by Grace,Viola
* * * *
Zemuel watched the monitor and turned his head as his assistant came in. “Well, she actually did want to sleep.”
“Last night was Beneficia Ganger’s wedding, and Minerva was a member of the bride’s party. She looked tired.”
Zemuel nodded. “She did.” He drew a clawed finger along the curve of her cheek on the display.
It was as if she could feel it. She muttered in her sleep and turned to her side, exposing the pale curve of her back and hips as the sheet shifted.
He smiled and trailed his finger down that sensuous curve. “She is magnificent.”
“Sir, if I may?”
“Speak.” Zemuel scowled.
“She was in the entry chamber when your earlier—uh—companion came down. Her expression indicated disgust with the situation.”
His moment with the elf had nearly been forgotten. He had granted their request for limited mineral rights within their demesne, and she had insisted on thanking him with her mouth. It had not been a difficult decision, and his contact with her had been to stroke the froth of her hair.
“Fuck. That is going to make things awkward.” Zemuel had been researching the woman on the screen for a year. Her body made his mouth water, and his senses were on peak alert when he saw the CCTV recordings of her in the park, opening the gateway to the demon zone. It had taken a lot of influence and more money to get the recording deleted from systems across the country.
He knew his mate from the moment he had first laid eyes on her. His collection of magical anomaly videos had shown him Minerva in all of her glory.
Once he had her scent, it had taken a year of waiting to find a situation that would bring her to him. That moment was here.
He would be able to smooth over the elf and her service if Minerva asked. He doubted that she would comment on it. She had been around the extranaturals most of her life. Sex and magic were traded for power all the time. Some races used it as standard currency.
Norman cleared his throat. “I do not feel it is appropriate for you to be watching her. She is a lady, a mage and a respectable woman. Dignity in every bone of her body, and this kind of peeping is an invasion of her privacy.”
Zemuel raised his brows in surprise. “You are standing up for her?”
“She is asleep, so she needs someone to do it.”
Zemuel grinned and turned off the camera. “So, she already has a champion. Interesting.”
“She is an interesting woman and deserves to be treated with respect.”
“Fair enough. I will speak with her this evening.” He smirked. “What shall I have her do?”
He could see that Norman was going through a dozen or more of the creative events that Zemuel had insisted on over the decades since he began this process.
“Have her sing. She has a good voice, and it is unrelated to anything else that she does. If you gain her cooperation and keep her, you need to see how she will perform in public.”
He nodded. “Excellent point. Make sure that you draw singing from the bag when the time comes.”
Norman inclined his head, and his wings came out slightly. “Yes, my lord.”
Zemuel looked longingly at his monitor but decided to get to work on the new tower. He flexed his hands and the claws extended.
He left the media room and walked out to the balcony. He opened his wings and launched himself into the hollow cavern. He soared in the darkness of his domain and used the feel of the rocks around him. Smiling to himself, he went to the hidden fresco that he was working on, carving the image of her smooth back into the stone. Curls of granite fell to the distant cavern floor far below.
Once that was done, he worked on what he considered to be his weekend cottage. He had already carved out the staircase, and now, the wide-open floor space needed finishing. He had time to spend before the evening’s festivities and clawing his way through stone would keep him from thinking about flying to Minerva’s quarters and peeling back her sheets.
He needed to wait on that until they had been properly introduced.
After they were together, he wanted everything she was willing to give.
* * * *
The wakeup call had come while she was getting out of the shower. As fun as the tub looked, it wasn’t quite the day to enjoy it.
Minerva dried off, wrapped a towel around her and brushed her hair. There was no hair dryer, so she whispered a small spell and her hair curled and cascaded softly down her back in precise waves.
It was the easiest part of her ritual to get ready.
She sighed as her stomach growled. Cocktail hour on an empty stomach was going to be tricky, but she had a few hours to figure it out.
Her clothing selection was the first thing she had put on her bed when she had slipped from the sheets, and as she pattered around in bare feet, the snug corset taunted her.
It was appropriate to wear aspects of ancient clothing traditions when confronting an ancient being. The corset was an evergreen.
A little exploration turned up a fridge stocked with alcohol and soda. She opted for the sugar and turned to take stock of the room.
The rush of magic in her vicinity came a moment before the tray of sandwiches and fruit arrived. After them, a pot of coffee and accessories appeared on the bar counter.
Sighing with relief, she tucked in and worked her way through the food. She hadn’t had anything since the reception the night before and magic burned a lot of energy.
When she had eaten and had the blessed coffee, she got dressed in a billowing silk dress and the corset. After she had closed the busk and laced the corset into place, she adjusted it and tightened the laces again. She folded the skirt into even pleats around her, and the black fabric contrasted with the gold embroidery on the black corset. She and her considerable assets were now encased and displayed.
Time for makeup.
