole book of sonnets?” His grin widened, showing off his dimples and pearly whites.

  “Uh, I’m sure you could, but I meant the musician. I don’t see him. I’ll pass on discussing your…lusty manhood.” But I’ll for sure be thinking about it later.

  “Understood. There is no musician.”

  “Then how?” she asked, looking up and gauging the distance back to the palace. Judging by how faraway the towering spires were, the acoustics were freakishly good.

  “Magic,” he replied as if the answer was amusing and slightly obvious.

  She went along with it, still wondering in the back of her mind how any of this was possible. Invisible violinists, shape-shifting fae, palaces and balls, and hot faery godfathers and princes. Maybe she’d lost her marbles in the dark and she was in a permanent fantasyland.

  He showed her the simple steps to a dance that reminded her of a waltz and smiled indulgently every time she accidentally stepped on his toes. More violins and other instruments joined the violin soloist, and she gradually loosened up as he taught her several more. They danced slow circles around the courtyard, and true to Leandre’s word, the shoes he had whipped up out of the air with a wave of his fingers were comfortable, easy to dance in. Most importantly, she never tripped and busted her ass once.

  “Are you thirsty?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, panting after a particularly lively dance, and followed him to the chaise, where a small table was set with flutes of a light, bubbling wine that was very refreshing. She shouldn’t have found his hands so mesmerizing as he lifted an orange from the silver bowl on the tray and peeled and separated it before holding out a section for her to try. He nodded, and she couldn’t resist the invitation in his eyes to sample the fruit from his fingers.

  Golden delight burst on her tongue and made her taste buds twang. It was like no orange she’d ever eaten, and from the hands of a totally hot crown prince. But the joy of discovery was dampened by guilt. Leandre was a puckish flirt, an irreverent tease, and was still in trouble for withholding vital information from her, but she cared for him. More deeply than she should, considering how long she’d known he was so much more than her devoted furry companion. The bond felt strong, as if she’d known him her whole life.

  Sebastien tipped her chin up, and warmth filled his expression. “I’m so glad Leandre has you.”

  She swallowed the last of her orange slice and said, “I care about him. I haven’t known him long…but I do.”

  “Long enough, I think.” His attention was drawn toward the palace, and then he sighed. “Princess, our time together is coming to a close. I have duties in the ballroom, and I’ve monopolized more of your time with Leandre than I deserved.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m only sorry I didn’t claim you first.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked, frowning at his word choice. Claiming? No one was claiming anyone. She was her own person.

  “My thoughts are scattered, and I’ve spoken out of turn, for which I apologize. I only meant—”

  Ticklish shivers danced over her throat and her collarbones as he stroked her jaw, and she caught her breath. He was so close, and she couldn’t resist the urge to place her hand over his heart. The shirt he wore under his formal coat was soft, and his body heat radiated through it into her fingertips.

  “That you wish you’d seen her first?” Leandre said from behind her. “Then I have good news.”

  She twirled in surprise, guilt swamping her at being caught, wondering what it would feel like to nuzzle Sebastien’s bare chest in that exact spot. “Oh! There you are! Um…” She squinted at him, looked back at Sebastien, then blinked and looked at Leandre again. “Wha…” She was looking at an exact duplicate of Sebastien. His twin? With Leandre’s voice?

  Leandre’s devilish grin was restored as he suddenly transformed
into the man she recognized, and his clothing reverted back to the black tuxedo. “Sorry, Caresse. I probably should have explained what I planned to do.”

  “Just another one of your abilities?” Before he could do more than glance at Sebastien and give her half of an uncertain nod, she continued. “Next time, tell me before you do that, and don’t be impersonating each other with me.”

  Obviously eager to stay on her good side, Sebastien pointed at Leandre. “That’s his gift. I have only a single tangere form while he has many.”

  She fought the insane urge to giggle and almost said that was fine but no hopping on the bed like Doop-Doop had and cuddling up to her. Where in the hell that thought came from she didn’t know, but damn it, she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. Clearly she was delirious.

