Blood of the Moon

by S D Simper

  She collapsed against him, exhaustion from travel and the eventful night settling into her bones. And so she drew her wards in the dirt, protection from anything that might seek them. They were far enough away from the forest that she hoped simple distance would cover their trail, but why take a risk?

  Once the wards were drawn, she rested her head against his side and let Ana curl around her legs. She tucked the orb beside the bracelet.

  Soon, they would reach Lara. The thought scared her more than Soliel.

  After two days, they emerged from a massive lake.

  Even in the fading light, the spiral towers on the horizon reflected the sun like a celestial beacon. The moon rose, and the city became a serene spectacle, the star-studded monument an homage to its late goddess. The rounded wall guarding it held intricate designs, entirely translucent, yet the faintest, glittering aura of magic could be seen between the swirling metal bars.

  Fresh flowers wove blissful scents into her hair as she rode Demitri toward the enormous gates surrounding the city. The guard on duty studied the pair with curiosity. “State your name and business,” he said, though not unkindly.

  “I am Lady Flowridia, Grand Diplomat of Staelash. This is my familiar, Demitri. I am here to request an audience with Empress Alauriel Solviraes.”

  They let her through.

  Solvira held a grandeur to match Nox’Kartha, with well-paved streets and a bustling market even in the evening. Flowridia kept her hold tight on Demitri, the stares upon her not fearful, no, but more intrigued than she would have liked. Solvira was a kingdom of magic, most of its citizens Celestial, and the sight of a witch and her wolf in the capital city would hardly frighten them, merely cause them to ask too many questions.

  But the castle was unmistakable—the legendary Glass Palace. It reflected the moon’s light, casting its shined walls in silver, not unlike the family it had housed for thousands of years.

  In the center of the city, she saw a statue that gave her pause—a trio of women, though one lay shattered, only her feet and evidence of what might’ve been a dress remaining. Another drew Flowridia’s eyes with her gentle stance and her adoring stare upon a taller one, though her countenance had been ruined by the passage of time. When Flowridia looked at the plaque, she saw a name: The Triage of Goddesses: Neoma, Staella, and Ilune.

  Flowridia continued to the palace gates, stopped by guards who scoffed at her intentions. “At this hour, an immediate audience with her majesty is unlikely.” The guard grimaced as he stared into Demitri’s large eyes. “Though given your status, I would say your chances are good of at least seeing her before the end of the tomorrow.”

  “Give her my name,” Flowridia said, flashing a charming smile. “She’ll be seeing me tonight, I’m sure.”

  “Shall we fetch someone to escort your mount to the stables?”

  “I’m a witch. He’s my familiar. We will be staying together.”

  They shared a glance, but the gates opened.

  The castle rose before her, its glistening towers reminiscent of a pearlescent seashell. Flowridia stopped to admire it, thought it beautiful beyond compare, when the enormous doors before her suddenly burst open.

  Flowridia looked up, and escorted by a pair of guards came Empress Alauriel, her eyes wide, movements harried. Yet her appearance remained immaculate, hair done up, her red dress bearing all the finery of her status. “Flowridia?” Lara appeared by her side, disbelief as apparent as the innocent joy radiating from her face. She offered a hand, and Flowridia accepted as she slid down Demitri.

  “Lara,” Flowridia said, offering as sweet a smile as she could muster. “I apologize for intruding so late at night.”

  “It’s no trouble. Did you travel all day?” Lara looked between she and Demitri with concern.

  Technically yes, but though they surely looked like messes, she chose to avoid mentioning the orb. Instead of trying to explain, she replied with, “Yes.” Her hand settled on Demitri’s back and scratched him affectionately. “I apologize, also, for our disheveled appearances.”

  “Please, no need for apologies,” Lara said, blushing slightly. “I’m happy to see you, however you look. Come inside, please. I’ll have a room prepared. I presume you would rather keep Demitri close?”

  The distance between them seemed to magnetically shrink, and their hands brushed lightly as Flowridia followed. “I would. Though I’m not sure if he’ll fit in a bath.”

  Lara stopped in the entryway, looking thoughtful. “If it isn’t too demeaning,” she said slowly, “we do have groomers in the stables who would be able to accommodate him.”

