by Megan Derr
Ailill shook his head. "No, see they are kept secured and have them brought to me at the head office tomorrow. I will question and punish them there."
"Yes, your grace. I shall see your orders are carried out."
"Do so, then return to me," Ailill said.
Noire looked up, a smirk curving his mouth. The small boy he had known had grown up into a handsome, sensual man. Ordinarily, Ailill would have been more than happy to renew their childhood friendship and make it very adult.
But something held him back, the same way it had ever since he'd left Pozhar. Ailill had never been one for attachments, not since all his attachments let him go with such ease. He was a traveler, anyway, which made attaching himself to anyone impossible. He had been perfectly content with that life style.
Until he'd decided to play with a fiery wolf. Since then ... well, he was growing heartily sick of his own hand for company, but he was tired of trying and failing to enjoy himself with anyone else.
"Yes, your grace," Noire finally replied and then rose to his feet with feline grace and departed.
Ailill turned back to Celine and smiled. "Well, the culprits have been captured and they will be punished tomorrow, my dear. You look exhausted. I think I will hand you over to Jacques so you can get cleaned up and rested."
She looked terrified, so Ailill stood them both up and embraced her, sharing calming thoughts and emotions through the bond he had with her as a White Beast.
When she was steadier, he kissed the top of her head, then went to the door and called for Jacques. "She's ready for her bath—and see that there's a girl to help her and stay with her until she falls asleep. If you could, I'd like something stronger to drink than this wine."
"Yes, your grace," Jacques said, and he immediately vanished, returning a moment later with a woman who, by their rings and the way they acted with each other, Ailill guessed to be Jacques's wife.
A few minutes later, the woman had bustled Celine away, and Jacques had left him with a bottle of good brandy. He had just taken a few sips and started eating a slice of bread with honey when the door opened again and Noire slipped inside.
Crossing the room, he knelt, bowed his head, and murmured, "I have returned as bid, your grace." He spoke with a flawless palace accent, wore clothes as costly as Ailill's own—and the badge on his arm and the breast of his black velvet jacket announced to all that he was the Royal Voice of the Faerie Queen and Guardians. Some argued that it was the most powerful position in the kingdom, short of the throne.
Like Celine, Noire was half Piedren. His skin was darker than hers had been, however. No doubt a combination of his heritage and a great deal of time spent outdoors. His black hair was unfashionably short, but cut neatly to accent the lines of his handsome, pretty face. His eyes were all faerie child, a blue so pale they almost looked silver.
The little boy he'd played with, ink smudges on his face and paper dust in his hair, had grown up into a beautiful man. "Noire Chevalier, I do not believe it. How did you come to be the Royal Voice? Why am I only now learning of this?"
Noire looked up with a laugh. "You were sick and I was busy. I have always been good at delivering messages, your grace. You know that better than anyone. I ran fastest in the village and could recite even long messages perfectly." He winked and continued. "I came to the city several years ago, your grace. I was apprenticed to a herald of the city, then worked as a journeyman as a herald of the court. I am still not certain how I came to the attention of the Triad, but so I did. Now here I am. It is good to see you returned to the land of the faeries, your grace. It's good to see you healthy again."
"Oh, stop calling me that," Ailill groused. "And stop kneeling. Honestly, Noire."
Standing up, grinning, Noire took the seat next to him and helped himself to the abandoned wine. "It's good to have you home, Ailill. Everyone can feel how different it is when all twelve Beasts are present."
Ailill made a face. "Yes, so different that I have broken up no less than seven fights in the streets since I have been in the city. I am astonished that there was no fight over your appointm—" He broke off when Noire flinched. "There was a problem."
Noire shrugged, smiled crookedly, and tried to keep his tone light when he said, "Of course there was trouble. Everyone says that the Royal Voice should be as pure of faerie blood as the Queen herself. But there is not much anyone can do when the Triad and the Beasts support me." He took a swallow of wine and licked the traces from his lips. "But it will be nice to have a truly friendly face. I was crushed when I arrived here and learned that you were abroad indefinitely. But I heard you returned with all of the missing crown jewels. You must be pleased with yourself."
