And this one was far from chaste. Nothing at all like what he’d given her last night.
Her hot, little tongue traced the seam of his lips, demanding he part to her, which he did. Gladly. And a powerful grunt spilled from his throat when he finally tasted of her.
She was sweet.
Like raspberries dipped in sugar—tart and addictive all at the same time. Her kiss didn’t last long, but when she finally pulled back, he was shocked to note that he couldn’t seem to take a steady breath.
She bit her bottom lip, and he moaned, wanting badly to return the favor.
Thankfully, she was distracted already. Like an excited, young girl she slipped her fingers through his and tugged him forward.
“Oh my goddess, this is amazing,” she squealed.
Seriously squealed. Her features were giddy and youthful. Not at all like the woman he’d left back in her room the day before who’d looked weighted down by the cares of the world.
Fable had been choking on the darkness. And though he’d not taken nearly half of it from her, she seemed like a different woman already.
“Look at this place!” She picked up the pace. Looking in awe through one window storefront after another.
There was a hat maker’s shop. The glass in front was stenciled with thick white letters boldly declaring “Clara’s Milliner, the best hatmaker in all of Kingdom!” And the samples on display seemed to agree.
They were a delight to the eyes—hats in every shape and size and fashion was inside, some were in the shape of fantastical creatures or inventions. Like dragons, ships, and even a typewriter. But there were other more feminine ones, pretty delicate things covered in flowers and spools of gossamer fabric.
It was those—but especially one in particular—that had Fable pressing her nose up to the window with a delighted, feminine gasp. It was a deep purple satin color, with a pearl white netting that covered the face up to the nose. Glued onto the hat itself were crystal clear flowers that almost looked carved of gems the way the twinkled in the light. Her tawny eyes were rounded and entranced, and Owiot grinned. Wanting to give her anything and everything her heart desired right now, even if it was the moon.
“You should take it,” he said softly.
She shook her head, and he could practically read the denial sitting heavy on her tongue.
Standing to the side, so that she could look at him, he nodded. “Fable, this day won’t last. It’s not built to last. This is mostly illusion. Very good illusion. But illusion nonetheless. I created this day for one purpose. So that you might enjoy it. So that you can build a new memory of what your first day should have been like.”
Her nostrils flared, and a lone tear slipped from the corner of her eye. But she made no move to brush it away. Instead, she shook her head. “Oh, Owiot. No one has ever done anything like this for me. You have no idea how much this means—”
Twisting his lips, he nodded. “I think I do, beautiful one. Do not thank me. All I ask is that you and I enjoy this day. Tomorrow we fight, today we—”
“Play!” She finished for him. Then with a cheeky grin, she ran, tugging him along with her and shoving into the door.
Immediately a human sized frog dressed in a rich gold gown of brocaded silk hopped forward. She was pretty, if not alien and unusual looking. With big, blue colored eyes, smooth skin, brightly painted red lips and impossibly long eyelashes.
Ribbbbbit, her throat pouch bulged as she smiled.
“Hello,” she said in a smooth, silken voice. “How might I help you?”
Owiot had been a bit baffled by Fable’s dreams when he’d first seen them. Creatures that walked and talked and dressed like man. But he’d soon realized that as a little girl in the below, she’d had no real idea what Kingdom could or would be. She’d simply dreamed dreams any ten-year-old girl might if she lived in a land brimming with magic.
So now, standing in front of the frog clerk, he grinned indulgently at his woman’s fantasies, delighted and entranced by the world and scope of her imagination.
If Fable was shocked that a frog lady was attending to them, she didn’t show it. Instead, she hooked her thumb unerringly toward the hat resting behind her shoulder.
“That. I want that.” She beamed.
Frog girl’s grin grew wider. “Excellent choice, mistress! Let’s see if we can’t also find you a few more while we’re at it. Come with me.” She gestured, turning and beginning her hop over toward the hat racks.
With a delighted squeal, Fable squeezed his hand one final time and followed the sales clerk.
“My, you have such lovely skin,” Frogina—as he now thought of her in his head—said toward a still beaming Fable.
Owiot chuckled, finding an empty spot on a bench to sit and wait. Glancing over at another male, dressed in tweed and holding onto a newspaper with legs crossed and reading with a bored expression, he nodded.
Said man glanced at Owiot side-eyed, “Just got here?” he asked.
“Mm.” Owiot nodded.
Tweed guy grunted. “Be prepared to be here at least two hours, those damned sales girls know exactly how to turn our females heads.”
Owiot chuckled.
Tweed guy was right. Fable was in there almost four.
~*~
Fable
She couldn’t believe how much fun she was having. At first, Fable had worried that the people in this place, whether imaginary or not, would know her by sight. By reputation. Would scream and flee the second it dawned on them who they were dealing with, but no matter how many times she mentioned her name, or even that of Snow White they’d just give her one of those pleasant, but vacant smiles letting her know they had no idea who she or Snow was.
Eventually, she’d settled into a happy rhythm, moving from store front to store front without a care in the world as she shopped to her heart’s content.
She knew she’d not get to keep any of this once the day ended, but it was so much fun pretending.