  Flowridia turned to Demitri. “What do you think?”

  What I think is she’d kill herself to make you happy, hopefully literally.

  She managed to keep a straight face as she stared at him expectantly.

  But a bath sounds pleasant.

  “Demitri would love a bath,” Flowridia said, smiling at Lara. “As would I, if that wasn’t implied. We’ve been travelling for long enough.”

  “And I would love to hear all about it once you’re settled. I’d be absolutely honored if you would join me for breakfast.” A pause, and then she quickly added, “And Demitri, too, of course.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  A passing servant was given instructions to escort Demitri to the stables—a rather unfortunate maid who looked aggrieved to be faced with an enormous dire wolf—and Lara herself walked Flowridia to a pad beside the entry hall. The circular insignia glowed at Lara’s approach, and once they had both stepped on, it shot straight up. Flowridia felt no discomfort, save a mild lurch in her stomach, and watched in wonder as glass windows revealed how high they ascended up the castle floors.

  “My castle can be confusing,” Lara said quietly. “Never hesitate to ask anyone for directions or an escort. You’re my guest, and an honored one at that.”

  “Honored?” Flowridia smiled with her teeth. “Well, I certainly feel it.”

  “I meant because of your titles, but . . .” Lara’s smile became shy, her blush returning. “I’ll admit, I’m happy to see you.” The lift stopped, and Lara stepped off. Ambient light illuminated the stone hallway, though it bore no discernible source, while paintings and statues decorated every bit of space. Lara motioned for Flowridia to follow.

  “I do have a purpose,” Flowridia began, studying the fine art and architecture, “but I should add that no one actually knows I’m here. I’d prefer it stay that way.”

  Lara nodded slowly. “Of course. This is an unofficial visit. Off the public record.”

  She stopped outside a door, demure as she twisted the handle. “This will be your room,” she said, gesturing. “We can expand the doorframe so Demitri can join you, but it is the biggest we can provide.”

  She hadn’t exaggerated. An enormous bed sat in the corner, bordered by draping, sheer sheets. Large windows granted a gorgeous view of the night sky and the lake beyond the city, and an open door revealed a washroom. With a desk and seating area, it was larger than Mother’s entire cottage.

  Flowridia stepped inside, admiring the comforts. “This is beautiful, Lara,” she mused, smiling sincerely at the woman. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll have Demitri brought here once he’s done with the groomers,” Lara said, lingering in the doorway. “Will you need a change of clothes?”

  Flowridia shook her head and lifted the bag at her hip. “I have nightclothes. I think I’ll bathe before I go to bed, though.”

  Lara gave a polite nod. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  As the empress stepped back, Odessa’s parting words rang through her head: “Become whatever it takes to succeed.”

  Flirtation could be considered standard diplomacy. Anything further led to dangerous roads.

  “Lara—” Flowridia stopped, hand reaching out, her throat choking at the thought of what she was about to offer. Could she follow through?

  Lara stood poised at the doorframe, waiting for
her to speak. Beautiful and regal, small and soft, Flowridia let the memory of her delicate lips fill her head.

  “Lara,” she repeated, this time with quiet resolve, “you don’t have to leave me alone.” Her arm remained outstretched, her hand an invitation.

  Lara stared, eyes growing wide and vulnerable as she stepped forward. Her own small fingers intertwined with Flowridia’s, and a gentle smile graced her lips. “Flowridia—”

  Flowridia pulled her in for a slow, serene kiss. Lara tasted of warmth and comfort, her soft lips a pleasure despite Flowridia’s torn heart. Her tongue slipped inside, Lara’s moan as sweet as the taste.

  Heat filled Flowridia’s abdomen, the first hints of arousal pulsing through her blood. Perhaps Lara did not hold her heart, but the empress seemed capable of at least entertaining what lay between her legs.

  Oh, gods—guilt filled her at the idea. But when Flowridia pulled back, she forced a smile and let her hands settle at Lara’s waist. “Join me?”

  Lara nodded, utterly enthralled, and let herself be led.

  In the bathroom, Flowridia barely noticed the bright tile or the ornately carved porcelain tub. No supports rested beneath it; it simply floated an inch off the ground. With a wave of Lara’s hand, water began pouring from a series of holes in the ceiling.

