Chapter 6
I’m walking on air. Cloud Dive is the most delectable drink I’ve ever had. And I’ve had three now. The flavor is like blueberries and moonlight while its effects are unlike anything I’ve felt before. Where wine and ale dull my senses after a time, Cloud Dive sharpens my mind. I’ve never felt so clear or clever. Every word that leaves my mouth is bloody brilliant.
I’m conversing with one of Arwen’s friends, a human girl named Jolene Vaughn who works at the nearby modiste. Turns out, she’s a fan of my books.
“Can I ask you something?” Miss Vaughn says, scooting closer to me, a conspiratorial grin on her lips. She occupies the chair Daphne sat in before the pine marten climbed into the rafters, where she now naps. Miss Vaughn’s round cheeks are flushed pink, her lids slow and heavy, her golden hair falling loose around her shoulders. If she’d stuck to Cloud Dive like me instead of switching to wine, she wouldn’t be so inebriated.
I’m more sober than I’ve ever been, and my hair looks fantastic. I’ve already restyled it four times all without the aid of a mirror because I can tell, just by the weight of the pins securing my tresses to the left side of my head above my ear, that I’ve just started a fashion trend. William keeps glancing at me from across the table where he chats with Arwen, so I know I’ve increased my allure.
“Can I? Please?” Miss Vaughn bounces eagerly in her seat, hands clasped in a pleading gesture.
Oh, right. She asked me a question.
“Of course you may, Miss Vaughn,” I say in my most benevolent tone. “Ask me anything about my books and I will answer.”
“First, call me Jolene, please. Second, your sex scenes are phenomenal.” She doesn’t lower her voice when she says the last part, and it strikes some small and reserved portion of my mind that she’s speaking a touch too loudly for the subject at hand. “They’re so inventive!”
“Aren’t they?” I say, taking a sip of Cloud Dive from glass number four. My gaze lifts to William. He’s leaning forward, laughing at something Arwen just said.
“I must know,” Jolene says. “Are your sex scenes based on personal experience?”
William’s face whips my way and I nearly choke on my drink. Coughing, I set my glass down. “Pardon?”
“Your sex scenes. Do you write them based on things you’ve done?”
Even though I’m looking fully at Jolene, I can see William watching from my periphery. So I give her the only answer I can. A lie. “Of course they are.”
She gasps. “Really?”
“Really. I have a…a very robust sex life.”
“And you’ve done everything you’ve written about.”
“I most certainly have.” I face William with a proud look, but he’s already back in conversation with Arwen. Perhaps I imagined his interest.
“So even that scene in The Governess and the Baron, when he hoists her up the wall by her thighs, kneels before her and…tastes her,” she whispers the last part. “You’ve done that?”
“Of course I have.”
Of course I have not. In fact, I haven’t done even a fraction of the interesting positions I’ve written about. But she doesn’t need to know that.
Jolene looks truly impressed. “That’s incredible. Here I thought sexuality was repressed in Bretton, and that female freedoms were few and far between.”
She’s right about that. Before I can get caught in my lie, I change the subject. “Which book of mine is your?—”
She waves her hands at me in a hushing gesture, her attention now across the table. “I have to hear this,” she says, voice trembling with excitement.
I follow her line of sight to find William standing before a small crowd. When the hell did he gather an audience? He speaks in a sonorous voice.
“The darkest abyss of ardor’s first kiss,
A transaction of masks and lies,
Her heart is traded for satin and silks,
While mine is purchased in sighs.”
His audience breaks into delighted applause, but I emit a snort of laughter. William angles his head toward me, and I realize the sound I made was louder than I intended. “Do you have something to say about my poetry, Weenie?”
Not that damn nickname again! He’s really earned my ire now. I rise to my feet. “Yes, I have something to say, Willy.”
“Please, delight us with your clever observations.”
I open my mouth to do just that, only to find the effects of Cloud Dive are waning. So I take two deep gulps of my drink, lift my chin, and lock my eyes with his. “Your poetry is pretentious.”
He faces the table fully and plants his hands on its surface. Even with him leaning down across from me, he still stands taller. “How so?”
