“Oh, no. I’m certain that would be the last thing he would be thinking.” She grinned. “He’s extremely well endowed if you must know.”
“Not really something I needed to hear about.” Loki scoffed and began walking toward the door. “Could have gone my entire life without that little tidbit of information.” It was said in jest, making Sappharon smile. “If you will please excuse me, Ladies, I believe I am now about to lose my lunch.”
As the door slammed closed behind him, the women looked at one another and burst into gales of laughter. Sappharon, grateful to once again have her daughter, vowed to never to lose contact with the girl again.
-28-
Laying a bouquet of red roses beside Queen Raguel’s headstone, Michael lowered himself to his knees and began to pull away the unwanted weeds that surrounded the earth within which she lay. Though he had made it a point to visit her at least once per sun cycle since he had buried her, his tasks had prevented him from doing so for far too long.
“I’m sorry, your Grace.” He muttered as he wiped the dirt from her epitaph with the hem of his robes. “I’ve been remiss with my duties. But, I assure you, my absence was unavoidable.”
Satisfied that the headstone was clean, he fell back on his heels and forced himself to smile.
“Nothing is the same without you.” He sighed. “His Grace has been taking Raziel to wife again; he made her Lady Regent in Lucias’ stead.” His brow furrowed as he wondered how his father fared in exile. “Poor Raphael is still afraid of his own damn shadow.” He toyed with the stem of one of the roses he brought her which was littered with too many leaves, stripping it clean. “Camael and Uriel shared vows.” He smiled and flicked his eyes to where he remembered her head to lay. “Though I must ask that you keep this as our secret lest the King of Lords punish them both.” He chuckled and returned his attention to his task. “As for Gabriel, he is thriving in the Guf. I know that you would be proud of him.”
A pang of sadness overwhelmed him, suddenly, as he spoke to her. He realized, in that moment, that the details of her beautiful face were beginning to fade from his memory.
How could this be? He thought as he bit his bottom lip lest it begin to tremble. I spent the better part of my life dreaming of your face . . . How can its lines be leaving my mind’s eye now?
A sob threatened to rise to his throat. He swallowed it down and blinked away the tears that were beginning to burn his eyes.
“I miss you.” He whispered. “I think of you every day. Even if my visits are becoming scarce as the suns fly their cycles. There isn’t a moon which rises when you aren’t living within me and my heart.”
And there wouldn’t, he knew as one of those damn tears he was fighting fell, ever be a single moon in which he lived that he forgot about her for even the barest shift of Lord Countenance’s shadow.
-29-
“How did he seem?” James swallowed his discontentment as he raised his gaze to meet Marchand’s.
The boy looked at him with quiet concern. “He’s a strangely beautiful creature for a man.”
“Yes.” James agreed, his mind casting to the God that he had once loved above all other beings in any one of the cruel, cold worlds. “He is.”
“His women wear no clothes.” Marchand’s cheeks flamed red. “Did you know that?”
“I did.” Jamiason forced himself to smile. “Nor do the men. It’s not a custom that the mischief fairies have adopted.”
“I wish you would have warned me.” Marchand lowered his gaze.
“You wouldn’t have gone if I had.” Jamiason sighed and sat backward. “And I couldn’t trust Louis to hold his tongue.” He felt the beginnings of impatience stirring in his mind as Marchand’s covetous thoughts for Karma bounced off of him in James’ direction. “What did he say?”
“He agreed.” Marchand raised his gaze. “On a condition.”
“Of course there’s a Gods be damned condition.” Jamiason threw the quill he was holding at his desk. With Aiken, there was always a condition. “What does he want from me?”
Marchand hesitated for a moment and then, in a voice that was low, yet traced with clear curiosity, “He said that you’re to decide which race he is to protect. Vampire or elf.”
Jamiason started. “Why would he—?”
“He said that, given this is a mortal war, he can only ally his people with one race.” Marchand muttered. “You’re to decide who is to wear his Talisman. Prince Paul or Prince Iladrul.”
