by May Sage
Caim let the hand go, dipped his quill in ink and wrote a simple, straightforward contract of employment, leaving the pay blank, but mentioning that he'd secure her return home in exchange for six Earthen months of work, as he'd stated. Caim signed it, then handed her his favorite quill.
"We'll have to sort out the salary."
She signed, with a smile on her pretty black-cherry lips. Caim wondered if she used cosmetics to enhance their shade. He'd never seen lips that specific color before. He looked away.
He affixed his seal and rolled the parchment up before handing it to her. "There."
Mel hesitated. "No flower?" she asked, eying his small stack of hay straws.
His immediate instinct was to reach out for one and roll it up to please her. He chose to deny himself, to prove that he could. "I use them to keep documents private until they their reach their destination, Melpomene. You already have yours."
The woman was cruel. She pouted. He closed his eyes.
"Out. I'm busy." He'd meant to sound harsh, so why did she laugh?
"When am I starting work?"
"Once I have time to gather the material. I'll have you called."
Opening his eyes again, he found her in the exact same spot where she'd been when he'd closed them. As if she was reluctant to go. Which spelled more trouble. "What now?"
"Quentin," she replied. "The boy will be bored. Bored teenagers are never good news."
"There's a day school he may attend. I'll see that he has an attendant beginning tomorrow. Out, now. You've already taken up twenty minutes in a tight schedule. I'll see you at supper."
Where in the sands of Tartarus had that come from? He'd had no intention of seeing her for supper at all. In fact, if he recalled, he'd asked Vlaryn to arrange matters so that he saw her as little as possible.
The woman was dangerous.
And smelled like the fresh air he could only breathe in at sea.
Caim had always been fond of sailing.
He looked at her critically as she walked away.
He'd known pretty women. Not many, but a few. He'd made love to a handful. And they'd never captured his attention the way she did. Was it because she wasn't fae? Her difference was…exotic. The curves. The charming rounded ears never failed to catch his notice. The air around her felt so very refreshing.
He redirected his attention to his message for the twenty-seven lords ruling over his provinces.
Caim had felt no shame delegating the party hosting to Red, but this was another matter. He needed to gather the men and women in charge and confirm that they were on the same page. If there was a landslide, a flood, a fire, he wanted to know, and to send aid and rescue. If there were quarrels between his subjects, he'd see that they were resolved. If they had requests to demand of their regent, he wanted them brought forward.
Caim might not know who was behind the assassination of his predecessor, but he suspected that if Theron and the other six had been better rulers, they might not have exploded before the assembly’s eyes.
He put his quill aside for a moment.
When Mel had walked in, he'd believed she would have a request. Ask for better clothes perhaps; she only had random outfits already worn, left behind by guests and bought in by the previous regents for their many lovers. But the woman had wanted a job.
To get home to her planet, where she belonged.
One month and a half.
Caim suddenly wished he'd told her about the ship leaving in a year and a day instead.
He rang the silver bell on his desk, and though it made no audible sound to his ear, soon the service door to his left opened in front of a four-foot-three pixie man, his long butterfly wings batting fast as he floated forward.
"Would it be too much trouble to request a formal dinner to be held in the great hall tonight, Ilis?"
The maid grinned. "Chef is going to be glad to be put to good use! Any requests?"
He shook his head. "Whatever suits his fancy. And get Tallon to come up with a guest list, if you would."
He would not turn this into an intimate affair, dammit.
"Anyone he should add?"
"The boy and the woman who came with me. Red and his family, some twenty lords, I care not."
"Certainly, my lord."
My lord.
Those words were not yet familiar enough for him to hear them without reacting.
They meant a great deal. When he'd accepted the crown, Caim had taken responsibility for Ilis, Tallon, his knights, the subjects, the gentry, and the fate of the circle.
In the midst of all those things, the last thing he should be concerned about was supper with a woman of Earth.
He almost managed to keep his mouth shut. But as the pixie crossed the doorframe, Caim added, "And send a tailor up to Melpomene's rooms, if you would. She needs to be outfitted for various occasions."
Tales of a Queen
The gardens were as terrifying as they were wondrous. The most beautiful bright flowers, dark leaves, foreign-looking things enticed her, demanding her attention, but as she tiptoed close, her instincts screamed at her, feeling danger near.
"Those are grayberries."
She practically jumped out of her skin at the entirely unexpected voice. What was it with fae stealth? She turned to find a boy behind her—no, an adult man, so short and youthful he might have been mistaken for a boy, except he had the same presence as Vlaryn.
This fae had silver and purple wings, so thin and delicate she couldn't stop gawking.
"Staring is rude, you know."
She blinked and gazed down. "Oh. Sorry."
"No matter. You're Melpomene, if I'm not mistaken. I am the Head Housekeeper, Ilis Ferness," the man announced proudly. "The butler mentioned you'd come this way."
Mel knew better than to incur the wrath of the servants. It was the equivalent of insulting a waitress; the result might just be coffee flavored with spit. "Am I trespassing?" she asked carefully.