With an evening of socializing ahead of her, she paid special attention to fixing her makeup in place. When she was done with the final touches, she looked into the mirror and placed the mage mark on her cheek so that those she spoke to would not take her for helpless. When you were the only human in a room full of extranaturals, you had to make it plain that you weren’t a target.
By the time she stepped into her shoes, it was six fifteen. She walked out onto the balcony and stared into the mountain range. It was a good place to meditate, and when her phone chirped again, she snapped out of her reverie and headed to the elevator.
She did not know how many petitioners would be at the party, but she had agreed to do the talking, so she pressed the button.
To her surprise, it arrived right away and swept her to the main floor in decorous style.
As she looked out into the lobby with faces turned to see who was emerging, she fixed her dignified expression in place and stepped onto the polished stone. Showtime.
Chapter Three
Minerva was stopped before she had gone three feet. She turned her head, and the elf who was sliding his arm around her froze in his tracks.
She looked at him coldly. “Do I know you?”
He pulled his hand back. “No, Mage. Pardon. I had no idea who you were.”
She inclined her head. “Prince Ekrodian, your judgment is usually not so poor.”
He blinked and his rainbow eyes widened. “Have we met?”
“Only once. Corudet City.”
His porcelain skin flushed, and he looked from side to side. “Did you...”
“I did nothing. I was not there to observe; I was there to help a friend.” She smiled tightly. “I did and got the fuck out of there.”
“May I ask your name?”
“You may. I am Minerva.”
“Thank you for your kindness and discretion, Minerva. May I get you a drink?”
She mentally rolled her eyes. “I will get it myself. I will need to leave the elevator entrance eventually.”
He nodded. �
�I will accompany you.”
She moved past him and swept to the bar. The bartender moved with the grace of a shifter and came up to her with a smile. “What can I get for you, magnificent mage?”
She smirked. “A shot of peach schnapps and pineapple juice over ice, please.”
The man moved with dexterity and flipped the bottles around until the curved glass was filled, and he then propped a cherry on top.
She laughed. “That is optimistic.”
He grinned and a cackle came from his lips. She recognized the call. He was a raptor of some type. There must be an aerie community nearby.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
He gave it to her with a flourish.
Minerva smiled and went to mingle with the rest of the petitioners. Even humans were represented, which was rather brave of them.
She wandered over to the humans who were huddled around with their glasses clutched in their hands. Word of Zemuel’s preferences had obviously gotten around, but based on the women who were dressed to seduce, they had missed a memo. The women were both tiny and frail.
Even the elf from earlier had been tall.
The leader of the group asked her, “Excuse me, Madam, but are you human?”
She quirked a smile and sipped at her drink. “Yup.”
The entire party relaxed.
She heard about the new road they wanted to build and what the girls were willing to do to get it.
She sighed. “Does anyone in your party have entertainment skills? Zemuel has a tendency to ask for folk to humiliate themselves in order to get an audience.”
The leader stiffened his spine. “We can do that. What will he ask?”
“The lot is drawn by his assistant. The exhibitions are inside the bag. It is ostensibly random.” She was about to tell them more but a wall opened and a throne room was exposed.
Her sense of time was skewed without seeing the sun, but if the door was opening, she would walk through it. The humans were on one side of her and the elves on the other. The additional races moved toward the doorway as one, but Minerva hung back.
A familiar voice spoke from behind her. “Changing your mind?”
She smiled slightly but kept her gaze on the backs of the other petitioners. “No, Mr. Norman. I have changed it both ways a thousand times. I am just waiting to make an entrance.”
He chuckled. “We can work with that. If you will do me the honour?”
He extended his hand to her, and she placed her palm on the back of his rough knuckles. He was still a bit taller than she was, so she was sure that they made a striking couple entering the throne room.
He led her through the crowd to a spot directly in front of the throne. “Stay here until you are called.”
She nodded and lowered her free hand to her side. She sipped at the cocktail in her other hand, and soon, there was another gong and the sound of huge wings pulsed through the air.
Zemuel dropped to the floor in front of the throne, his wings nearly twenty feet in span.
Minerva took it all in. His silver skin, the bare feet and loosed draped fabric drawn up and pleated to form trousers were the initial impression. The long black hair in a thick braid matched the dark brows that winged over his deep pewter eyes.
She absently noted the sharp blade of his nose and the slash of his lips. She didn’t feel comfortable with further examination. He was staring at her.
Being examined by an eight-foot predator in his natural habitat was a little intimidating, but she had a job to do.
Zemuel settled his wings behind him and settled onto his narrow-backed throne.
“Norman, what can these folk do to lighten my evening?”
Norman took his place beside Zemuel, and he cleared his throat, removing a bag from his belt. “I believe that they have expressed willingness to entertain you.”
Zemuel clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Let’s begin.”
The clap of his hands was like thunder. Everyone in the room jumped, but Minerva had been expecting it. She sipped at her cocktail.