  “How was Poutina’s poem?” she asked, willing to let Leandre off the hook for startling her. It wasn’t like she could make up rules for them to follow anyway. This was their world, and she needed to adapt.

  Leandre rubbed at his chin and chuckled, looking at Sebastien. “She wishes to worship at the steely altar of your manhood.”

  “You’re not even kidding, are you?” Caresse blurted.

  “Did she try?” Sebastien asked before bursting into laughter.

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” Caresse murmured.

  Leandre shook his head and went to her to kiss her forehead. “She tried, but I’m fast on my feet. She and her sister make a determined pair.”

  Not wanting to think about it, Caresse changed the subject. “You said you had news.”

  “Sebastien!” a female voice called in the distance. “Sebastien! I know you’re out here!”

  Leandre chuckled but looked pained. “I thought I lost your mother in the crowd. I need to get Caresse out of here, cousin.”

  Sebastien nodded. “I wish you didn’t have to go so soon. Everything gets dropped when the matriarch calls.”

  “She’s not quite that bad,” Leandre replied, taking his forearm. “But we do need to speak in private, all three of us. Do what you can to get away and come to us.” He glanced over his shoulder and then did the twirly thing with his hand and a mini tornado of rose petals appeared again.

  “I enjoyed dancing with you, Prince Sebastien. It was an honor meeting you.”

  Assuming a regal air, Sebastien bowed over her hand to kiss it. To Leandre, he said, “I’ll do my best. Hurry before she sees you.”

  Leandre nodded and said, “This is important, cousin.”

  “Duty is my middle name,” Sebastien quipped.

  Leandre chuckled. “You sure it’s not, ‘Yes, mama’?”

  “Now that’s just rude. See you in a bit—if I can get away.”

  Caresse closed her eyes in the midst of the blur of rose petals, clinging to Leandre as he performed his magic.

  She opened her eyes, once again in her attic room, but not the same room she’d left earlier.

  Chapter Six

  Frustrated and frankly a little confused by Leandre’s cryptic statement, Sebastien left the courtyard at the center of the orange grove and met his mother on one of the straightaways leading back to the palace.

  “There you are! Sebastien, my son—”

  “I know, Mother.” It wasn’t a good idea to interrupt the queen, but he’d heard this speech over and over the last few weeks.

  “Listen to me,” she said, coming face to face with him on the path, her gold gown swirling around the paving stones as she took his hands and looked up into his eyes. “I know my decision is an unpopular one with you.”

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  “But I don’t. Why did you allow Leandre to stand in for you? Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

  His surprise must’ve shown on his face because she chuckled.

  “He has a crooked grin when he’s up to no good. It may be a mirage of your likeness that other people see, but I know my great-nephew almost as well as I know you.”

  “I know I have a duty.”

  “It’s not just that. I didn’t tell you this before, but Selena paid me a visit.”

  “And what did the Great Prognosticator tell you?”

  “Laugh all you want, but you know she’s always right.”

  “I know she enjoys reminding us of that.”

  “We’re lucky to have her in the family. When I started planning this ball, that was my hope. With so many prospective brides in attendance I felt certain one among them would catch your eye and perhaps your heart. But I wouldn’t have forced a choice…at least I don’t think I would’ve. I’m pushy, I know, but I’m not a dictator. But Selena came to me and told me that you would be wed by the final night, without a doubt. By your own choice.”

  He knew his mother was no dictator, but he, along with everyone else in the kingdom, knew Selena was always right. He could almost hear the nails being hammered into the coffin of his bachelorhood. “Wed? Truly? Are you insane?”

  “No, but your impertinence is noted. She surprised me, too, with that announcement, but you can’t keep running out on these social events any more than you can stop her prediction from coming true. We all have our duties to perform. And you’re giving me more gray hair.”

  “I am not. You’re as glorious as ever, Mother.” He smiled and lifted her delicate hand to kiss it.

