CHAPTER II #3
After that night, Troy made it a point to strike a conversation with me every time he visited Castle Bardot.
He’d catch me on my walks in the rose garden or when I was leaving for a ride to Loughty.
He always had a smile on his face and something new to discuss, truly one of the easiest men I’ve ever talked to.
Our time in the castle didn’t line up all that much, as I was gone on sporadic travels for his father and he lived primarily in his own Court, but when we were in the capitol together, I always looked forward to running into him, loving the chance encounters that put us together.
It wasn’t until after a few of those encounters that I started to notice a change in the way he interacted with me.
His eyes would linger on my lips when I spoke, or sometimes they’d dart away from my ass when he thought I wasn’t looking.
His touches on my back would remain longer than most would deem proper, and occasionally he’d be brazen enough to let his fingers skim over my rear.
It was a casual flirtation that I quickly picked up on, though one that still took me by surprise.
Relationships between Discerni and humans aren’t all that common, mostly because the majority of the mystical beings have a genuine lack of interest in our human lives.
They’re never rude or unkind about it, just indifferent, and that’s most in part due to how our two races age.
For every one year of human life, the Discerni have roughly four.
They outlive us greatly, living well into their late three-hundreds and through multiple generations of families, so it makes sense that there’d be a lack of interest in our race.
Why be in a relationship with a human when you knew you’d outlive the great-grandchildren that came from it?
The sentiment is routed in thousands of years of tradition, but occasionally you do see the rare pairing. Desmond’s parents are proof of that.
So when Troy’s casual chats turned flirtatious, of course I was surprised, even more so by myself when I allowed his hand to linger just above my ass the next time we saw eachother.
He understood my approval to his gesture and finally made his move, catching me one tipsy evening after a night at court and pulling me into a darkened hall.
Since then, our run-ins have always been sporadic, with the two of us seeking each other out whenever we’re both in Bardot.
Troy wasn’t my first, though he certainly has been the most fun.
I’ve been with a few human men in the years before him, but so far nothing has compared to the random encounters I’ve had with the Prince.
Our sex is good, mostly because we’re always finding ourselves on the lookout or cutting our meetings quick from the thrill of being caught, and while I know our time will eventually come to an end, I see no problem with enjoying myself until then.
I hop onto the last step and glance up to the large, carved arch in the mountain just above.
The arch opens up to a dimly lit tunnel that has the sun shining bright at the opposite end, the heavy smell of greenery and cinnamon greeting me as I step inside.
My fingers skim against the rough stone until I finally reach the end of the tunnel, the sounds of the late morning hustle roaring around me as thousands of boots and carts pound against the cobblestone as I step into the Palisades.
The tall buildings at my front are vibrantly alive, the vendor storefronts well into their business and lining both sides of the path with various displays of produce and trinkets.
The taverns ahead are bustling with life as well, the booming sound of their laughter and merriment carrying down the road as everyone celebrates the first day of spring.
We’re not even in the most populated area of the Palisades, nor is the day past the noon apex, but everyone in this little corner near the tunnel is as lively as they would be on the main road.
I smile and greet all the vendors in passing, knowing each by name after a steady ten years of taking the southern staircase up the mountain.
Each of them promise to save my usual purchases for the end of the day when I head back down, and by the time I reach the end of the line, I have an ale in my hand as I hook a right around a large inn, finally stepping onto the main road and into the southern park.
The park is one of my favorite places to visit in this section of the Palisades, or rather, the café above the park is.
The Discerni woman who owns it sells a variety of breakfast and lunch items and has the best assortment of teas and coffee that are imported from all over the Kingdom.
It sits right in the middle of the wood-shrouded square and has a large veranda on the second floor that overlooks the ponds and trees below it.
The place is absolutely beautiful… a good first stop that I always make after climbing the staircase.
I reach the cottage-like building and take the stairs up to the second floor, greeting the owner when I walk in.
She’s standing in her typical Knowledge outfit of a long green dress and sparkling gold apron tied around her waist, the woman truly one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.
She gives me a brief nod in hello just as her long, brown hair catches a breeze with the wind.
“Cinnamon bread with butter, red grapes and coffee?” she asks.
My brows lift in surprise.
Yes, I’ve been coming here for as long as I can remember, but I never expected the Discerni to remember my order.
“Yes, please,” I nod.
I send her a grateful smile and walk to an open table at the far edge of the veranda. The three ponds of the park are just below, so I sit contently and watch as a human boy launches a paper boat across one of them, his mother chatting not too far off with another woman.
“The boy comes twice a week with a toy boat fashioned out of paper,” the owner drops off my food with a small grimace, “I have half a mind to buy him a wooden boat the next time he visits the park. It’s grown tiresome to see the disappointment in his eyes.”