"I am glad that I was able to fulfill the duty appointed me," Ailill said. He took a sip of brandy. "It's good to be home, if strange. I admit I'm still not quite certain what to do with myself. It took me a long time to heal from the injuries I took in Pozhar, and it's only the past couple of months or so that I have been up and about and not tired after just a few hours. I have not been in the city very long; my country estate was reluctant to let me go. What does it say that I am more accustomed to foreign lands than my home? I could sail through Kundou or ride through Piedre or traipse through Pozhar with ease, but here, I do not even know how to manage my staff. I do not know what is required to staff my house."
He should not have been rambling so at Noire, but something about Noire made it easy—but that was a quality about him that Ailill remembered. "Well, you certainly look the part, and I have learned that is more than half the fight," Noire said with another one of his crooked smiles. "As to the rest, you'll figure it out. If some of the idiots I've encountered can manage it, so can you."
The cynicism in his words made Ailill sad; someone who had been so sweet should not have that sweetness taken away. "Indeed," he said. "But no more of my whining. How are you? Has someone seduced the boy who used to have dreams—" He broke off laughing when Noire's cheeks darkened. "Did you think I would forget?"
"No, merely hoped," Noire said sourly. "No lover for me. What of you? Bring someone home with you? What were these injuries you suffered? I never heard about them in detail, only that you were badly poisoned. His highness worked hard to heal you, I know that much."
Ailill shook his head. "I have brought no one with me. I was attacked by a man in Pozhar who was using magic illegally. He broke my arm and left me pretty battered. Did something that drained me, left me … soul sick, was how Prince Gael explained it. Recovering from that took a long time. At times, I feared I wouldn't. By the time I was healthy, I had lost all my strength by being bedridden. As I said before, I am only just on my feet without tiring these past two months."
"I'm sorry," Noire said, gently squeezing his arm. "It sounds like you've had quite the rough time of it."
"There were good points, too. I made it home, I accomplished my mission; that is all that matters. Speaking of my mission, I have to deliver the jewels in a few more days."
"Are they as beautiful as legend says?" Noire asked. "I've seen what few images remain of them, but they vary so widely it's impossible to say exactly how they look. Do they have power?"
"They definitely have power, and they're beautiful." Ailill finished his brandy, set a couple more coins on the table, and then rose. "Come on, we can better talk in the comfort of my home, unless you've somewhere to be?"
Sadness flitted across Noire's face, but before Ailill could ask after it, Noire said, "No, I am quite free tonight, your grace. I am expected at the palace first thing tomorrow morning, but I have no obligations at present."
"Good," Ailill said and led the way out of the pub and back out onto the streets. "We can catch up, and you can take me to those meat-eating bastards in the morning and then go on your way. I am glad we crossed paths, Noire."
Noire smiled at him. "It's good to see an old friend, especially these days when everyone is so very tense. So tell me what it was like to go abroad."
"What would you like to hear about first?" Ailill asked, and he did not wait for an answer, simply launched into a story about his first time in Kundou as they walked along steadily darkening streets back across the city to his home.
Chapter Two: The Unicorn
Gael slowly and carefully untangled himself from the limbs trapping him in the Faerie Queen's enormous bed. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows and the filmy, pale green curtains wrapped around the bed. The warm light glowed on the skin of the women still fast asleep, turning Etain to flawless ivory and Freddie to rich gold.
He kissed each woman on the lips, breathing in their scents: Etain always smelled of flowers, the roses and orchids and lilies that she so adored; Freddie smelled like a forest, wild and untamed. Her short hair was spiked in a hundred directions, and Gael could not resist smoothing it before he finally pulled himself out of bed.
Leaving them to slumber, Etain draped across Freddie, her delicate faerie wings caught in the morning light, Gael went to get cleaned and dressed. He padded across the enormous royal bedchamber to the bathing room easily the size of his office. Servants had already come and gone, filling a deep porcelain tub with steaming water.