For his part, Owiot was the best company she’d ever had. He’d encourage her to try on one gown after another after another, all the while sitting there and emboldening her each step of the way.
The day was over half gone at this point, and it was suddenly overwhelmingly sad to her that this day should ever end. It had been the best one she’d ever known in her life.
She had bought over twenty items of goods, which they had neatly stacked in boxes around their bench as they sat down for a much-deserved break of tea and cookies.
The tiny café was decorated in nothing but flowering vines. On the walls, on the floors, even wrapped around the legs of the tables, so that one almost felt like they’d fallen through Alice’s hole into a world of fairy wonder.
Fable had no love lost for the damned fairies of the tales, but she rather enjoyed her time in this strange and wonderful café.
“Did you have fun?” Owiot asked gravely, as he took a small bite out of an earl gray scented scone.
Setting her petite four down onto the delicate china bone plate painted in pearl pinks and blues, she nodded. “More than I could possibly tell you. I loved every minute of this place, Owiot. And now you also know my deep, dark secret.”
He twitched a brow, as though to ask, “what?”
She grinned. “I love to shop.”
Her laugh was light and carefree, and she couldn’t begin to describe the relief she felt in not feeling tied down to the woman who wore the crown. In this magical place, she was simply Fable—a young woman of Seren, who had just discovered the beauty and wonder and magic of the above, and it was more than she could have ever imagined.
“That’s okay by me.” He grinned. “I like to watch you shop.”
Blushing fiercely, she glanced down at the table full of teas and cake plates. That comment had felt weirdly and wonderfully intimate, and her stomach couldn’t seem to stop twisting and turning on itself. She’d hardly touched her tea or cookies, but she was too nervous to eat.
A fe
minine malady that hadn’t overcome her...well, ever. Even when she’d “fallen in love” with George her appetite had always remained intact. But now, she couldn’t seem to find it in her to want to do anything other than stare at him. All day long.
Wondering each time she put on a gown...not whether it would fit right or look right, but whether he’d like it. How he’d look at her in it. And each time she’d walked out for his inspection, and his eyes would turn both heated and soft, a region of her heart melted.
Fable was beginning to fear that this affliction wouldn’t lessen but only continue to grow in intensity with time.
She’d not overthought it when she’d decided to take off her already pretty gown, and replace it instead with a soft lavender slinky dress with a heart shaped bodice and a pile of ruffles that fanned out around her hips and back. There was a long vertical slit on each side that showed off her supple and smooth calves. Her shoes were a deep, royal purple and velvet, which matched the hat she’d spied at the milliner’s earlier in the day.
Leaving her hair down, so that it hung soft and loose down her slim shoulders, she’d felt entirely different from the woman she typically was. But she liked that. Loved it in fact, because here she wasn’t the evil queen. Not once had Owiot ever made her feel that way, and it was easy now to recall the memories of the young girl she’d once been and view those recollections, not with bitterness and self-loathing, but fondly and happily.
Flicking a glance toward his face, already knowing he was looking at her intently, she still shivered all over again at the quiet intensity of the man. Never once in her life had she thought this of anyone, but Owiot was simply perfect.
Not just in looks, but in his heart.
He was kind and sweet and gentle, and so damned thoughtful that she felt almost overwhelmed by him. Expecting for him to show his ugly side at some point. Because everyone had one. No one was perfect.
Not even her beloved mother and father, and definitely not her grandmother or grandfather. But that was why she loved them because they were flawed. Maybe not as badly as she was, but they were real and tangible.
With Owiot she almost felt overwhelmed because it wasn’t possible for someone to be this kind and gentle and well...bloody, damn perfect.
She scowled, which he noted immediately.
“What’s the matter? Is the food—”
Holding up her hand to stall his words, she shook her head. “No. It’s nothing. Don’t mind me. I’m simply too far into my head for my own good sometimes.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked, setting down his napkin and sitting back in his seat in a relaxed posture.
A woman dressed in a skimpy and sheer dress that fell to her ankles sauntered past. She had buxom breasts and hips and skin nearly the complexion of Owiot himself, with sultry cat eyes and full red lips. In short she was gorgeous, and Fable froze, waiting to see him turn his gaze toward her. Or even just a flick of movement to show he saw her just as George would often do on the rare occasions they’d dined in the banquet hall together. But not once did Owiot turn away.
And rather than feel relieved by that, she got irrationally upset. “You’re too bloody perfect.”
“What?” he frowned as if confused by her statement.
Growling beneath her breath, thinking this might have all been a bad idea after all, she flicked her fingers. “Nothing. Don’t mind me. I’m in a weird mood all of a sudden.”
“What do you need me to do, Fable?”
And that was exactly the problem. He’d done too much already. More than she could ever repay him for. None of this was his fault either. How awful was it that she was growing upset because he was perfect? How fair was that? And yet kindness such as he’d shown her had rarely been done in her life, it had been so rare in fact, that she didn’t trust it. Wasn’t sure she knew how to either.
“Just talk to me, Owiot.”
