The Sting of Victory

by S D Simper

  “What’s there to be sad about?” Flowridia fell backwards, lying flat in the shaded grass. “It seems Ayla doesn’t entirely hate me,” she muttered, and she grabbed the ear resting on the chain. Holding it up, she let it dangle inches above her face. “But that doesn’t mean she wants anything to do with me.”

  She gave you a gift.

  “Imperator Casvir gave us a gift.” Distain pulled at her upper lip. “A pretty horrendous gift, and not exactly the kindest thing to do to someone you’re sleeping with.” Flowridia shut her eyes and released a steady sigh. The ear dropped into the grass, and the gentle singing of birds lulled her into sleep.

  * * *

  After her nap, disastrous grass stains covered the silk of her dress. The sun hung low in the sky; she would have to run to make it to the groundbreaking on time. Flowridia plucked a few fresh flowers, hiked up her skirts, and ran back to the manor, praying Etolié wouldn’t catch her.

  A few horrified gasps met her as she ran past a pair of servant girls. She remembered, then, her eerie fashion accessory. Still running, she dropped the ear down the collar of her dress where it settled perfectly between her breasts.

  Demitri narrowly avoided being squished by the doorframe. Flowridia inspected herself in the mirror and frowned. “Perhaps Etolié knows spells for cleaning fabric.” As quick as her fingers could fly, she removed her dress and stuffed it into the base of the wardrobe. She stole the first dress her hand met – something white and blue, with a neckline to cover the ear – then remembered she’d left her shoes outside in the garden.

  The long skirt would hide that.

  Flowridia removed the crushed petals from her hair and instead wove fresh ones through the thick locks. Soon, subtle pastels graced her head.

  She glanced at the window. The sun had nearly set. She shoved the ear into her bodice and scooped Demitri into her arms, prepared to run.

  A knock startled her. With the small wolf securely in her arms, she opened the door to find Thalmus looking down at her. “Marielle and I were concerned when you weren’t on time for the groundbreaking,” the half-giant said, studying her for any signs of distress.

  “I fell asleep outside,” Flowridia admitted, holding Demitri up. She wished she could hide behind the small pup and cover her embarrassment. “Lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

  “Think nothing of it. I only want you safe.” Thalmus took a step back, and Flowridia let him escort her down the hallway. “The ceremony will have already begun. Apparently Etolié worried about the repercussions of you being hidden away.”

  “I’m hardly of note.”

  Thalmus’ hand nearly covered her entire back. “People would notice if you disappeared.”

  His statement gave her pause. They descended the stairs, and Flowridia dared to ask, “Did anyone ask for me?”

  “Etolié did, to question you about your meeting.”

  Disappointment brewed inside her. Flowridia said nothing further and allowed Thalmus to lead her outside in silence.

  Beyond the grounds of the manor, the city flourished, and even far away she could hear a faint, yet booming voice, one magically enhanced for volume.

  A crowd met them, but Thalmus escorted her behind the makeshift stage, where Zorlaeus spoke to the enormous assembly of citizens from Staelash. Behind him, a series of seats had been set up. Marielle sat directly to his right, only a few steps behind, with Etolié sitting in a chair by her side. Khastra, armor glittering in the fading sunlight, sat in a large throne beside her, along with an empty seat.

  On Zorlaeus’ opposite side, a decorated chair sat empty.

  Behind the platform, Thalmus whispered, “I’m to help keep peace among the crowd.” He motioned toward the steps leading up to the platform. “Will you be fine if I leave?”

  “Of course. Thank you for the escort.”

  “Stay safe, Flowra.” Thalmus disappeared around the platform.

  She took one step towards the stairs, when a whisper nearly stopped her heart. “‘Flowra?’ That’s adorable.”

  Flowridia whirled around. Ayla stood directly behind her, smiling from Flowridia’s shadow. “I-It’s my nickname,” she managed to say.

  Ayla’s eyes were ice, despite her smile. “Flowra,” she cooed softly, and Flowridia felt heat blossom across her cheeks. Ayla chuckled. “Sweet Flowra, may I ask your plans following the ceremony?”

  That’s when Flowridia’s heart stopped all at once. “You may ask.”