We both peer down at the pond together, watching as the water begins to soak into the paper boat. In a few moments, the toy will start sinking below the depths.
“I’ll leave some extra cinerin for that endeavor,” I sigh in agreement, “thank you for the food.”
The Discerni tucks her hair behind her leaf-shaped ears with a nod. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed your friend at the other end of the veranda. He came in right after you did.”
I look at her in confusion and turn in my seat. Farther down the balcony is a blonde male around my age sitting in the corner by himself with his hood drawn. It’s hard to make out his face, but I don’t think he’s anyone I know.
“Not with me,” I shake my head.
“My mistake,” she nods, “can I get you anything else?”
“No, this is perfect. Thank you again.”
The woman gives me a small smile and turns to walk away, her brown hair glowing in the sunlight as I call out to her retreating back.
“Wait…”
She remembered my order, and I’ve been here so many times that it’s only polite…
“I’ve never asked your name,” I smile shyly.
“Nor have I,” she replies, her beautiful Discerni features showing no emotion.
“I’m Alexis,” I offer.
“Sera,” she replies softly, the curve of her lips angling upwards.
I head directly to a local jeweler after lunch to inquire about the fluorite in my ring.
Fluorite is a stone used to prevent fertility and is worn in different sets of jewelry by both men and women alike in the Old World, mystical or human.
I wear the green stone set atop a simple gold ring on my left index finger, the piece modest but beautiful, nonetheless.
The jeweler huffs when he looks at the ring, not recognizing the piece as his own, and quickly pronounces that the stone is nearing its end life with the qualities fading.
Whether he tells the truth or not, I don’t argue, and instead buy a similar ring to replace the first. The band is a shiny new gold, thicker than my last, and has the green fluorite carved into a small rectangle right in the middle.
I stare at it happily and move it onto my middle finger, loving the way the gold shines against my tanned skin.
Next is the riding shop where I can pick up a new pair of sturdy boots.
I let the Discerni helping me know that I’m traveling to colder climate, so he immediately shuffles me in front of a selection of boots that are so long the leather passes my knees and rests in the middle of my thighs. I love the style.
After the riding shop is the local armory, where the human male assisting me raises his brows when I request a look at the green agate blades he has in his collection. The blades aren’t prohibited to humans, per se, but the look he sends me comes with a casual reminder I can’t ignore:
Any weapon melded with green agate comes with a certain rule to it, one that can send us humans straight to Bardot’s prison cells if we don’t abide.
The man quietly walks to the back of his store and returns with a leather pouch, opening it on the small counter for us both to eye the various daggers within.
I settle on a blade much larger than the one buckled to my bicep and smile when I realize it’ll strap perfectly against my thigh under the new boots I just purchased.
My next stop is one I dread. I open the small door to a familiar and cozy room that’s sparkling with lanterns of bottled moonslight.
There’s incense burning in the air as multiple tables topped with pillows and blankets spread out across the room.
A young human girl walks up to greet me, her eyes flicking to an empty table and giving me a brief nod.
“The usual?”
“The usual,” I reply, reaching for my boots as I begin to pull them off.
The girl grabs a partition and wraps it around the table, blocking the view from the store’s windowfront and anyone moving about. I quickly take off my shirt and riding pants and lay down on top of the blankets and pillows, silently watching and waiting as she comes back with a pot of hot wax.
Last on my trip is a small clothing boutique nestled along the main road, the seamstress always hosting the latest fashion trends that typically come from the modest Woodlands Court. She adds her own Knowledge twist to the clothes, of course, but she does tack on a few extra cinerin for the cost.
I let my fingers roam over a deep emerald cloak and admire the thickness of the velvet, feeling as her dark eyes watch me like a hawk.
“You have good taste,” she says quietly.
I peer at her from the side, noting that her brown hair is pulled back in the similar half up, half down fashion I often wear and making it hard to tell if she is a Discerni or human.
I finger the hood of the velvet cloak and give her a small smile. “How much?”
Her pause before answering indicates she doubts I can afford it.
“Twelve cinerin.”
Steep.
I move to the satin shirts and lace undergarments, leveling her with a sweet smile.
“I’ll take the cloak, a gold and emerald long sleeve with the cut down the middle, and two sets of lace for twelve cinerin.”
The woman looks at me in brief shock before nodding the reaction away.
“What size shirts?” she asks, grabbing the clothes.
“Medium,” I reply as I walk to the front of the boutique.
“And under?”
“Medium as well.”
I peer out the window and watch the bustle of the day with a smile.
There’s a small pause before the woman asks, “color?”
My eyes narrow on a blonde man standing at the far end of the road with his hood drawn.
“Ma’am?”
“Sorry?” I turn.
“What color for the undergarments?” she asks quickly with a blush.
I give her a smirk.
“Black.”
Always black.