“It’s so convoluted. Do you even understand the words that leave your lips?”
“Aw, little Ed,” he says, his mouth pulling into a mock pout. “Have my words gone over your head?”
I roll my eyes. “On the contrary, your words are beneath me.”
“Think you’d make a better poet? You must be a veritable wordsmith, writing about the duke’s massive throbbing member and the governess’ mewling whines.”
He knows about the duke’s throbbing member? Does that mean he’s read my books? I’m almost of a mind to ask when my rational side reminds me he’s just making assumptions at my expense.
I fold my arms across my chest. “I can do better.”
He mimics my posture, standing at his full height. “I dare you to try.”
“I’ll do more than try.” My confidence flares, dimmed only by the fact that I have to crane my neck to hold his gaze. Well, I have a solution for that. Tugging the back of my chair, I slide it away from the table and stand upon the seat. Now I’m slightly taller than him.
My attention sweeps over the crowd, full of furrowed brows or half smiles of confused amusement.
Overhead, Daphne stretches in the rafters and peeks down at the commotion. “Oh, I’ve got to see this,” she mutters.
My confidence swells once more. I haven’t got a plan for what I’m going to say, but I’m the cleverest woman in the world right now. What do I have to fear?
I use my most pretentious voice as I begin, my pace admittedly slow and clunky while I string words together. But as each sentence falls from my mouth, the next forms.
“There once was a man named Will,
He thought he gave women a thrill.
What he truly gave,
Was an itch ’tween the legs,
The kind only ointment can kill.”
I erupt with laughter, which is echoed by those around me.
“Ah, you’re making fun of my genital hygiene,” William says, tone flat. “Such mature humor coming from you.”
I’m busy bowing for my rapt audience when Will’s voice carries over the clamor. He slowly rounds the table toward me as he speaks.
“Ed, my dear,
Little Weenie, I fear,
My patience for you has passed.
For who could endure,
Another encore,
Of such a persistent pain in the ass.”
He stops directly before me as he states the last line, our faces mere inches apart. Another round of chuckles spreads through our audience. My cheeks flush, but I refuse to show an ounce of embarrassment.
“Honestly, that was the best I’ve heard from you yet,” I say. “That one at least made sense.”
“Forgive me if you lack the intelligence to understand the finer points of poetry.” He lifts his finger to tap me on the nose like he did in the bookshop, but I intercept him, clasping his finger in my palm.
“Forgive me if you lack the imagination to appreciate the duke’s massive throbbing member. I know it can be difficult when you’ve never seen visual proof.” I glance suggestively at his forefinger still clenched in my hand, then let it go with a sneer. “But, yes, Willy, a cock can be larger than a teaspoon.”
He plants his hands on his hips. “A teaspoon. Really?”
“Surprised, are you?”
“I am. I hadn’t a clue a cock could be smaller than a teaspoon. My experience lies firmly in the realm of the magnus melon.” He gives a significant tug to his waistband.
“Magnus melon?” I echo.
“Fae fruit,” Daphne says from the rafters. “Very long and girthy.”
Jolene leans toward us, her mouth practically watering as her gaze flicks from the front of his trousers to his eyes. “That’s my favorite fruit.”
William winks.
I jab him in the chest to draw his attention back to me. “Is that how you plan to win the publishing contract? By seducing your readers? Is that how you manage to sell so many books?”
“And how do you plan to win? Your readers are either spinsters or spinsters-in-training. I can’t imagine you’d have great success utilizing your skills from your oh-so-satisfying sex life.”
My cheeks heat. He was listening to my chat with Jolene after all.
I huff. “First of all, how dare you insult my readers by calling them spinsters. There’s nothing wrong with a woman being unmarried at any age, and I don’t appreciate you or society at large trying to make us feel ashamed about that. Second of all, at least I don’t have to fondle my fans to sell books.”
He steps closer. As much as I want to flinch back, I dare not move, lest I tumble from my chair. “Even if you did fondle your fans, it wouldn’t help you sell more books.”
“Yes, you’ve already slandered my target audience,” I say.