  Laughter added charm to Ayla’s words. “Oh, clever, aren’t you? Allow me to state my intentions more plainly.” Ayla stepped forward, and despite being several inches shorter, Flowridia felt she were being stared down. “I find you devastatingly beautiful. I’ll meet you in your bedroom. We’ll . . . have a bite?” Ayla lifted a single eyebrow.

  Flowridia managed a nod, something inside of her melting.

  Ayla’s grin grew wide, predatory. “I’ll see you after the ceremony,” she whispered. She brushed past Flowridia, stepping silently up the steps to the platform.

  Flowridia stood a full five seconds in pure shock before a child’s voice broke through her clouded thoughts. She smells awfully nice.

  “Does she?” Flowridia released a breath, the first one in minutes. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Better than you do. The small wolf stood on his back legs and stared up at her. It’s eerie, to be honest. I feel like I’m supposed to like her.

  “Oh, she’s quite likable,” she said, swaying slightly. A smile spread across her face, and she heard herself giggle. “And I think she might like me too.”

  She said you were beautiful.

  Blushing fiercely, Flowridia brought her hands up to her cheeks. “We, uh, we need to go to the ceremony.” She paused, looking at Demitri, and giggled some more as she climbed up the steps onto the platform.

  A crowd of people met her view, and Flowridia quickly shuffled to the empty seat beside General Khastra. The enormous woman stared down at her oddly, perhaps noticing her blush and smile, but said nothing, and instead looked back at Zorlaeus, who continued his speech. Something about trade and trust, but Flowridia beamed, her mind singing.

  Sitting opposite of Khastra, Etolié peered around the glittering, armored woman. “Flowers,” she whispered irreverently, “you’re shining brighter than my favorite tattooed beefcake.”

  Flowridia composed herself, biting her lip as she glanced at Etolié. “I have a date tonight.”

  Were there not thousands of people staring up at them, Etolié’s hand looked like it might fly to her face. Instead, she simply leaned slightly to the side. “Oh, do you?”

  Flowridia nodded, acutely aware that Khastra could hear every word whispered between them.

  But Etolié pushed. “Is that why Ayla was late too?”

  “She waited for me?” Flowridia’s heart soared at the thought.

  “Apparently.”

  Flowridia’s cheeks grew sore from smiling. “We’ll be having dinner.”

  This time, Etolié glanced over to Ayla, who occupied the once empty seat. The woman looked back at her, a knowing smirk crossing her face as she glanced from Etolié to Flowridia and then back to the crowd.

  “Dinner doesn’t seem like her style.”

  “Well, it’s what we’re doing,” Flowridia shot back, defensive at Etolié’s tone.

  Etolié pulled a flask from the air. After a long sip, she said, “And then chess, right?”

  “Sure, Etolié.”

  She heard Etolié chuckle.

  * * *

  The crowd applauded. Flowridia looked over and realized Ayla had disappeared.

  She stood, but before she could move, Khastra blocked her path. With her glowing, pupil-less eyes, Flowridia always struggled to decipher the tattooed woman’s expression. Even with the faint smile on her lips, when she stood nearly three feet above Flowridia’s head, it painted her aura with menace, deserved or not. “You are meeting with Lady Ayla tonight?”

  Flowridia nodd
ed, a blush blooming onto her cheeks.

  “Tiny one, I have some suspicions to her character you should know first-”

  Etolié’s hand appeared, and by some miracle it managed to land directly over Khastra’s mouth when she reached up. Not that something so trivial would stop a force of nature from speaking, but Khastra did stop, perhaps from surprise. “And who are we to stop our sweet tiny one from meeting with the Nox’Karthan diplomat for a diplomatic engagement?”

  “Etolié-”

  “Flowers is a fully blossomed adult. We shouldn’t stand in her way.”

  Flowridia couldn’t decide how she felt about this particular use of the word ‘blossomed’ and wished to melt into the floorboards and vanish.

  The blue woman’s stark confusion diminished her intimidating aura. “Then, may I discuss it with you, instead?”

  “Yes, yes,” Etolié said. “But first, I’d like to walk Flowers home.” Etolié placed a hand on Flowridia’s waist and began leading her away.

  “I think I want to know Khastra’s suspicions-”

  Etolié patted Flowridia’s back, then swiftly escorted her down the steps of the platform. “I’ll take care of it. Khastra is many things – highly intelligent is one of them. Tactless is often another. I’ll let you know if it’s anything important. May I escort you?”

