Chapter 8
In need of a life-changing experience? Is your life meaningless, dull, or downright depressing? All three and then some? Santorili has your back, front, limbs, and every other opening. Well, maybe not the eye sockets. Contrary to popular belief, most Fae are civilised.
I walk through the palace gardens, breathing in incense now and then, savouring the way it fogs my mind. Each sensory detail—smell, sound, and flicker of light—is designed with one purpose: to completely shut down the left side of the brain.
I am all on board. I hate thinking. Nothing excites me more than a reprieve from that gruesome activity. Nothing good comes from it when I am involved.
Large hula hoop earrings dangle from my repulsively rounded ears. I am both satisfied with and self-conscious of my newest purchase. My sister had a natural predisposition to fashion. I, on the other hand, tend to like strange monstrosities.
Once, I hoped to be influential enough to impose new trends. Now, all that’s left for me is to grow enough confidence to rock the strange looks.
I am not there yet. Maybe that’s why I almost finished a bottle while getting ready.
My eyes are painted dark, my hair loose with one side clipped, indigo locks tumbling over my shoulders, and I just love how I look, like a cheap whore in an expensive dress.
Screw being careful.
I am not in the Capital. Stuck-up nobles tend to stay away from Santorili. In this place, formal attire is guaranteed to get you gawked at. Also, I plan to lose it on the dancefloor anyway.
It’s more socially acceptable to screw a tree than to dress unfashionably.
There’s a general consensus among Fae that we can fuck and love whoever we want. Doesn’t matter if it’s one creature or twelve. Maybe except the ghouls, we don’t mingle with them. Everything else is fair game.
The rules are a bit less lenient with queens, but it’s not about decency or bigotry; it’s about the appropriate kind of mate. As long as the Queen’s fuck buddies don’t embarrass her publicly, no one cares what goes on in her bedroom.
My Grandma used to have two mates before one passed away, and she and Grandpa were too heartbroken to ever fill the void he left behind.
They told me that once Gorok blesses a union, your heart won’t allow anyone else.
Before the mating, there are choices — you can forsake the one architected for you — but if you choose to merge your souls, that’s it.
A mating ceremony binds the participants, and no one else…
“I see you have finally accepted your fated profession?” Zulu decides to test my patience.
Fair warning. It’s exceptionally thin today.
I slow my steps and face her.
She looks as if a freaking Queen had a baby with a Goddess. Nothing to criticise. Just my luck to have enemies like that. Even the Fae strolling towards the garden can’t help but turn their heads, drawn to her presence.
I survey her again, from the porcelain shoes on her feet to the tiara on her head, desperately searching for something to insult.
I am partially aware that wine stripped me of my inhibitions, but I don’t want to be civil. She’s been pushing my buttons for ages.
Not today.
I can embrace being a monster for once. I don’t look good as a martyr or a victim, anyway.
“I am getting seriously bored with your spare complex,” I say.
She tilts her chin high. “You made sure to wipe out all your competition.”
Ouch.
That’s a problem with fighting back. It works both ways.
I take a step into her personal space, shoving my pain into its mental box and letting the rage surface. My power rises, but I grip it with the full force of my mental strength.
It’s not much.
I tilt my head left. “Are you suicidal?”
Her mouth falls open, and I don’t bother containing a smirk. “Knowing my… history, you must be, otherwise I don’t see why you would be that stupid and try to push me?”
I see it. The flicker of fear in her eyes, before she hides it under her usual poker face.
“I will gladly die to expose you to my court as the unstable, murderous bitch you are.”
Sure you will.
“You are not worth a dot of my magic.” Also, Jestin won’t forgive me for it.
“But your sister was?” I feel my power rush to annihilate her, but I take a step back and contain it. Barely. Probably. It leaks. I…
“Seleste!” Samira screams out of the blue, then shakes me, pulling me from the frenzy. My fingers hum with my storm, begging to be unleashed, set free.
I want to rage. I want to.
The storm is satisfied by Zulu’s dilated pupils, by the skin that loses all its colour. Her breath comes in short, ragged bursts, and her hands tremble.
“Have you finally realised that messing with me was a bad idea?” I hear gasps from the crowd around me, and deep down I know I should have stopped earlier, but I have no energy to contain the storm when she is fucking begging me to end her.
What is one more Fae?
“Zulu, leave now or you will be banned from entering!” Samira snaps.