“Oh, I’m including everyone. You couldn’t seduce the pants off a prostitute.”
“That’s false. I could pay them.” Damn it all to hell, where did my cutting wit go? I turn the subject back to him. “I bet you’re all talk. You may be able to seduce with words, but that doesn’t mean you’re even remotely adequate in bed. I bet you’re a lousy lover.”
“You think you’re better?”
“I know I am. I’ve written books to prove it.”
“Then prove it off the page. Seduce someone. Now. Tonight.”
My mind goes blank. Without breaking eye contact, I lean carefully to the side to retrieve my drink and down the rest of the glass. Almost at once my mind grows clearer, lighter. I return the empty glass to the table. “I will. And I dare you to do the same.”
“Easy,” he says with a lopsided grin. “How about we make it interesting? A bet.”
“Oh, did I hear the word bet?” Monty saunters up to the table. I hadn’t realized he was missing during our poetry battle. A glance his way shows most of our crowd has dispersed, having lost interest as our conversation turned personal. “I love bets.”
“More than your job?” Daphne calls down. She drops to the table, landing with a thud that rattles the empty glasses that litter its surface. “I don’t think we should be encouraging this.”
Monty waves a hand at her, his eyes locked on us. “Oh, hush. Things are finally getting interesting.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll make a bet.”
William sweeps his gaze down the length of me. “What are you willing to wager, love?”
I pause to think this through. I’ve never participated in a bet before, but I can’t stop now. Not in this moment when I’m certain I’ve never been so clever, so bold, or so capable of sheer brilliance. My mind is whirling fast, but one idea stands out as worthy of a bet—something that will provide a solution to my most pressing problem.
“The publishing contract,” I say, my voice quavering with exhilarated restraint.
William’s face goes slack.
Monty’s gaze flicks between us. “What publishing contract? You mean the publishing contract?” He looks at Daphne. “How do they know about that?”
“How do you not know that they know about it?” she says. “Did you not hear them outside the door when we were talking in the back room?”
“No. Your hearing is better than mine.”
William gives me a simpering look. “Weenie, you can’t bargain away your virtue for a publishing contract.”
“My virtue? I’m sorry, I thought I was in Faerwyvae, where sexual freedoms are respected.”
He clears his throat, his confidence faltering. He takes on an oddly serious tone as he lowers his voice. “We may be freer here, but there are many in seelie society who value propriety.”
I’ve never been fond of propriety, especially when it primarily seeks to control and repress women without placing nearly as many restrictions on men. Hearing him push propriety’s virtues only serves to inflame me more. “Are you afraid?” I taunt.
“For you? Yes.” His tone has returned to normal, his arrogance back in place. “You’re going to be humiliated. I’ll win as soon as I walk away.”
Panic slices through me. I was so wrapped up in the thrill of our exchange that I never once second-guessed the core of our conversation.
A bet.
Of seduction.
For all my talk, that is not my forte.
I’ve had my share of courtships, some of which included sexual relations, but I’ve never seduced anyone. Oh God, what was I thinking?
“Hold on. Stop, stop, stop.” Monty holds up both hands, and I could thank the saintly man for coming to my rescue. “William is right. This is too easy. We need terms. A good game has clear rules. And you’re bargaining something rather important.”
“Monty, stop trying to get involved,” Daphne says. To us, she mutters, “Ignore him. His personality is twisted.”
Monty places a hand over his chest and pretends to stagger back. “You wound me, Daph!”
She rounds on him. “You’re the one who said so! It was the first thing you told me when I started my internship. You said, ‘I must inform you my personality is twisted. Don’t take me too seriously.’ Then you gave me that idiotic nickname.”
“Daph? Oh, you mean Daffy Dear.”
Daphne bares her teeth and then faces us once more with a roll of her small black eyes. “Monty is the kind of person you would absolutely pay to see get struck down by lightning, but…you’d also sort of be sad if they died. Like, I’d laugh if he got hit by a train, but I’d still weep over his remains. You know?”