  Flowridia glanced out toward the crowd. She spotted Sora surveying the mass of people, but the half-elf didn’t feel her gaze, and to the far end was Thalmus.

  Telling Thalmus about her plans with Ayla seemed a daunting task. She returned her attention to Etolié. “Yes, please.”

  They stepped away from the ground and toward the road. At the front of the stage, Marielle stood with her hands on her knees, chattering excitedly with a group of children who giggled at every other word.

  “Whatever Marielle’s setbacks as a monarch,” Etolié said softly, watching Flowridia’s gaze, “the people adore her. There’s something to be said for that.”

  Zorlaeus stood behind Marielle, his shy countenance perfectly juxtaposed with the vibrant queen.

  Ayla was nowhere to be seen.

  They proceeded down the road in silence, haste in Etolié’s footsteps. Past the gates of the manor, Etolié finally spoke Flowridia’s own quiet fears. “She’s using you.”

  Flowridia’s pride reeled at the thought, her desperation to latch onto Ayla’s pretty words as truth causing her jaw to stiffly set.

  “Everything is a game, Flowers – politics, sex, and convenient dinner invitations. Small, dark, and sneaky looks like the type to do whatever it takes for political gain,” Etolié continued, but her face conveyed no judgement; merely rumination, “including buttering-up tiny, flower-laden diplomats. My question is whether or not you’re ready to play this game.”

  Flowridia’s feet ceased their scuffling across the dirt path, the implications of Etolié’s words wounding her palpitating heart. “Etolié-”

  “Don’t ‘Etolié’ me. This is a precarious political situation. Secrets might be the only thing you keep from Lady Ayla tonight.”

  “That’s not the plan.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Etolié withdrew her flask and maintained perfect eye contact as she took a long sip. When she offered it forward, Flowridia shook her head. “If Lady Darkleaf is soft on you, Staelash might finally have a fighting chance when negotiating with Nox’Kartha.”

  Instead of replying, Flowridia stooped down to lift Demitri into her arms. They stepped within the gates of the manor and finally went inside. Etolié’s words – a warning, really – refused to settle in her mind, instead churning over and over as she contemplated every individual facet.

  It was foolish, she knew, but Etolié had implied that Ayla might be soft on her, and it was that notion only that spurned her feet to keep moving forward.

  Can I come to dinner too?

  Demitri’s words jarred Flowridia from her swirling thoughts. As they climbed the staircase, she said, “Of course, Demitri.”

  Etolié grinned at the wolf pup. “What’s Demitri saying?”

  “He wants to come to dinner.”

  Nodding, Etolié’s smile grew wide and wicked. “Don’t be shy if you need me to watch him.”

  They reached Flowridia’s door. “I don’t think that will be necessary-”

  When the door swung open, a thousand candles met her view. On every surface they shone, on her windowsill, her vanity, the table to the side of her bed, and on her desk where a basket of fruit waited. Only the bed remained untouched by flame.

  Instead, Ayla lounged on her sheets, coy and grinning like a snake.

  Mesmerized by Ayla’s stare, Flowridia handed Demitri to Etolié. Etolié, in an uncharacteristic display of tact, said absolutely nothing and simply carried Demitri away.

  The door clicked shut. The gown draped across Ayla’s sensual form at first appeared to be a dark grey, but Flowridia realized it was black, albeit entirely sheer. Ayla’s skin, nearly white, created a vision of slight curves and tempting shadows. “Is the fruit acceptable?” Ayla tilted her head, the flickering light casting deep lines upon her face. “I overheard a little bird say you had an odd diet.”

  Flowridia, struck by the ambience, the unquestionable sensuality of Ayla lying serene in her bed, managed a brief nod. “I only eat what I can grow.”

  Ayla cracked a predatory grin. “I hope I don’t offend you, then.” Her eyes managed to sharpen. “I’m a meat-eater.”

  Flowridia’s breath hitched, heat filling her abdomen. “I’ve been known to make a few exceptions.”

  Ayla chuckled as she beckoned with a lithe finger.