Jamiason bit his tongue. Hard.
He hadn’t been prepared for this eventuality. Though, he supposed, he should have been.
“He said that, after the war, he can give one or the other of them a new Talisman.” Marchand’s voice trembled. “If they both survive and can come to a truce, that is.”
“They must both survive.” Jamiason’s vision was beginning to stain red with the blood of his tears. He blinked these tears back, not wanting Marchand to sense his weakness. “All four of you must survive.”
“There’s a very real possibility that—”
“I know this!” Jamiason snapped at him. “Don’t you think I understand the danger I am putting you in?”
Marchand made no verbal response. He merely nodded.
“Come back in sixty shifts.” Jamiason commanded him. “I’ll have a letter that I will need you to give to Blackheart to deliver.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Marchand stood and turned to leave. “As you will me.”
“Marchand?” He turned to face his Maker. “Tell Paul I must speak with him.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“But not tonight.” Jamiason turned away from him. “Tonight I must think. He must come to me on the morrow.”
Granting Jamiason a weak smile, Marchand nodded and left Jamiason to do as he was bid.
-30-
Macentyx, the oldest of the brothers by a matter of minutes, stood behind Jeavlin, the youngest, brushing his brother’s hair. Jeavlin, out of the four of them, had required the most prodding to take care in how he looked on this morning when they were to meet their Master.
“What if he doesn’t like me?” Jeavlin raised his gaze in the mirror to meet Macentyx’s.
“What if you don’t like him?”
“It doesn’t matter if I like him or not.” Jeavlin reminded his brother.
“Nor does it matter if he likes you.” Macentyx sighed. “Just keep quiet, serve him well and give him no reason to punish you.” Jeavlin paled as he nodded. Macentyx forced himself to give his brother a smile. “As Father tells us, it is an honor to be the first bought doxies of a Prince.”
“It’s an honor I’d as soon do without.” Haidar, the second born, scoffed. “Where is Osete?”
“With Sezja.” Macentyx muttered. Sezja was their younger sister. That she was also being gifted to the young Prince this morning infuriated the four brothers to no end. “She needed encouragement.”
Haidar snorted. As he did so, the door opened and their father stepped into the room. His eyes darted from one to the other of them as he forced himself to smile. “You lads look fine.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Jeavlin swallowed. “What is he like?”
Jeanir’s brow furrowed. “A boy. Same as you. And terrified.”
“What does he have to be frightened of?” Haidar scoffed.
“Much and more.” Jeanir rounded on his son. “He’s being forced to grow up far too early.” His eyes darted around the room. “As are you.” He sighed. “Never mind that he’s on the verge of leading an army off to war. It would do you all well to remember that.”
“Yes, Sir.” Macentyx answered for his brothers. “We will.”
“Good.” Jeanir gave them another forced smile. “Come. It’s time to meet Prince Iladrul.”
Sighing, Macentyx stepped away from Jeavlin, setting the brush aside. He waited for his brothers to steel themselves and then encouraged them both to follow their father out of the small bedroom they shared and into the m
ain room.
Their mother waited for them there, her eyes red rimmed and her face puffy from crying. As were Osete and Sezja, whose faces were as ashen as were Jeavlin and Haidar’s.
“Don’t you boys look handsome?” Macentyx forced himself to smile at his mother for her lie. They were handsome boys. But not today. All of them were primped with powder, paint and skirts. They looked more like women than men. As they would from that day forward. “What a glorious day for you!”
Haidar somehow managed to hold his wagging, acid tongue. Macentyx was grateful for this small miracle. Out of all of them, he prophesized that it would be Haidar who first felt the sting of Prince Iladrul’s whip on his back.
“It is an honor to be purchased by a Prince.” Osete said in dead panned tones. “And, even more so, the first ever born of our race.”
“Yes.” Their mother grinned at him. It was such a horrific and false grin that Macentyx had to look away lest he, himself, cry. “Such an honor.”