Gael groaned as he slid into it, grateful for the hot water on his tired muscles. He had spent an entire week sorting out yet another riot outbreak in a far north province. Returning home to be immediately inundated in work had not helped, and then he'd had to muster the energy for last night.
He hoped Etain and Freddie appreciated his efforts.
Though he wanted nothing more than to soak in the bath all day—and was sorely tempted to try it—Gael made himself wash and shave and get out again. He left the bathing room by way of a separate door that took him into his own suite of rooms and walked through the sitting room to his bedroom.
His clothes were already set out on the bed, and Gael sighed at yet another pristine outfit of white and silver. Tradition was tradition, however, and he would muscle through it until he either died beneath the Oak or became a god.
Just thinking about it made him grimace, made fear coil in his gut and sweat break out on his brow. Being a god was too surreal to scare him. He could not comprehend it, no matter that he had been told he was meant to be one from the time he was old enough to realize he was strange.
No, the fear came from the nightmares. Of seeing the one person he loved best in all the world dead in his arms, eyes empty. Sometimes there was blood, sometimes not. Sometimes it was an attack from a beast, other times a blade, and occasionally magic.
Eight different versions of his lover's death haunted Gael's sleep. The face never changed. In every life, he remained the same. Every time, Gael could not resist him. Every time, he died during the Tragedy of the Oak.
Gael tried to banish the thoughts and focus on his day. He picked up the clothes on the bed piece by piece and put them on. Under clothes, white clocked stockings, white shoes with silver buckles. White shirt, white and silver waistcoat, white and silver jacket.
The only spot of real color in his entire ensemble was the ribbon he used to tie back his hip-length hair. It was a pale, delicate blue, the sheen long worn away from use. His dressing table had dozens upon dozens of ribbons and other decorations for his hair, but Gael rejected them all.
Picking up a brush, he slowly worked out the tangles in his hair, starting at the bottom and slowly moving his way up until his fingers ran effortlessly through the long, silver-white strands. He pulled it back and secured it with the ribbon. After that, it was quick work picking out cuff links, setting a cravat pin, and fastening his pocket watch in place. Gael looked in the mirror, nodded, then strode out of his private suite to join the thrum of the royal palace.
When he reached his private solar downstairs, breakfast had already been set out; the smells wafting from the table made his stomach growl. Sitting down, Gael poured himself a cup of tea and picked out a large pastry dripping with butter and cinnamon sugar.
After he'd eaten most of the pastry and finished two cups of tea, he finally turned his attention to the distressingly large pile of paperwork waiting for him. Stifling a sigh, he took another bite of pastry and picked up the first bundle of papers in the stack.
Half an hour later, just as the clock was chiming nine, a familiar soft knock came at the door. Gael looked up and called for the knocker to enter. He smiled at the man who slipped quietly in and then knelt at his feet. "Good morning, Voice."
"Good morning, highness," Noire greeted, keeping his head bowed. "I am reporting as requested."
"I appreciate your promptness, as ever. We have not seen her grace, Lady Elianne Poulx, in some time. We bid her, or any of her household, to report to us by last night. We have heard not a single word, and she is too far away for us to sense her. You are to go to her estate and report back to me all you find there. Be quick, but do not sacrifice thoroughness for speed. If you must choose one or the other, choose thoroughness. Keep me apprised and let me know at once if matters there will detain you longer than ten days."
Noire dipped his head lower and then looked up. "Yes, highness. I will leave at once unless you have reason to detain me."
Gael shook his head once, sharply. "No reason. Thank you, Voice. I know I need not say it, but do ensure that no one knows your mission. If something is wrong with her grace, I do not want word of the problem to spread."
"Of course, your highness." Noire bowed his head again and stood up smoothly, swept a deep bow, and departed, the door closing with the faintest of clicks behind him.
He turned back to his paperwork. An hour or so later, two servants came in to clear away the breakfast things and leave him with a fresh pot of tea.
