Chapter 2
Aeldryc
I brought Pip through the back tunnel, avoiding town.
Better not to explain a half-naked sparkly twink—whatever that was—to the citizens of Feravael.
The stable yard was blessedly quiet, with a few stablehands rushing out to take our mounts.
I dismounted first, reached up and lifted Pip down.
I meant it to be neutral, but he tipped forward and slid down my chest like rain over stone, his body molding against mine.
“Pip, what are you doing?” I took a step back, heat coiling low in my gut. It was a reaction I hadn’t felt for anyone in years, and one I refused to have now.
Pip did a little innocent eyelash flutter up at me. “Thank you for lifting me down, Al.” How were his lashes so long and thick? Wait, had he called me Al?
Before I could address the Al thing, Thyren cleared his throat. “Commander. Shall I go file the incident report for the Queen? I’ll cross-reference the border patrol logs as well.”
“Absolutely,” Vaelith said, appearing from the direction of the armory with suspicious speed. “And I should inspect the weapons. Today. Right now. Can’t wait.”
Ilyndra was already gone. I hadn’t even seen her leave, which was either impressive elvish stealth or a deliberate insult. Possibly both.
I should tell them to handle Pip, should stalk off and leave them with the annoying work, but Pip chose that moment to turn around, put his hands on the hitching post, arch his back, and wiggle his round buttocks while singing a low song that seemed to be about riding horses that were dirty.
My mouth went dry. I couldn’t trust his safety to anyone else under my command. It had to be a spell. Perhaps he had a glamour woven into his skin to unsettle me. There was no other explanation for this heat, this possessiveness.
Thyren clapped me on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, Commander.”
They left.
I huffed out a breath and handed the reins to Thom, who had appeared from somewhere and pointedly avoided looking at Pip’s rear end.
I needed to present Pip to the Queen. She’d either find him wildly irritating or call him an amusement.
“Let’s go.” I waved for him to follow. “Inside.”
It turned out Pip was not prepared for the inside of a palace.
“This is a castle.” Pip stopped. Palms flat against stone, cheek against granite, as if he could absorb the building. “Like a real life castle. Holy shit. This is the weirdest fucking dream.”
“I don’t think it’s a—”
“Holy shit.” He knocked on the wall with his knuckles. Knocked again, harder. Pressed his ear to it. “Is it solid all the way through? How thick are these walls? If this isn’t a set, could it be a dream?”
“You seem wide awake to me.”
He snickered, stopped at a door. “What’s in here?” He was already reaching for the handle.
“Don’t open that.”
He opened it anyway and peered inside. “I still can’t tell if this is a dream, or the most realistic immersive experience I’ve ever seen. And I can’t ask you, can I? Because dream you would lie! Look at those wooden barrels. They look like wooden barrels!”
I shut the door with a firm click, then closed a hand around his elbow to steer him forward.
We made it past two more doors before he darted for a third. This one was ajar, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling into darkness. Pip was three steps down before I caught his tiny shirt and hauled him back.
“Where does that go?”
“The dungeons.”
“You have dungeons?” He winked. “I suppose that does make sense if this is a dream. Is there a St. Andrew’s cross?
Always wanted to get tied to one of those, and spanked and called a slut, but no one ever has one.
Bit tough to store in apartments. Want to go try a few things out? Do you have floggers?”
“No.”
“No floggers, or no tying me up?”
I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “No to all of it.”
“I feel like that’s negotiable. Maybe if I were more naked, you’d get my vision.”
“How could you be more nak—“
His eyes sparkled and his hands went to the hem of his shirt.
“Keep it on.”
“You can demonstrate anything you like on me, Al.”
“Aeldryc.”
“That’s what I said. I hope you become a little less uptight before this dream ends, because you’re hot as fuck, and I’d like to see you naked.”
I was going to murder him before we even made it to the Queen’s chambers.
The palace staff pressed themselves against the walls. Pip moved through them like a force of nature. A scullery maid carrying a stack of plates nearly dropped them. A page boy froze mid-step and stared. Pip waved at all of them with the enthusiasm of a man running for public office.
Pip beamed at me. “Everyone here is so friendly. I wonder if that’s because it’s how my subconscious would envision them.”
As he waved at kitchen staff, his eyes cataloged every corridor, door, and guard post. He moved like a spy on reconnaissance, his endless chatter a potential smokescreen. Could the cheer be a mask?
We rounded into the main gallery. Long, high-ceilinged, lined with enchanted torches burning gold and amber. Pip stopped dead.
“Are those real?”