“I must take them.” Jeanir muttered in low tones. “Kiss your mother goodbye.”
They each did in turns; Macentyx, being the oldest, going last. As his mother pulled him toward her she bent her lips to his ears and whispered, “Watch over them Mac. I beg you. Especially Haidar. Don’t let him mouth off to the young Prince.”
Knowing this was meant to be their secret, he merely nodded against her lips. Though it was an impossibility to control Haidar, or his tongue, he would promise his mother all five moons of Anticata if that is what she required of him. “Goodbye, Mother.”
She let him go, raising her hand to her mouth to hide her pain. She crossed her other arm over her chest and merely nodded at them. Jeanir gave her a weak, apologetic smile and then herded his children out of the small cottage that they shared with their mother.
Every elf and angel residing within the Doxy Village seemed to be waiting for them. Seeing them, Macentyx forced himself to stand tall and proud. When he noticed that Jeavlin failed to match his mood, he reached for his brother’s hand, tugged on it and gave him a nod intended to direct Jeavlin to toe the mark.
To Mac’s great relief, Jeavlin did.
He rose to his full height, stuck his chin out and mimicked his brothers; in action, if not in thought. Macentyx allowed his youngest brother a smile that he hoped revealed his pride in him before turning his gaze to his father’s back. It would be best to walk through the Village in this manner lest he see the faces of the friends that he would sorely miss.
Having never stepped foot outside of the Doxy Village, Macentyx was unable to hold this form once they’d crossed the bridge to the other side of the river. He was too overwhelmed by the beauty of the forest that they had ever forbidden from entering.
Jeanir didn’t admonish or try to temper the boys or Sezja from their wide eyed fascination. Not, that was, until they reached the edge of the Courtyard where the angels and elves made merry. Before they crossed the tree line, he turned to his children and gave them a final piece of advice.
“Keep your eyes averted. Do not let them land on any elf or angel that you come across. You are Prince Iladrul’s property, now, and you are to show no affection or emotion of any kind to any elf but him.”
Swallowing the lump that rose in his throat, Macentyx nodded. His brothers and sister, he marked, were doing the same.
“Good.” Jeanir turned away, stepping past the tree line and into the Courtyard.
As they followed him, it took everything in Macentyx not to let out a gasp.
The Courtyard was a bustle of activity with elves and angels sitting at their breakfast. Laughter and chatter rang around them, but then came to an abrupt halt as the five of them stepped into the light.
Macentyx swallowed again and forced his chin to remain high and his eyes focused on the tops of his father’s great, white wings. There would be time, he told himself, to drink in the bustle of the Courtyard in quiet subservience as he saw to Prince Iladrul’s needs.
He somehow managed to keep his eyes glued to his father’s wings as they made their way out of the Courtyard and through the castle. Given his state of mind, and his keen intent to stare at his father’s wing, he saw nothing that he would later remember until they reached the door separating the living quarters of the Royal Family from the rest of the castle.
Standing outside the door was an angel that Macentyx recognized. It was the man his mother truly loved. A servant of the castle, who only visited the Doxy Village when he was able to sneak in without being seen because he was neither freeman nor noble and, thus, not allowed a doxy of his own.
Mac managed to stay his surprise and was grateful to see that his brothers and sister had done the same.
“Andrel.” Jeanir held his hand out, grinning. He wore an expression upon his face that Macentyx could only associate with pride. “I don’t believe you’ve met my eldest children.”
Andrel turned his eyes to Macentyx and gave him a guarded, tired smile. His dark brown, gold rimmed eyes—so alike to Macentyx’s own, the boy realized being up close to him for the first time—danced over Macentyx’s face before darting to each of the other children in turn. “I cannot say that I have.”
This was not a lie. Macentyx and his brothers and sisters had spied upon this angel and their mother on many occasions. That wasn’t to say that they had ever been seen by him or spoken with him.