"No, these gardens are just fine. The regent's privy gardens are another matter, but you won't be able to access them from here, so don't fret. Now, I'm to tell you a tailor will meet you in your quarters on the hour."
She frowned. "Why? There are plenty of clothes up there."
The servant shrugged. "Perhaps because of formal dinners? I'm only passing on the message."
She sighed. She would have liked to remain outdoors longer. She had no watch to help her keep track of time. "How long do I have?"
"Half an hour, perhaps? If you care to pay attention, you'll hear a silverbird cry every quarter of an hour."
"You've trained a bird to sing the time?"
Ilis grinned. "That wouldn't be the most extraordinary thing our kind has done with an animal. In this case, the silverbirds were whispered to by the queen. She gave them a task and to this day, they follow their office."
Mel tilted her head. "Caim said there was no queen or king, right?"
The housekeeper’s eyes widened in shock. "You don't know about the queen?"
She shook her head. “I’m from Earth. I know little beyond the legends about your kind. Talk of fairy raths, little people who lead strangers astray and steal brides from the Irish legends. That’s it.”
When Ilis was done gaping, he cleared his throat, and then, out of the blue, began to sing, his voice soft and smooth as silk.
* * *
Crown of flowers,
Thorns of blood,
All he desires,
All she abhors,
Down and down and down they go
To the lands so far below.
* * *
So fair she was,
So blind was he,
The youth believes he earned a bride.
His soul was hers to sacrifice,
Down and down and down they go
To the king who lies below.
* * *
Look at her eyes,
The fairest skin.
Kiss at her lips
&nb
sp; The sweetest sin.
She’s a child of Sidhe
And now we hail a queen.
* * *
The garden had fallen completely silent—the wind and nearby waters dared not disrupt his song.
It was one of those lullabies. The one that echoed inside like a faintly familiar song she'd heard in the music room when she got lost earlier. The words resonated with her as much as the melody.
"That's a horrible story," Mel said after taking it all in. So what, the woman had deceived a man, and then sacrificed him to some king to earn her crown?
The fae laughed. "That it is. Titania was powerful. No one ever asks if she was kind. It tells the story of her rule. Back in those days, we used to send a tithe to Tartarus every seven years. More often than not, we just plucked some pretty humans from one of the mortal worlds. The titans are bored. Humans are good enough for their entertainment."
Ilis might have sounded cruel, if everything about his demeanor hadn't seemed to condemn the practice.
"Titania was part of the team who brought the mortals here. Every circle would round up three or four mortals, then the priestesses would choose one among them, and send him or her to Tartarus. Well, Titania lured a human prince. He had a talent for music and poetry, and was beautiful. She made him her lover, and promised to wed him if she could. No one was surprised when he was chosen. What did surprise our kind was her choice to go down to Tartarus with him. We believed it was love." Ilis snorted. "She came back with the blessing of the titans, with whom she'd formed an alliance. They gave her power beyond reckoning. She increased their tithe to seven mortals, sent to them every year on Midwinter."
Mel snorted. "What a bitch."
If Ilis agreed, he didn't say it. He glanced around, checking back toward the keep.
"Sorry, am I keeping you?"
The fae's wings fluttered. "I'm keeping myself, it appears. I'd better return to work."
In the distance, a faint bird's cry sounded.
"Silverbird?" she guessed.
Ilis inclined his head. "Yes, I believe it'd be quarter to the hour now. You may request a watch from the tailor if you require one. He'll arrange for a selection to be sent, my lady."
"I'm no lady," she retorted with some distaste. The last person she'd heard called a lady was Lessara. "Mel will do."
The fae's laugh was clear and sweet as the bird's song. "That's more than my life's worth, my lady. The regent called you a lady, and so you are."
Damn Caim.
"Melpomene, then?" she bargained hopefully.
The fae considered it, and relented. "Well, perhaps in private, if I catch you in the gardens again."
That worked. Mel glanced back to the exotic flowers and sighed, reluctant to leave.
But the damn regent wanted his fake mistress to look pretty, and while she certainly would have a thing or two to say about it when she saw him at dinner, it wouldn't do to make the poor tailor wait.
She only got lost twice on her way back to her apartment, and the silverbird had just cried again when she opened her door.
There was a tall, svelte fae waiting for her. Whether it was male or female, she couldn't tell, and didn't care. She opted on 'male' for ease of address. He looked absolutely fabulous in a dramatic, shimmery black catsuit and an asymmetric powder blue shawl, eyes surrounded by pigments in the same hues.
She surveyed him from top to bottom before asking, "How does one get one of those? In matte black."
The fae, who'd seemed like he might be considering whether to eat her alive until then, grinned. As his teeth were all pointed like a shark's, it wasn't a reassuring sight.
"Well, I believe we may get along," said the tailor. "Come. Stand. Do. Not. Slouch."
Determined not to vex him, Mel stayed as straight as possible while he took her measurements and asked a thousand and one questions about her tastes.
When he took a second to breathe, Mel asked, "What's your name?"
He blinked, like the question confused him. "Oh. I'm The Tailor. Come here, female, I need to see your complexion in the light."
