Chapter 4 Leseldh
four
Leseldh
The Theatre Enthique was the most prestigious entertainment venue Noctis had to offer.
It was as though its prominence deterred the development of similar establishments, since it was the only theatre in the Realm of Night.
Obtaining tickets to the performances at the Enthique demonstrated one’s standing within the community, but obtaining a private box was a status symbol of the highest order.
Leseldh was situated in his private box on the left side of the theatre, with Ivy to his right. Their section was on the upper level and was the third from the stage, providing, in his opinion, the perfect view.
They were alone, although Phaedra was settled somewhere up high, keeping watch as instructed.
Leseldh had dismissed Voresta tonight so he could indulge himself in Ivy’s company without an audience.
That was another reason he was satisfied his work within Noctis earned him the privilege of a private box.
His eyes drifted over to Ivy, and he was hit with a wave of surprise at the depth of feeling he’d developed for her so swiftly.
From the moment he laid eyes on her at the Tall Fiddle in Oaris, he knew the search for his Resonant was over.
He was inexorably drawn to her, and it wasn’t simply because she was Malia’s green-eyed duplicate.
That feeling only intensified after the salty sweetness of her blood touched his tongue.
It awakened a madness within him that could only be quelled when she was near.
We will find each other again. Malia’s final words to him were carved into his memory by grief, haunting him when he slept.
He was tired of waiting, of searching. He’d dragged himself through the decades after her Ending, the chasm of loneliness within him forever widening.
But as he watched Ivy’s emerald-green eyes absorb the elaborate details of the Enthique in awe, he felt that emptiness recede—if only an inch.
When her eyes swept over to meet his, he felt a lightness in his chest that he’d only ever felt around one other.
The theatre’s interiors were a moody palette of black, white, silver and gold.
Ornate mouldings decorated almost every surface.
The stage was framed by a black-and-silver damask curtain, and enormous candelabras with harmless, magical, flickering candles.
The booths and aisles were lined with deep, deluxe chairs upholstered in black, buttery-soft velvet.
“This place is incredible.” Ivy was right—the Enthique was unparalleled in its beauty.
“And you, Ivy, are the radiant centrepiece that completes this place.”
Leseldh’s desire stirred as he appreciated Ivy’s outfit.
He’d selected a flowing dress for her, that was tight-fitting at the bodice and covered in glittering black gems. The silken fabric of the full skirt was bright-red, and the sheer black layer that sat over the top deepened the hue so that it resembled blood in the moonlight.
Ivy’s arms were covered with sleeves to the wrist, but her neck and shoulders were delightfully bare.
When her curtains of wavy hair shifted, it revealed her Creation scar.
Leseldh felt a thrill of satisfaction every time he saw it.
Leseldh’s black tailcoat, matching dress pants and burgundy button-up shirt complemented her outfit perfectly—exactly as he’d planned it. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and he wanted everyone in the theatre to know that she belonged to him.
Silence fell as the curtain rose on the stage.
Tonight’s performance was a ballet, but the entire dancing troupe were Shapeshifters, who incorporated their shifting into the performance.
The ballet was brisk and lively, with the dancers shifting to their animal forms frequently—foxes, deer, rabbits, wolves, otters and even a flock of birds graced the stage at various points throughout the first act.
The pops of light that accompanied the transformations were like twinkling stars.
The first time one of the ballerinas shifted into a fox form and continued to dance, Ivy gasped in surprise.
Her eyes were alight, and Leseldh noticed the irises shimmered with gold in her rapture.
Ivy was transfixed by the performance, but Leseldh was more captivated by her, and he spent more time watching her reactions than the ballet.
She and Malia shared a passion for the theatre.
Intermission was called, and Ivy turned to Leseldh when the curtains were lowered. His eyes met hers instantly and a comely smile spread across her features, coaxing a similar one from him.
“How are you enjoying the performance?” Leseldh enquired, although he already knew the answer.
“It’s incredible! The choreography is so graceful, and the way they transform during the dances—I’ve never seen anything like it! They’re Shapeshifters, right?” The excitement in her voice was enough to make Leseldh’s smile widen.