  From behind her, Flowridia’s hands slid around Lara’s waist and up to cup her clothed breasts. The woman gasped, her own hands gripping Flowridia’s as she massaged. “W-Wait,” Lara said, and Flowridia pulled back, concerned by the empress’ small stance. “I should tell you. I’ve never been with another woman before. I’m . . . nervous.”

  Flowridia knew the embarrassment of that particular reveal. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’d be happy to lead.”

  Lara pressed their lips together, smiling against Flowridia’s. With her hands skimming Lara’s dress, Flowridia moved from her mouth to her neck, planting successive kisses along the smooth curve, Lara’s moans gentle and foreign. She brought her hands up to cup Lara’s breasts, rather enamored with the feel, if she were honest, their buoyant weight so different than what she’d known. “Take off your dress,” she whispered, unprepared for the inarticulate whine she heard in response.

  Flowridia pulled back, watching as Lara blushed a deeper red than her gown. “This is embarrassing, but . . .” The image of her dress suddenly flickered away, revealing a simple, silk nightgown. Her hair flowed free, gently spilling down her back. “My talent for illusion holds nothing to Etolié, but we do share a few abilities, given she’s my aunt, give or take ninety generations or so. It’s a useful trick, for unexpected guests in the night—”

  Flowridia shut her up with a kiss. “I don’t care what you’re wearing. I only want it off.”

  Though Lara blushed, she wasn’t shy, her smile twisting into something coy as she held Flowridia’s gaze and slipped from her nightgown, revealing the soft curves of her breasts. They bounced as she giggled, the rest of the gown falling at her feet. “Oh, please—do keep staring.”

  Flowridia’s eyes darted to meet Lara’s, heat filling her cheeks. Upon Ayla’s death, Flowridia had known she’d never love again . . . but it seemed she might be capable of lusting. It had been six months, and by every god—she felt guilt unparalleled to admit it, but she craved the feeling of skin against skin. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Lara teased, and when she bent over to pick up the gown, she made a point to stick her full buttocks out, revealing a hint of the lips of her vulva. She tossed the gown in the corner, her confident smirk starkly juxtaposed with the fierce blush blooming beneath her cheeks. “I love your stare. I think I’ll love your hands much more, though.”

  Heat welled between Flowridia’s legs as she slipped her own shirt over her head. But the gasp she heard didn’t hold enamor, and while the idea that Lara was perhaps not so keen on breasts did occur to her, when Flowridia pulled the article off and tossed it aside, she followed Lara’s gaze to her chest and—

  The ear. The shriveled, chained ear of Ayla Darkleaf, despite resting between her bare breasts, still stole the show.

  She grinned apologetically at Lara, who still stared, visibly wary. “Not exactly the most alluring of accessories.” When she removed it from around her neck, something cold caressed her back—and Flowridia swore it clung, even as she held the ear away.

  Oh, Ayla.

  Lara offered a hand, but Flowridia’s grip on it tightened protectively. “What is that?” Lara asked.

  “It’s, uh, a Nox’Karthan artifact.”

  Lara watched warily “Flowridia, that’s ancient. Dark.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m protecting it until I can get it taken care of,” Flowridia said, forcing a bright smile. She placed the ear onto the sink and began stepping out of her skirt, forgetting all notions of putting on a show.

  Then, Lara went to grab it. Flowridia’s hand shot out to grab her wrist.

  Lara’s tender gaze matched Flowridia’s obvious panic. “The magic in this radiates,” she said slowly, each word carefully chosen. “I fear what influence it might have upon its wearer.”

  “I . . .” The words caught her off guard, far closer to the truth than she would have preferred. “I’ll put it away. We can discuss this after.” She winked and hoped it was lurid—seduction was hardly her talent.

  To her amusement, Lara bit her lip, cheeks blossoming in brilliant red. “I’m sorry. The ear was startling, but it doesn’t mean . . .” The enamor returned to her visage, her eyes flickering across Flowridia’s breasts, then back to her face. “You are unendingly beautiful.”