The fae was terrifying. But as he drew phenomenal sketches in a few strokes, right before her eyes, of clothing she would never have dreamed of, she soon forgot the teeth and started asking about fabric samples instead.
"I was given no notice. But you shall have a gown for night. It is known that you have been under my care by now. You will honor my name."
She gulped, wondering how many of his clients he'd eaten alive for stumbling in public or mismatching shoes.
And then, Mel decided she didn't need to know.
His assistants, dressed just as beautifully as one might expect, came with yards of fabrics and, before Mel's widened eyes, the fae started to cut, and sew, and produce the most stunning and dramatic dress at a speed she would not have believed possible a month ago. Even with magic.
She tried the gown on, and blinked.
Mel had felt pretty many times in her life. Most immortals of Aeaea were pleasing to look at and she was no exception in that regard. She cleaned up nicely. As a muse, she'd attended many gallery openings, concerts, and operas.
And she knew she’d never looked like this.
"I know," said the tailor. "But it's the best I could do in half an hour."
Well Met
Caim had hoped that his memory had deceived him, but Ornela Dreskeron was just as conniving, shrewish, and destructive as he remembered her to be. This dinner seemed like a worse idea as time went by.
Spotting Ilis among the butlers and maids setting up the tables, he made a mental note to tell the pixie to ensure that the harpy was seated far away from him in the future.
She was at his left and though Caim had not asked for it, his servants had kept the place to his right empty.
Until a tall sylph sought to claim it. Caim narrowed his eyes.
"Move."
He hadn't consciously meant to say the word, but now it was out in the open, and he very much meant it.
Caim smiled to lessen the rancor. “This seat is taken, Lord Seron. Please move."
Given the choice, he would have gotten rid of Ornela, too, but mistreating his new advisor's sister wasn't wise, so he unseated Seron Ledrek instead. A banker he had a rather good relationship with, most of the time.
"Yes, my lord, of course. We will talk another day."
Seron didn’t presume to question for whom the empty place was intended, but Ornela didn’t hesitate. “Are we waiting for anyone? Is that why the food hasn’t been brought yet?”
“Yes,” was all the reply he made, irritated.
The woman wasn’t discouraged by his evident disinterest.
"Do tell, how are things here in Argentas? Leto and I just arrived. Our corner of the world was dreadfully dull. You'll have to engross me with tales of our beautiful capital."
Caim circled the glass of light blue wine between his fingers before bringing it to his lips, if only to pretend his mouth was otherwise engaged and couldn't possibly be spared to engross Ornela with any tales.
She was well versed in the art of conversation, but it was all so very shallow and perfunctory. She just wanted to be seen bantering with the regent. In his youth, he'd fallen for it a time or two. He knew better now. If Ornela and the rest of the court ladies wanted a husband, mate, or consort to serve as an ornament by their side, they'd have to look elsewhere.
Caim finished his wine and lifted his empty glass high in the air.
"Your servants should have seen that!" Ornela cried, all indignation.
"Well, I'm sure they didn't expect me to finish it this fast."
In no time, a half-goblin maid rushed forward with a barrel of his private wine. Trevana wordlessly decanted wine into his glass, then took a sip from it before handing it back to him.
"Thank you, Trevana. I hope I didn't disrupt your schedule too much today?" he asked.
The fae smiled. "Not at all, sir. Whether you eat together or separately, you all have
to eat. I daresay, when you're in one place, it might even be easier for us down below."
He laughed, very much doubting her statement; a formal dinner party was a long way from a quick supper brought up to his rooms. Like most servants, Trevana had plenty of mortal blood in her veins, which meant that she could lie.
"Glad—"
—to hear it. That’s what he’d been about to say, had his tongue not decided to stop operating when the doors to the formal dining room opened. The two final guests for the evening entered. Only one captured his attention.
He closed his mouth and reclined back in his seat before groaning.
He'd asked for a tailor to be sent to Mel, not The Tailor. Sending him to Melpomene was tempting fate. When a woman could capture a crowd in rags, adorning her with the designs of the most talented dressmaker in Sidhe wasn't wise.
Mel wore a midnight gown that flowed over her curves. It shouldn't have been sensual, given the fact that it covered her from throat to toes, but The Tailor's clothes didn't make sense. He'd cut out a triangle from her collarbones to her navel, baring the skin in between her firm breasts. Around her sides and at her back, the gown was sheer mesh, revealing flashes of golden flesh. The dress was tight around her hips and thighs, only widening under the knees to form a mermaid tail at the base.
He'd believed her unnaturally thin when he’d first seen her, and a day of food and rest hadn’t fixed the damage the Ironers had done to her, but in this gown, she was nothing short of perfection.
Caim remained silent, cursing in his mind every god whose name he remembered as his eyes following her progress through the room.
She and the boy were heading to an empty place on the other side of the oval table. A place of honor. If Caim had had a partner, it would have been where she would have expected to sit, entertaining half of the gathering from her side.
It was so very far from him.
There was only one available seat there, however. She and the boy exchanged glances, until she turned to Caim, her eyes widening. She’d seen the vacant place at his side.