  Drawn by her magnetism, Flowridia obeyed, her entranced steps silent on the rug beneath her. She accepted Ayla’s hand when offered and allowed the pale, elven woman to pull her in for a deep, slow kiss. Curiosity and desire overshadowed her inexperience, and Flowridia simply let her lips respond in turn, allowing Ayla’s tongue to slip into her mouth. She fell gently into bed beside her. Bony hands, cold even though the fabric of her gown, traced across Flowridia’s form. She savored every flush motion of those thin, perfect lips, the innocence of it something to cherish.

  It wasn’t until one hand reached to cup the gentle contour of Flowridia’s jaw that Ayla pulled away. Her fierce gaze kept close contact as she slowly, deliberately, stroked at Flowridia’s long hair and removed one of the many tiny flowers she kept braided within. Ayla placed it carefully on the nightstand before repeating the motion. Again and again, so simple a gesture, yet with each movement, anticipation grew. Each touch, so slight, seemed perfectly placed to tease.

  Flowridia lacked the words to express what she desired, but whatever storm Ayla brewed, she longed to dance in the eye of it.

  Perhaps Flowridia showed her impatience. Ayla’s coy laughter filled the room. “I have a weakness for simple, pretty things.”

  Entranced, Flowridia could only nod in response, and Ayla continued her task, the pile of dainty, colorful buds steadily growing. Flowridia’s mind began to wander as her eyes took in the rare, detailed view of the alluring woman – the way her cascading hair, curled and styled to perfection, managed to hide her ear, how the rich shades of black stood in stark contrast to her pallid skin; the candlelight as it highlighted the shadows of her ribs faintly visible above her collar, how the deep, plunging collar of her gown drew Flowridia’s eyes. Sudden heat colored her cheeks at the sight of Ayla’s breasts, barely covered by the sheer fabric. She looked away, up to Ayla’s face, only to be caught staring.

  Was that amusement pulling at Ayla’s smile? “Sweet Flowra, don’t be so demure,” she teased. Ayla drew her hands back. She pushed aside one sleeve and then the other, letting the top of her dress fall away, revealing her bare, beautiful chest. Ayla’s small breasts bounced when she chuckled, and Flowridia couldn’t help but stare at both her slight curves and at the taut muscles visible through the thin skin of her abdomen. Pained heat brewed between her legs as Ayla leaned forward, the magnetic
pull between them unlike anything Flowridia had ever felt.

  A soft line drew along her jaw as Ayla leaned forward, her fingernail lightly touching Flowridia’s skin. Their gaze met again. “I’m yours to admire.” Hunger bled into her wicked grin. “And you’re mine to claim.”

  A cold hand pushed against Flowridia’s sternum. Plush blankets met her back. Ayla straddled her, and in an instant their lips smashed together. Pure lust radiated from the elven woman, and Flowridia gasped when a bite stung her bottom lip.

  When Ayla pulled away, her stare reminded Flowridia eerily of her own wolf before he devoured his meal, but the thought only caused further heat to rise within her. She surged up to meet Ayla’s lips but was met with a vicious touch forcing her back down. Ayla shook her head, pupils engulfing the ice in her eyes. With skilled fingers, she traced the collar of Flowridia’s gown and began to undo each button down the line.

  Before she could finish, her eyes narrowed in amusement as she removed the uncanny trinket – her own ear – from the bodice. She chuckled, and with a wink said, “Perhaps I should have given you an eye as well, if I’d known where you’d keep it.”

  Flowridia’s face grew flush. “Please, don’t.”

  A genuine laugh escaped Ayla’s lips as she set the necklace aside. “You are a delight. No, no, Flowra, I plan on making good use of my eyes tonight.” With a dramatic flare, she ripped open the fabric covering Flowridia’s chest, the chill causing goosebumps to rise along her sensitive skin. Flowridia instinctively shied, her hands coming to cover her exposed breasts and body, but Ayla’s wicked chuckle came with a light grasp on her wrists. “Let me see you,” she cooed, more a command than a request, and when Ayla pulled Flowridia’s arms away, she didn’t fight the touch.

  Instead, she released a breath and basked in Ayla’s gaze, enamored as she watched that striking blue become a ring around a void of black. The grip on her wrists grew loose, then fell away.

  Flowridia felt, for the first time in her life, devastatingly beautiful.