“They have been gifted to Prince Iladrul.” Jeanir’s pride was overwhelming.
“An honor.” Macentyx heard the click coming from the angel’s throat as he swallowed. “One that shouldn’t wait for pleasantries.”
Jeanir, laughing, raised his hand and clapped the angel on the back. This earned him another guarded smile as Andrel turned toward the door to unlock it for the small group. Macentyx, who was the last through the door, did not miss the profound sorrow that laced Andrel’s features as he passed him.
Mac turned, unable to take his eyes off the angel after having seen that expression. Andrel, gave him a final, guarded smile before closing the door behind them and locking them within.
“Mac!” Osete whispered urgently.
Macentyx shook the questions from his mind and turned to follow his brothers and sister. He gave Osete, who also bore those strange, gold rimmed, brown eyes, a swift smile, nodded and followed.
Though his mind should have been on his fate, and his fate alone, Macentyx’s thoughts were focused on the puzzle of Andrel’s strange, far too familiar, eyes.
-31-
“They have arrived.” Iladrul turned toward the door, where his mother hovered wearing a smile. “Are you ready to meet them?”
“Does it matter if I am?” Iladrul inquired.
“Iladrul.” Helena sighed. “This is a big day for you!”
“It’s a day I am not prepared for.” He could say these things to his mother. She understood them. And he needed to say them to someone. “I do not even know what to do with a doxy!”
Helena’s green eyes trailed over her son’s face for a moment. Finally, she said, “You don’t have to do anything that you aren’t ready to do.”
“That isn’t what Father says.”
“Father wants you to be protected.” She reminded him. “Which is why he chose these boys and that girl.” She shook her head. “The rest of it can wait.”
Iladrul, frowning, looked away. “What will they think of me if I do not break one of them tonight?”
“I imagine that they would be relieved.” She walked toward him and sat upon the sofa beside him. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “They are, all of them, even younger than you. If you are not ready, then how must they feel?”
“Terrified?” Iladrul conjectured.
“Terrified.” Helena agreed. “Iladrul, they are yours. There is no law regarding how you must treat them or when—or even if—you must break them. These relationships are yours to navigate.”
“You don’t believe they will think me an inept fool?” He could hear the tremor in his voice an
d he loathed himself for it.
“I think that they will believe you to be a kind master.” She shrugged. Then she stood and held out her hand to him. “Come, child. Let us meet your new charges.”
He stood, realizing that his knees were shaking as he did so. But he followed his mother, forcing a brave face for her benefit.
When he stepped into the sitting room, where his new property were gathered, he found himself stopping short.
These elves were, each one of them, breathtaking.
The boys all looked the same. From head to toe. Long, dark brown hair. Dark brown eyes that were rimmed with gold. Full lips, thick noses and strong bodies for their age.
As for the girl . . . Iladrul was barely able to look at her. She was just that beautiful.
He stepped forward so he might stand before them. As he did so, the four boys cornered themselves around the girl, almost as if they were protecting her.
They are protecting her. He realized. From me.
He forced himself to smile. “Welcome into my care.”
One of the boys, who stood at the front, stepped forward. His expression was taut as he bowed. “We are proud to serve you.”
Iladrul turned to this one. Obviously, he spoke for them all. “May you and I have a word?”
The boy paled, then forced a smile. “Of course, my Prince.”
Iladrul nodded at him and led him out of the sitting room and into his bedchamber. Once there, he turned toward the boy and gave him a guarded smile. “I’m told you and your brothers have been trained at battle.”
“Yes.” The boy swallowed. “By our father.”
Iladrul nodded. “What are your names?”
“I am Macentyx.”
“And your skill?” Iladrul asked. “At war?”
“I favor the split sword.” He replied, his gaze lowered.
“And your brothers?” Iladrul asked. “Their names and their skills.”
“Haidar.” The doxy muttered. “He’s keen with the dagger.” Iladrul nodded. “Osete is a fair hand at bow. And Jeavlin is quicker with his wit.”
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