“Aw, I’d weep over your remains too, Daffy Dear,” Monty says in an exaggeratedly sweet tone. Then he rolls up his already rolled-up sleeves, flourishes his hands, and flicks his wavy blond locks from his face. One would think he was about to perform surgery or some other impressive feat. “Now, rules. What exactly does winning entail? Assuming you two know what I think you know, Mr. Fletcher is going to offer the contract-you-aren’t-supposed-to-know-about based on sales during The Heartbeats Tour. How will a bet sway his decision?”
“I overheard you saying we’d be given a choice,” I say. Wait, why am I entertaining this whole bet idea again? “If one of us refuses, the other will be offered the contract instead, correct?”
Monty wags a finger at me. “Ah, I see what you’re getting at. The loser must refuse the contract, if offered. We’re taking sales out of the equation and basing this entirely on sex? I like it.”
“Let’s stop this nonsense,” William says with a shake of his head. He’s serious again, so unlike his usual self. “We can’t stake our careers on one night of sex. It’s asinine.”
Seeing him flustered urges me on. “What are you afraid of?”
A tic feathers the corner of William’s jaw, but he says nothing.
“William is again correct,” Monty says. “One night is too easy. So, let’s make it…many nights. Whoever can seduce the most lovers by the end of the tour wins.”
The word win refuels my excitement, as does the prospect of extending the duration of our bet to the end of the tour. That will give me multiple chances to take the lead from William. I could steal back the contract without having to beat him in sales. The clarity sharpening my mind reminds me this was my idea. My most brilliant and clever idea. Of course it’s going to work in my favor.
A smile spreads over my lips.
“You’re out of your mind,” William whispers. “Drink some water. Sober up.”
“I’ve never been more sober,” I say, every word as clear and controlled as ever, demonstrating my point. If I were drunk, I’d be slurring my words, which I’m obviously not. “You just don’t want to lose.”
“I’m not going to lose.”
I hold out my hand. “Then let’s bet on it.”
William reaches to grasp my palm. Before we can shake, Monty leans across the table to separate us with a chop of his hand.
“Now, Miss Danforth,” Monty says, “not so fast. A bet with a fae is akin to a bargain. And fae bargains are magically binding. Not wise to agree when we still have terms to define.”
Another slice of panic cuts through my floaty sense of confidence. He’s right. Way to Die Number Three: making a bargain with a fae that results in accidental death. Such as agreeing to dance at a revel from sundown to sunrise and perishing from exhaustion. I doubt our bet would lead to such a demise, but then there’s Way to Die Number Four: breaking a bargain with a fae. That almost always results in death. My brochure didn’t specify whether the punishment is delivered by magic or law, but I’d rather not find out firsthand.
I lift both palms in surrender to show I’m not ready to shake on it after all.
Monty gives me an approving nod. “Smart choice. Next, we need to define seduction. We can’t force intercourse, for there are ways to enjoy such relations without penetration.”
My cheeks heat at his blunt use of words. I may write steamy romance novels, but rarely do I hear such topics discussed out in the open. Faerwyvae truly is a different world.
“How about this?” Monty says. “We’ll define seduction as an act of physical intimacy between two parties behind the closed door of one’s bedroom. And we need a deadline. These intimacies must take place by midnight on any given night. Or…should we make it less vague than intimacy?—”
“Keep it vague,” William says, tone icy. He really is acting strange. Then his expression softens, turning taunting once more. “For Weenie’s sake.”
“I don’t need your consideration.”
“Well, you have it. You’re going to need it to beat me. It’s not going to take me until midnight to find a willing bedfellow every night of our tour. You’ve seen the effect I have on others. Do you really want to go up against that?”
Were I not the most brilliant person in the world right now, walking on a cushioned ball of sunshine and rainbows provided by my most trusted friend, Cloud Dive, I might think there was wisdom in his warning.
“Gladly,” I say, thrusting out my palm once more. “I agree to these terms.”
This time, Monty has no further argument as William secures his hand around mine in a firm shake. His eyes are narrowed, that tic pulsing in his jaw once more. “I agree to them as well.”
“This is fun,” Monty says.
“This is a bad idea,” mutters Daphne.
“This is going to be so easy,” I say with a giggle as I drain the rest of my drink.