  The words lingered, repeating in Flowridia’s head as she returned to her room, half-dressed, and stuffed the ear inside her bag with as little ceremony as her speed could grant, ignoring Ana, docile as instructed.

  Yet, she lingered. She paused. Ayla’s spirit held awareness, however faint.

  She withdrew it and held it to her bare chest, trembling as she contemplated what must be done. Was it a betrayal to her love if she did this for her? Or was the betrayal her own body’s excitement at the prospect?

  Flowridia stole a shaking breath and whispered, softer than night, “All that I do, I do for you, my love.”

  She placed it back inside, then swallowed her sorrow.

  When she returned, Flowridia quickly escaped her skirt, amused at Lara’s stare. She slid her arms around the empress’ waist, pausing only to admire her soft smile, and pulled their nude forms together. Lara held her gaze, her pupils widening at the bare contact.

  Their lips touched, and Flowridia’s hands slid up Lara’s back, marveling at how warm the empress felt against her body, how soft her skin was beneath her palms. Flowridia’s mouth left Lara’s lips and planted small kisses to her ear, where she whispered. “Come join me in the bath?”

  Lara shuddered as she nodded, and Flowridia slid their bodies apart, keeping her hand along her arm so their hands could meet. The water had stopped, and Flowridia slipped into the large bathtub before pulling Lara into the water on top of her. The warm water sealed their bodies together, and Flowridia silenced all notions of guilt, content to kiss those lips instead.

  Lara never initiated; she only reacted, and though she certainly reacted well, Flowridia found that strange. She rolled them over, pressing Lara against the porcelain wall and grabbing her breasts. Lara gasped, sighing as Flowridia twisted the sensitive nubs between her fingers. She couldn’t hear Ayla in the sound; instead, she only heard herself.

  Did that make her the dominant one? What would Ayla have done?

  The memory brought warmth to her cheeks. With a small nip to Lara’s bottom lip, Flowridia flashed a dangerous grin and let her hand slide beneath the water.

  She forced Lara’s thighs apart and immediately stroked a slow line from her entrance to her clit, her other hand returning to Lara’s breast. She felt Lara quiver and shake, and soon hands gripped Flowridia’s thick hair, encouraging her movements.

  Flowridia kissed the emp
ress’ neck, finding she enjoyed the soft cries of pleasure. She sucked against the curve of flesh, touched Lara’s breast, slid inside her—all in painful, leisurely motions, feeling Lara’s abdominal wall steadily tense.

  But not so tense as Ayla’s. The skin of her core had been so thin, a millennia of dancing and acrobatics causing the muscles to be stone against her fingers. Lara was small and soft, a scholar and a sorceress.

  Was that how Ayla had seen her? Small and soft, her scholarly pursuits leaving no time for physical aptitude?

  Flowridia pushed inside her, distracted by the feeling of her soft flesh, and let her other hand drift down to join it, gently touching the bud atop her vulva. Lara gasped and whined, placing gentle kisses along Flowridia’s hairline. “Keep going,” she whispered, breathless at Flowridia’s touch.

  It took only a few minutes more; Lara’s body rocked beneath her. Flowridia held on, maintaining her pace, until a particularly violent shudder signified that Lara had finished.

  Flowridia met her gaze, charmed to hear Lara giggling between gasping breaths. Immediately, Lara’s hands flew forward and pulled Flowridia into a passionate, elated embrace. “That was . . . wonderful,” she whispered, her laughter not quite ceasing. “I never know what to say afterward, sorry.”

  What had she and Ayla spoken of? Oh, the thought brought guilt, as well as memories of luxurious nights basking in the woman’s touch. Ayla’s vulnerable confessions had been bittersweet. “Feelings, typically. At least in my experience.”

  When Flowridia sat back, Lara’s smiling face radiated joy. “Is this what sex with women is always like, or are you just exceptionally talented?”

  “I’m not sure,” Flowridia mused, cupping Lara’s face. “I’ve never slept with a man.”

  “And I may never again.” Lara turned her face to kiss Flowridia’s palm. “Flowridia . . .” Her smile turned shy as her hand moved up to cover Flowridia’s. “After the wedding, I wasn’t entirely sure what to think—about you, about this. But . . .” She shut her eyes, releasing a sigh. “I’m glad you came.”