Chapter 5 #3
Amriel rolls his eyes, a gesture completely unbefitting of a monarch. Yet something in him seems to have eased, a shard of his anger bleeding away. A metal goblet sits on the table before him, flanked by a half-empty pitcher of wine, and I wager that has everything to do with his improved mood.
“Just bring her here, will you?” Amriel waves a hand. “No need to take yourself so seriously.”
The Shadow grunts. “I always take myself seriously.”
“I’m aware. And it’s boring, so unless you’re going to come over here and shut me up yourself, you can deliver the princess and go. I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
The Shadow doesn’t seem to care for his brother’s flippancy, because his growl returns. He takes a heavy step, his hand twitching toward his dagger.
A gleam kindles in Amriel’s eyes. “Oh. Are you going to come over here and shut me up yourself? Because if you’ve changed your mind, my Shadow, I’m ready for you at any moment.
” He tilts his chair back, pulling his barely-there shirt aside to bare one dusky nipple.
“Go on. Sink your knife right here. Make it fast, but make it hurt. You know how I like pain.”
My gaze volleys back and forth between them. What is Amriel talking about? Is he trying to convince his brother to…kill him?
Their glares clash. The quiet stretches, and I wonder. Can they speak mind to mind? It almost seems so, because a silent conversation passes between them, an entire argument playing out in silence. Eventually, the Shadow sniffs and curls his lip.
“Enough,” he says, his hand falling from his dagger. “You know I won’t do it.”
Amriel’s expression shutters. His chair thunks to the floor again, his shirt snapping back into place. “Then I have no need for you, other than to leave the princess and go.”
He sweeps up his goblet and takes a long draught. Conversation resumes as the Shadow guides me to a seat halfway down the table—not near Amriel, thankfully, but not far enough away for comfort.
But since I chose to attend this dinner myself, I perch on the edge of a seat that resembles a nest of woven branches. The Shadow makes for the door, and I watch, plagued by equal parts relief and…what is that twinge between my ribs? Disappointment?
Not likely. I shove the unidentified emotion down and swivel to face the table. Before me, gleaming platters are piled high with various meats. Lavish cakes soar from silver stands, while ornate bowls offer an array of rainbow-hued fruits I’ve never seen before.
The display of excess turns my stomach, despite the fact that I haven’t eaten since this morning. This spread is staggering, obscene. Enough to feed my entire castle for a week, and for what? So these fae can gorge themselves at will?
“What’s wrong, little one?” The pink-eyed delegate sits across from me, his posture as loose as fae morals. A woman with pale skin, creaseless eyelids, and glossy black hair sits beside him, trailing her fingers up and down his exposed chest.
The delegate notes me tracking the movement and smiles. “Haven’t you ever had a proper meal before?”
“Oh, Calen,” the fae woman admonishes. “Of course she hasn’t. She’s human.” She aims a grin at me. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart? I’ve heard all about how you make a sport of depriving yourselves. Something to do with that goddess of yours, right?”
The blood in my veins runs cold. She mocks our values so easily, when her kind eats like…like… I scan the table, my lip twisting. Like they worship at the altar of their own gluttony.
“We don’t deprive ourselves,” I force out. “We just eat to nourish our bodies. Food is meant to be sustenance, not a”—I wave a hand to encompass the lavish spread—“celebration of greed. Or whatever this is.”
The woman laughs, the sound like a breeze ruffling through windchimes. “Oh, but everything’s a celebration of greed, sweetheart. Of being alive, of being capable of pleasure. Why don’t you indulge a little and see? You might actually enjoy yourself.” She flashes a wink. “And we would never tell.”
My lips mash together at the suggestion that I don’t enjoy my life.
I enjoy plenty—the thrill of rising early, the touch of the sun’s first rays as I walk to the hilltop temple, the joy that ripples across my soul when the goddess acknowledges my prayers.
“I like my life just fine. My old life. Which I’ll go back to the second I can.
In the meantime, I have no interest in your offensive… parties.”
Another tinkling laugh. “Oh, love. This is no party. It’s just a regular day. And if this offends you, wait until dessert.”
The entire table erupts into laughter, and I frown. Surely this is dinner and dessert, already? I count at least seven cakes here, frosted and tiered and utterly ridiculous.
“I don’t want dessert,” I say stiffly.
That prompts another outpouring of amusement. The delegate with the locs—Calen, apparently—grins at me. “Much to Amriel’s disappointment, I’m sure.”
More laughter, only this time, frustration builds inside me.