“Enchanted.”
“Yeah, but are they real fire?”
“Don’t—”
He stuck his hand into the torch flame.
“Ouch.” He yanked his hand back. “Real fire. Good to know.”
I grabbed his wrist, pulled his hand to me to examine the damage. His fingertips were red, already blistering. The skin was hot under my thumb.
“Why would you put your hand into a fire?”
“Pain helps you understand what’s real. Haven’t you ever heard of the saying about pinching yourself?”
I lifted my eyes to his, trying to understand. “I told you it was real. And it’s clearly fire.”
He grimaced. “I know. But how could I be in a real castle? There must be another explanation.”
I reached into my satchel and pulled out a little of Ilyndra’s healing powder, sprinkling it over the wound, watching as it absorbed into his skin, healing the damage.
“Okay, that bit definitely looked like I’m tripping balls on mushrooms,” he muttered. “Or another hallucinogen. You whooshed the owie away with purple powder.”
“You must dress to meet the Queen of Qoksmere.”
He snickered.
“Are you laughing at the Queen?”
“No. It’s just… Maybe it’s this translation ring thingy, it keeps… I swear you said…” He burst into a fit of giggles.
“Qoksmere?” I frowned.
He slapped my chest, laughing. “I think it’s lost in translation, you know. In my language, those sounds form a… statement.”
“The rings don’t translate proper nouns. Ilyndra worked that out when she discovered her name translated to something unseemly in Troll.”
He giggled again.
“Nevermind. Let’s get you in more appropriate clothing.”
“These are my good shorts. I think the Queen would appreciate them, don’t you?”
“They are short.”
“Yeah, that’s by design. I work hard for this booty, I don’t want to hide it!” He gave his butt a shake. Again.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. I had led soldiers into battle. I had negotiated treaties with fae chieftains. I had survived a meeting with the Trollish Trade Council, who communicated primarily through headbutts of varying intensity.
“Fine. We’ll tell her this is twink formal wear. Something specific to your culture.”
“Short shorts, the cultural dress of twinks. Yeah, that tracks.”
I sighed. At least the Queen enjoyed spectacle. Arriving with a half-naked human in sparkly shorts would entertain her. It would likely be the most interesting thing to happen at court in months.
I guided him down the grand hallway, my hand hovering at the small of his back. I moved my hand to his shoulder, where it was safer.
The corridor was lined with tapestries depicting Qoksmere’s founding in gold and crimson. Pip lifted one, studying the back.
“Don’t touch it. Priceless. Ancient.”
“Sorry.” His squeak made me feel guilty. “It looks hand-stitched. Did you know that?”
“Of course. How else would you stitch one?”
He said something about a place called China and machinery, but it made no sense.
Two guards flanked the door, and when they spotted Pip, they moved forward as if to block him.
“The Queen is expecting us. I come with an… update on the disturbance in Clovermere.”
“Is the sparkly one dangerous?” one asked.
“That is for me to decide.” I gave them a stare that had ended careers. They opened the doors.
The Queen’s public sitting room was intimate by palace standards. It was a high-ceilinged chamber with tall windows, warm with firelight and the scent of dried lavender. It was where Queen Delsynarea received guests she was interested in conversing with.
I wasn’t sure Pip qualified.
Queen Delsynarea was arranged on a chaise of silver-threaded cloth, her auburn hair braided with fine gold chain, her amber eyes bright with curiosity.
She wore deep crimson and dark gold, and the jewels at her throat pulsed faintly—fire opals, warm with her magic.
I had served under her for centuries and knew the danger that hid beneath her devastating beauty.
Her secretary, a pale man named Lord Frost, stood at her right elbow, immaculate in blue linen, his ice-white hair perfectly arranged, his posture impeccable.
Two ladies-in-waiting sat on a settee, while maids moved between rooms with tea and cakes, pointedly not staring.
The Queen studied us for a long moment and inclined her head a fraction of a degree.
“Commander,” she said. “Present us with your charge.”
I straightened to full attention. “Your Resplendent Majesty, Queen Delsynarea of the Eternal Throne, Sovereign of Feravael, Warden of the Seven Counties, Keeper of the Great Peace, may I present Mr. Pippin Crane. The disturbance.”
“We do wonder what kind of creature he might be.”
“He appears human, but he is... something called a twink. I believe that explains his manner of dress. He was found in Clovermere County, but is from parts unknown. Perhaps another continent on the far side of the world?”
“A twink,” the Queen said, testing the word. “We have not encountered this creature before. Is it magical?”