  “Sweet talk will not get you out of hot water with me,” she said, her tone softening as she smiled at him. “I’ll still have my way. But you can say more things like that to me and I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

  He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and walked her down the path toward the palace. “I was just on my way back to the ballroom. Tell me that if you were in my shoes you wouldn’t find the pursuit of some of those women a tad disconcerting. Desdemona’s daughters are particularly brazen.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve pushed Poutina and Niebleht Farkle so hard at you. Is that why you keep disappearing?”

  “Well…” He had a strong sense now was not the time to tell her about the enchanting woman he’d just met.

  “It’s just that their mother is my best friend. My only friend, it seems like sometimes.” Her forlorn tone told him she was convinced of that.

  “Mmm.” Sebastien didn’t say much else. Regine might be open to the machinations of his fae cousin Selena, but she had a huge blind spot where Desdemona de Rochambard was concerned. The woman was a plotter, plain and simple, and her daughters were the same. He’d tried to open his mother’s eyes to Desdemona’s maneuverings but had been met with only skepticism. Regine was loyal to a fault.

  “I will do my best to consider the women you keep placing in my path, but I do not want this arranged marriage.”

  Compassion filled her gaze. “Even if you are the one who does the choosing?”

  “Not on this timetable, no.”

  “But you must. Selena has foreseen it.”

  “Selena also claimed that the infant you betrothed me to when I was no more than a baby myself was my ‘true’ intended. Look how that turned out.”

  Regine’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes grew shiny until she sniffled. Remorse filled him. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to remind you of Ella. I know you miss her. It’s just that…even if her daughter, Ninette, hadn’t died—”

  “And Ella of a broken heart the following week. So sad. If I’d lost you, I would’ve done the same.” A sob escaped.

  He gave her a gentle hug, smiling when she accepted willingly. “I meant to say that even if that had worked out, it would’ve still been an arranged marriage, and I don’t want that.”

  “I want you to be as happy as I am with your father…and our match was arranged by our parents. We barely knew each other beyond pleasantries, but you know for yourself how I adore him.” She drew back and gazed up at him and sighed. “What Selena sees comes to pass.”

  “She didn’t foresee Ninette’s kidnapping or that she would die in the forest at the hands of robbers before she could be ransomed
.”

  Regine paused, not knowing what to say, obviously, because he was right.

  “Selena’s wrong about this. Two days hence I’ll be wed of my own choosing? When my heart feels nothing for any among that bevy of…” He gestured toward the ballroom.

  He didn’t intend to besmirch the character of the debutantes. Not all of them were as determined as Poutina and Niebleht. Among them were young women he’d known all his life. Some were friends, some merely hopeful that they’d win him over. They were all lovely…and did absolutely nothing for him. Not even a tingle of interest. It was as if that male part of him was dormant—at least when he thought of the debutantes waiting inside.

  If Caresse came to the palace the next two nights, he’d be able to enjoy himself.

  “I guess we’ll know who’s right in two more nights, won’t we?”

  “It’s you I get my stubbornness from.”

  “I’m not stubborn. I’m right.”

  There was no arguing with the woman, but she was right about one thing. Time would tell. He didn’t look forward to disappointing her.

  “If I promise to attend…and participate”—in this charade—“for the next two nights, will you make my excuses for tonight?”

  “Darling, they’ve hardly seen you at all,” she protested, but he could see the sympathy in her eyes.

  “I’ll fully participate. And Leandre will also be there with a guest,” he added for good measure. If his cousin was there in full sight, then they couldn’t exactly switch places, now could they?

  “A guest? Was she here tonight? Did I meet her?”

  “No, she was only here a short time. He seems smitten by her.”

  She scoffed. “Not very smitten if he’s running off to playact on your behalf.”

  Getting to know Caresse was actually the highlight of my evening.

  “And who is this woman? Do I know her family? Does she have a noble pedigree? Who is she related to? Does Selena know her?”

  Sebastien recalled Caresse’s remarks about living, and working, in Le Maison de Rochambard. He couldn’t chance that Desdemona had mentioned Caresse by name to Regine or the probability that she’d slander Caresse’s character if she discovered she might attend the next two nights. He wanted his mother to draw her own conclusions. It was better to leave her guessing for now.