“I believe that the elves wish a second interview with me. They shall go first.”
Norman reached into the bag and pulled out a small piece of slate.
“My lord wishes you to breathe fire.” Norman chuckled.
Zemuel smirked. “For those mages in attendance, magic will not work in this chamber.”
Idly, Minerva looked around the chamber and spotted the bar. It was another bartender, but this one had giant in his blood. He winked at the eye contact.
The elves frowned and muttered among themselves.
Norman cleared his throat. “If they cannot perform the task, anyone else who wishes to perform it can win their interview.”
Minerva thought about it for another two minutes. With a sigh, she went to the bar, asked for a glass of vodka and a lit candle.
She walked back to her spot in front of Zemuel, slurped up the vodka and sprayed it out in a fine mist over the candle. The blue flare of flames with yellow edges cascaded out over eight feet.
When she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and returned the glass and the candle to the bartender with thanks. He winked and put them away.
The liquid paraffin he had given her in lieu of vodka had definitely been impressive, but now, she had to deal with the consequences.
He poured her some mouthwash and gave her a metal cup. “I think you might need this.”
She grinned and swished and spit. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head. “We are always ready with the implements, but few think to ask.”
She returned to her spot and found it occupied by the humans. She shrugged and went to the back of the gathering. The elves left. Their chance was over.
Norman looked displeased, but he dug in his bag for the next task.
“The human contingent will perform a juggling act. As there are many of them, two members must juggle.”
Minerva stood in place and watched as they frantically tried to juggle anything and everything.
Zemuel watched them with a scowl. It appeared that he was not impressed with their efforts.
Norman once again called out, “If anyone can perform this task, they can have an additional interview with Lord Zemuel.”
After a few clumsy attempts from the other contingents, Norman made eye contact with her.
She headed to the bar and asked for lemons.
He grinned and handed her three. Once again, she took the front spot. She juggled the citrus for a minute, and then, she stopped, bowed and returned them to the bar.
Zemuel appeared amused when she returned.
“The goblin contingent is required to sing.”
The crowd looked around in confusion, but Minerva stepped forward. It was funny. Goblins didn’t sing in any way that the human ear found acceptable. Demanding it of them was a joke.
“Any particular song or style?”
Zemuel raised a brow. “Ancient Hynerian.”
She frowned. “That is a little tricky.”
“Can you do it, or do you forfeit?”
She opened her mouth and wailed a long, keening note that preceded her beginning to turn and twist to her own beat. The Hynerians were one of the first nations of extranaturals to gather in their own defense. They were of such different origins that movement became part of their language.
She used her body to speak of longing, justice, fear and power. When she was done, she ceased her song with a snap and inclined her head.
He cocked his head and leaned forward. “You confused the word heat for desire, but it was otherwise a well-performed song.”
She inclined her head, and the bartender delivered another cocktail. She could feel the pressure of her corset and the sweat that dampened it. The silk of her skirt stuck to her legs.
Minerva stood where she was and enjoyed a few more cocktails as the groups tried to perform th
e tasks. The unicycle for the dwarfs was a bust, as was the crochet exam for the giants. They had not brought the right representatives with them.
Minerva thought about it, and she was hungry again. Too bad there was no food on offer.
Zemuel suddenly waved his hand. After two hours of tomfoolery, he had had his fill.
“Well, Madam Mage, as you are the only one to have won an interview, my time is yours. Shall we discuss things over dinner?”
She looked behind her and the crowd was gone. One by one, they had left as their attempts to carry out the orders had failed.
“Well, this is embarrassing.”
Zemuel walked up to her and extended his hand. To her amusement, he shrank until he was only six inches taller than she was in heels.
She slid her hand into his and then held her breath as his wings flared wide and he flew them upward.
When they reached a balcony that had been invisible from the main floor, he set her on her feet as if it had been the most natural thing in the world.
He led her inside.
She smiled. “Thank you for reducing your height. I am used to being taller than most folks I speak with. Looking up was giving me a crick in my neck.”
A table for two had been set, and the covered dishes spanned from one end of the eight-foot expanse to the other. It seemed that Zemuel was the measurement standard for everything in his home.
He led her to a chair at one end and held it for her, settling her in.
He crossed to the other chair and tapped his fingers on the table. The dishes rose up and began a slow path around the table itself.
Well, that was one way to serve yourself. As she reached for a dome, it lifted and the serving utensils were under it.
She took a small portion of each food item, and the dishes settled.
Zemuel smiled. “Well, now that you have me alone, what do you want?”
She looked at him and stated, “I am here to petition on behalf of the goblins.”
“Why? I haven’t eaten any in centuries.”
“That is not their concern. You are in possession of mines that yield the mineral used in their warding system. They need a new supply of those minerals. That is what they are asking for. Will you supply them with the stone they need?”