“About?” he asked, shrugging and looking upset that she was unhappy which in turn caused her to get upset about the fact that she was going to self-sabotage like she was prone to do, but not knowing how in the world to stop it either.
Searching for something, anything, she latched onto the first idea that popped into her head. “Tell me a story. About your people.”
Blinking, and still looking at her strangely—like he was confused—but also wanting to please her, he nodded. “Okay. Anything, or was there—”
“Anything.” She rolled her wrist. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
He grinned and her heart threatened to tear from her chest it beat so hard. She wanted to reach over to him and tell him she was sorry, ask him to forgive her for being like this. For being her. For being so incapable of accepting kindness as a reality that she was going to wind up pushing him away.
This day had been utterly perfect.
Why couldn’t that be enough for her?
“Okay. How about the story of how the worlds began?”
Her lips twitched, curious despite herself. She and Owiot came from far different realms. She already knew the story of how Kingdom began.
The Ten made it so. Fairies of such power that the strength of their combined wills created all the magic and creatures that inhabited this world.
“Sure,” she said softly. “Tell me your story.”
Instantly Owiot transformed. His eyes took on a sparkle and a radiance of light lit him up from within so that he gently glowed. It wasn’t an overt glow, she had to squint to really see it, but he did, and her stomach grew warm. Gods, he was gorgeous.
“Long ago a great island floated in a giant ocean. This island hung from four thick ropes at each end of the sky.” He held up his arms, demonstrating for her the ropes.
She sighed. Couldn’t help it. Owiot was in his element and misgivings or not; she was helpless to resist his lure. “Mmhmm,” she mumbled, “go on.”
“There were no peoples, and it was always dark. The animals could not see, and so they grabbed the sun and set it in the sky so that it would move from east to west each day. Then the Great Spirit told the animals and plants that they must remain awake for seven days and not to sleep. But not all the animals and plants could. Those that did like the pine and cedar were rewarded with staying green all year long. But as punishment all the others were made to lose their leaves. The animals that stayed awake, such as the owl and mountain lion were rewarded by being able to see in the dark. Soon after First Man and First Woman appeared and with them came the first children, Changing Twins—”
Fable was entranced by his storytelling ability, his natural ease, and rhythm with which he told his tale. How his entire body got into the act of the telling of it. He moved his arms, and his smile never wavered. All around onlookers gawked at him, immediately drawn to his innate charm that oozed from his pores, and she was unable to keep her thoughts to herself any longer.
“You’re amazing. Do you know that, male?” Her words sounded far sadder than she’d meant them too.
Slowly he lowered his arms, looking at her intently. “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”
She shrugged, not bothering to deny it.
His finger was under her chin, tipping it up again and forcing her to look back at him. “But what, darkness? Do you not care for my stories?”
Swatting at his hand, not hard, but not gently either she clamped down on her tumultuous emotions at the flash of hurt that crossed through his dark gaze.
“That’s just the thing, Owiot. I care too much. I love it. I love everything about this place...” I even think I love everything about you...
She clamped her lips shut. She’d never tell him what she’d just thought. Ever. She’d trusted once before and nearly died because of it. She was a fool, a fool, and idiot to think she could afford to do it again.
A muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched down on his back teeth. “I am pushing you away as I do everyone else. I’ve tried hard to tamp down my magic around you, Fable, tried hard to—”
“Goddess!” she snapped, unable to bear it another second. “It’s not you, okay.” And the laugh that spilled off her tongue sounded frantic and slightly crazed to her own ears.
She was falling. Too fast and too hard and she was terrified. That was the truth.
“Look. I know when people say it’s not you it’s me they don’t mean it.”
His nostrils flared, and he looked away, and it killed her. Killed her. She hated it. Wanted to stomp her foot in disgust at herself for doing what she always did. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her craziness, it wasn’t Owiot’s fault that George had ruined her so completely.
“Then if not me, what is it,” he asked, and she could sense he was holding back his own impatience, still being horribly and wonderfully perfect to her.
And she could no longer conceal it. “You’re perfect. Too damn perfect. And it’s killing me, okay. If that’s what you want to know. No one is totally perfect. But you created this beautiful world for me, and these gowns, and this beautiful hat,” she flicked at the veil and sniffed, fighting back the stupid tears she was so tired of crying, “he ruined me, Owiot. George ruined me, and I don’t know how to trust people anymore. I’m a horrible, bad person, and you shouldn’t want anything to do with me. I hurt and destroy anyone who gets too close to me.”
His fingers were so strong and warm when they found hers. And though she was breathing heavy and fighting the damned tears with all she was worth, she looked up at him, miserable to the very root of her soul.
“I’m not perfect, darkness. Not by a long shot.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re just saying that. Trying to make me feel better, it won’t—”
His lips twisted into a painful scowl. The first time she’d ever witnessed him looking anything other than calm, and the words died on her tongue. Instantly she wanted to ease his suffering, his pain. She squeezed his fingers back.
“Owiot?” she asked softly.
And when he swallowed thickly, she knew he fought his own tears. “Fable, I did not want to tell you this yet, but...I killed my wife.”
Chapter 13
Fable
The Dark Queen (The Dark Queens Book 5) Page 15