“You can’t do this!” Zulu protests. “You’re only an aide to Jestin.”
“I speak for him. Leave. NOW!”
My nostrils flare as I watch Zulu turn on her heel, her hips swaying angrily, and I fight the urge to make sure she isn’t able to take another step in her life - or better - I imagine her tongue as a chilling necklace dangling from my neck. The entity within me caresses my will.
A tempting monster.
“Seleste, she is not worth it.” The plea in Samira’s voice makes me second-guess myself for a heartbeat, and I focus on her, searching for any signs of fear, but I find none.
Surprising.
“But she is fucking right,” I snap; the pain leaks into my voice.
In response, Samira lowers her gaze, and it says more than her words could ever do.
She feels the same way.
I turn on my heel, determined to leave that fucking desert for good, but I bump into a hard chest…
Aidon.
“You look like a cheap whore, but elegant. I am intrigued.” A hint of a smile on his lips.
What?!
I must be gawking because he adds. “You’ve heard me. I love your outfit.”
Suddenly, the world isn’t dark anymore. “Maybe I can buy a moment of your time, little minx?”
“I don’t look like a whore.” I totally do.
His half-baked smile sharpens into a real grin, and I let him work his magic on my self-control, promising myself I’ll thank him later. Tomorrow, the day after, the next Solstice… never.
“A few moments?” he pries.
“No thanks necessary.” He looks me over. “On another note, you can show me that dress from behind, as a thank you.” His fingers intertwine with mine, and he spins me slowly. A low growl escapes his lips.
“Majestic.” Aidon takes me under his arm, leading me to the garden’s entrance.
“Happy Solstice, My Lady,” a servant greets me upon entering. The place is throbbing with music, bodies swaying in silk and shadow, gazebos spilling with laughter, wine, and promising touch. In the dim light, dancers move close, breaths mingle, and every corner hums with desire.
I have been here plenty of times, but I have never been able to stop my jaw from dropping. How is that possible? Is Santorili hiding a caster specialising in planning events?
I don’t want to believe it’s all because of Jestin. He is already cool. I don’t want him to feel even cooler in my head.
“I save the day, but he is cool because he throws a party, where is the justice in this realm?” Aidon mutters under his breath.
“The gardens look sublime.” I offer, and the servant smiles, ignoring my saviour.
Here. I say it. Saviour. Thank you.
We walk inside, the party already in full swing. I spot Jestin on a magically floating deck chair, speaking to a blonde woman with a red bracelet on her ankle, one of the females from his brothel. I hustle towards him, just in time to see her sucking his fingers.
A punch of something nasty burns in my stomach, but I force it to stay there.
Jestin turns to me with a huge, cocky grin. “Sels, would you like some wine?” He feeds the heifer a grape. I don’t want to see it, so I focus on the approaching servant.
“My Lady.” A young, beautiful male bows, as I take a glass from his tray.
“Enjoy the celebration,” I offer a blessing. He bows and scurries away.
Jestin is still busy. Instead of twisting the female’s ridiculously tall neck, I inhale the Fae wine, letting it ground me.
It’s the strongest drug in Rhodria. The strongest poison, if one wants to be specific.
Although wine production is a bit brutal, the effects are worth the effort.
Once a year, when the veil is at its thinnest, travellers jump between realms. Fortunately for humans, and unfortunately for wine connoisseurs, it happens only in the fall.
Earth is full of those foolish enough to strike bargains with the Fae. When the deal expires, they are dragged into Zeznia—a meticulously organised slaughterhouse, where we farm them for emotions; the very essence of the wine.
Some argue that exploiting humans like this might anger Jahwa. But their goddess is all about free will and no intervention, and we follow the rules, only taking those who bargain for their own lives.
That’s why the beverage is so potent. The farmers put the poor creatures through a range of exercises.
Five centuries ago, only three basic brands were available for purchase: love, lust, and pain. Bringing only one-dimensional experience, but since the new owner took over the factory, he changed the whole industry.
Nowadays, the craziest mixtures are available.
I tried madness, panic, and homesickness once. It was a blast.
I inhale again, studying the aroma. I am sure that this particular one has lust and madness in it, with a healthy dose of nostalgia.
Must have been expensive.
“Don’t you think it’s… a little sinful?” Aidon moves closer, tilting my chin with gentle insistence so I can’t look away. “Drinking the life force of barely intelligent species?”