Dessert means…what, exactly? Something more than what’s on the table, judging by their amusement.
But I can’t guess what any of it has to do with Amriel, and when I look to him for clues, he’s gone cold again, his stare drilling into me for a moment before shifting away.
“Actually,” he drawls, “when it comes to her, I couldn’t possibly care less.”
I narrow my eyes. No, of course he couldn’t. He can’t even stand the sight of me, and good thing. I can’t stand the sight of him, either.
The dinner moves on without me. The fae eat and drink with relish, their laughter abundant, their movements growing looser as the wine does its devilish work.
I sit straight, careful not to let my elbows brush my neighbors’.
I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to eat again, so I take a small portion of something that looks like bread, then sip some water.
Meanwhile, the touches around me grow bolder.
Calen whispers to the beautiful fae beside him, who erupts into giggles, her fingers wandering down his chest and disappearing beneath the table.
The bread drops from my hands. I pin my focus to my plate, my appetite vanishing.
But Calen and his friend only lean closer, their movements turning brazen. Soon, the fae woman pushes aside Calen’s plate and slides onto the table to face him.
My stomach clenches around what little food I’ve managed to swallow. “What’re you doing?” I demand, no longer able to ignore their antics.
The woman leans back to regard me over her shoulder. With her elbows propped against the tabletop, her lowcut dress gapes open, granting me a view down her spine. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“Why’re you up on the table?” I say, louder this time.
She splays her knees wide. “Why do you think? I’m getting ready for my dessert.”
A sly smile plays on Calen’s lips as he pushes back his chair. He leans over the woman, catching her around the waist, angling his face toward hers. And then he…kisses her. Just like that. Right here in front of everyone.
I rear back, trying to escape the spectacle. In Aethrolia, kissing—and all that comes with it—is done in private, a sacred act between two people who love each other. Preferably between people who are also legally married.
Somehow, I doubt Calen and this fae woman share any kind of lawful bond, but that doesn’t stop his palm from sliding up her spine or his fingers from tangling in her hair.
She arches into him, making breathy sounds I’ve never heard before.
All around the table, the other fae follow suit.
Beside me, a pale-haired, pale-skinned man unlaces his trousers while the woman beside him slides from her chair to her knees.
My entire body flushes hot, then cold. Every teaching, every prayer, every lesson laid down in the Book of Disciplines screams at me to tear my eyes from this debauchery.
But I sit motionless, horrified, unable to do anything but watch as the woman settles between my neighbor’s splayed legs.
She smiles up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, then gropes in his trousers and pulls out his—
Oh. Oh, goddess.
My chair scrapes backward as I surge to my feet. This is sinful. This is wicked. This puts even the most depraved rumors about the fae to shame.
Calen suckles at his companion’s neck, glancing up just long enough to flash me a half-smile.
Somehow, his doublet has disappeared, and now his friend traces the swell of his chest with eager hands.
Needy noises pour from her throat as she catches at his drawstrings.
Leather ties hiss through metal eyelets; she tugs at his trousers, her hands dipping beneath his waistband.
“What’s the matter, little one?” Calen’s mouth cants upward. “Don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve seen a man’s cock?”
Laughter ripples along the table, bombarding my burning ears. I want to swat at it, strangle it, bury it in a hole and pile so much soil on top that I never have to hear that sound again.
“Hmm. I’ll take that as a yes,” Calen continues. “But now that you’ve seen a man’s, you might as well see a goblin’s. See how they compare.”
Before I can blink, he…transforms. Starlit color courses across his skin, the dark brown giving way to deep indigo. Fangs sprout, muscles bulge. His companion undoes his pants entirely, and when I glance down, it’s not just his body that thickens, but also his—
I wrench my gaze up with a gasp.
Calen laughs around a mouthful of pointed teeth. “Are you sure you don’t want dessert?”
My attention swings wildly to Amriel. I expect him to be descending into the throes of madness like every other fae here, but he reclines at the head of the table as before, lording over this immorality with his wine goblet dangling from his hand.
He stares at me with eyes that are no longer flat, but sharp with ruthless amusement.
Amusement that’s entirely at my expense.
Goddess, I can’t think. Can’t breathe past the horror clawing up my throat. These heathens, these sinners, to do this out in the open, on the dinner table, no less—
Without a word, without a single thought beyond escape, I turn on my heel and bolt. Hot tears smear my vision as I make blindly for the door.
Amriel’s laughter rings out behind me, cold and mocking, chasing me up the stairwell as I flee.