Gael decided it was time for a break. After stopping off briefly in a washroom, he slipped out of the palace and into the private gardens. He froze when he saw the group clustered around the fountain in the middle of the rose garden: Noire; Lord Rodrigue Sauvegeon, the White Lion; Lord Justin DuBois, the White Owl; and Lady Matilda Hardy, the White Fox. They fell under his immediate purview alongside the White Stag, the White Eagle, and the White Mongoose. It was his duty, and theirs, to guard the northeast portions of the country. The southwest fell under the command of Freddy and the other six White Beasts.
The conversation paused when they all saw him, and Gael started to smile politely and withdraw when Rodrigue beamed and lifted a hand in greeting. Unable to leave easily at that point, Gael approached. "Good afternoon, lords, lady, Voice."
Noire dipped his head. "My apologies, your highness, for dallying. I was on my way—"
"Think nothing of it," Gael said dismissively, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll leave as soon as all is ready."
"Yes, highness," Noire said, relaxing. "We were just discussing the royal ball."
Gael's mouth quirked in amusement. "Oh? It's hardly any different from all the other balls. Larger and noisier perhaps, and an impressive number of children born nine months later, but hardly remarkable."
The Beasts all laughed, and Justin threw an arm across Noire's shoulders. "Indeed. I remember my royal balls very well." He leered and pulled Noire closer to plant a loud kiss on his cheek. "Poor Noire. You royals run him around so much that he's never managed to attend since becoming the Voice. You're really quite cruel, highness."
Forcing a smile he did not feel, fingers twitching, Gael replied, "I like to think of it as showing my regard for our Voice. But the ball is only ten days away, and I cannot imagine his latest assignment will keep him overlong."
On the contrary, he feared that Noire would be returning to him almost immediately with unhappy news. It was not like Lady Elianne to be so quiet. She thrived on palace life. She had returned home to attend problems there begrudgingly. That was two months ago. Gael had not received so much as a missive, and she had replied to none of his letters.
He liked to believe that she was alive, that he would have felt it if one of his Beasts had died. But she was too far away to sense,
and it left him fearing the worst. At least none of the other Beasts had seemed to notice anything, yet. Gael intended to keep it that way until he knew something for certain.
"It's only a ball, as his highness said," Noire said, playfully shoving Justin away. "I am not much for dancing or chatting, anyway. What would I do at a ball? Carry love notes back and forth?"
They all laughed, and then Lady Matilda sidled up to Noire and kissed his cheek the same way Justin had, saying, "Noire, I know you are not so much a kitten as that. I would imagine you've had your fun on many a balcony."
Noire's cheeks darkened, making them all laugh and crowd around him, kissing his cheeks and petting him and ruffling his hair. Gael stood watching, equal parts amused and annoyed, while Noire stood helplessly frozen in place. "I—I've been on balconies, but a gentleman does not discuss it."
"No gentlemen here," Rodrigue said cheerfully and elbowed Matilda. "No ladies, either."
Matilda smirked. "None at all."
"Stop terrifying my Voice," Gael drawled, finally tugging poor Noire away from them. "This is why good Voices are hard to come by, you know. They get tired of being molested by the Beasts."
Justin smirked. "And the rest of the palace, I daresay. Pretty as he is, he could have his pick."
"That will be all," Gael said, shooting them all a quelling look and sighing in exasperation when they only laughed. "Was that the only reason you were gathered in my garden? To harass my Voice?"
"No, we were escaping the rest of the palace and collided," Matilda said lightly. "Everyone is so tense with the ceremony looming. I think we all know the success rate is low." Her levity twisted into a bitter smile.
Gael let his magic flow, let his presence soothe, smiling faintly at the reluctant smiles on all their faces. "What will be, will be," he said quietly. "The gods are returning, that means there is real hope for us after so many centuries of trying. When Kundou let go of their dragons and Pozhar sacrificed their Vessels and Piedre fought bitterly amongst themselves, Verde held true and strove constantly to fix what went wrong. Do not lose that faith now."