“They are quite impressive. They are one of the oldest dancing troupes in Noctis.” He inclined his head towards the drawn black curtain behind them. “Would you like to stretch your legs?”
Voices were drifting in from outside the booth, indicating other theatregoers were already making use of the break.
He linked his arm with hers in an unsubtle mark of possession as he moved about the corridors outside of the auditorium, his eyes roving over the other guests. He planned to do a circuit of the area before returning to the booth in time for the start of the second act.
“Leseldh, I haven’t seen you at the Enthique in quite some time.” A familiar male voice stopped Leseldh’s procession, and irritation sparked to life under his skin.
A male dressed in a white suit coat and shirt with black trousers stepped in front of Leseldh and Ivy.
He was taller than Leseldh and relied on that advantage to look down upon him.
What Leseldh lacked in height, though, he more than made up for in influence.
In that regard, he towered over Drachen Maurell.
“I have been busy with other things.” Leseldh kept his response brief, not willing to give Drachen an inch.
“Who is this little snack on your arm tonight, Les? A tasty blood whore?” Drachen’s pale red eyes moved over Ivy’s body, taking in every inch of her lower half with hungry eyes.
The insinuation of her worth sent rage shooting through Leseldh, and his eyes flashed at Drachen’s brazenness. Reining in his temper, he tenderly brushed Ivy’s wavy locks over her shoulder, purposefully exposing her Creation scar.
“Drachen, may I present to you Ivy, my Resonant.” Using the formal term for their Mateship made his blood stir in places that were inappropriate for a venue full of people.
Although he was aware it was unwise to show his cards to Drachen, the insult struck a nerve, and it made him lose sight of his common sense.
The words had the desired effect, though.
Drachen’s eyes widened and immediately flicked to the now-exposed scar.
His eyes continued their crawling journey upward to scan her face, before shifting over to meet Leseldh’s callous stare.
His expression gave no sign that he recognised the physical similarities between Ivy and Malia.
Leseldh glanced at Ivy and noticed she was watching the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and concern lining her features.
“Is that so? How bold of you to bring her to the Enthique, then, given your history with the place.” A knowing grin spread across Drachen’s face, which put his fangs on display.
Fury washed over Leseldh’s face, and his free hand formed a fist at his side. Drachen smiled in smug satisfaction at his barb’s efficacy. Before Leseldh could retort, Drachen turned on his heel and called over his shoulder, “Oh, and Ivy, was it? That dress is fire on you.”
Drachen’s form bled into the crowds of people milling about outside the auditorium.
Leseldh’s eyes tracked him until he disappeared, the nails of his gripped fist digging into his palms so hard they broke the skin.
He tried to compose himself, but the frayed edges of his temper weren’t so easily mended.
With his control in tatters, he whirled Ivy around roughly and steered her back to their private box. As they situated themselves in their seats, Leseldh worked to return his mood and facial features back to neutrality.
“Who was that?” Ivy peered over at Leseldh, a wary expression on her features.
“I assure you; he’s not even worth the breath used to utter his name.” Leseldh didn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice.
“He definitely got under your skin. Do you two have a history?”
“Only in that Drachen believes himself to be my equal, but he is nothing more than an insipid worm from an inferior bloodline.”
A reprieve was offered when the lights dimmed, marking the resumption of the performance. Ivy fell silent and returned her gaze back towards the stage.
This second half of the ballet had a sorrowful tone, as it told the story of the Shapeshifters losing their powers.
The dances demonstrated more complexity as the dancers remained in their Human form for most of the act.
It was a tragically beautiful story that was delicate, yet expressive and utterly captivating—at least for Ivy.
Leseldh spotted Drachen in one of the rows on the lower level and spent most of the second act with his eyes fixed solidly on the back of his head.
Rage boiled under his skin as he recalled Drachen’s goading words, and he cursed himself for allowing the red-eyed Vampire to prod his weaknesses so effortlessly.