Midnight of the Fae

by Heather Rainier

  “No. I was left in a forest…a long way from here. My adopted mother taught me to bake. As it turned out, I loved working with my hands and made a livelihood out of it.”

  “Well, she may not have given birth to you, but she certainly imparted her magic to your fingertips. I’ve never been able to make croissants like these.” She held up the last bite and then gobbled it down. “Mmmm! So tasty! One of the servants told me the guests were after your croissants like ravening wolves. Why she even saw a couple stuffing them in their bodices, for later consumption I suppose.”

  They both quieted their giggles at the sound of thumping on the stairs, and Marigold hurriedly hid the platter and punch glasses behind the tub she’d had brought in for Caresse’s bath.

  Without so much as a knock, the door swung open. Marigold gasped but quickly hid her reaction to Desdemona’s lack of regard for Caresse’s privacy. Caresse knew not to expect any consideration.

  Desdemona frowned at Marigold. “Get out.”

  Marigold looked back at Caresse, concern in her eyes, before she gave a bobbling little bow and did as she was told.

  Caresse was thankful for the milky film of suds that covered the surface of the bath, providing her with a veil of some sort before the squinting sourpuss.

  Desdemona was dressed in a shimmering black taffeta gown, black feathers adorning her upswept platinum hair. A white fur stole that looked like the spotted fur of a snow leopard was wrapped around her shoulders. That such a majestic animal had given up its skin for the wrap was a travesty.

  The punch must’ve gone to her head because, as she stared up at Desdemona, the tune for “Cruella De Vil” started to play in her head. She bit her lip, nearly drawing blood, to keep from giggling.

  “What are you smirking at?” Desdemona ground out.

  Who let the dogs out?

  Caresse cast her gaze downward and prayed that the mistress’s myopic squinting didn’t let her down. “Oh, I’m not smirking, Madame. I’m merely tired. I apologize.”

  “Save your apology.” Desdemona took a casual stroll around the room, as if admiring the austerity, flicking a finger on the homespun coverlet on the cot, closing the window and shutting out the refreshing breeze. She set her gaze on Caresse from across the room and then came near. “You’re just too…attractive…for your own good, aren’t you? My girls can compete with all those cows at the palace, but you…No, I can’t have it. I won’t have it.”

  “Madame? Is something amiss? Niebleht and Poutina looked lovely in their masks and gowns for tonight. I didn’t lace Poutina too tightly.”

  Desdemona scoffed. “She told me you did that. It’s as if you want to see her fail.”

  “What? I want her to be comfortable. She looked ready to pass out last night.”

  Desdemona made her way slowly across the room, stopping before her. “She must discipline herself, train her body to her will, to not eat as much, not…never mind. Don’t attempt to soften my will. I’ve already made up my mind. You’ll not keep me from my goal.” Desdemona’s face was cast mostly in shadow, but Caresse could see the calculation in her malevolent gaze.

  “Madame, whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. I’ve tried my hardest—done everything you’ve asked.”

  “I don’t believe you. We’re leaving now.” She turned to the door and looked back at Caresse with a scowl. “It’s a shame you weren’t able to attend tonight. I understand the masked ball is expected to be fabulous.”

  “Weren’t able to—what?”

  Desdemona gave her a false smile as she stepped into the doorway, held up the key, and closed it. Caresse sat in stunned silence at the rattle of the lock engaging from the outside.

  She whispered to herself. “It’s a good thing I know the totally hot lock picking faery bodyguard, THLPFBG for short, or I’d be screwed.”

  * * * *

  Sebastien noticed several female heads tilted to each other, the debutantes and their mamas gossiping behind their fluttering fans in the palace ballroom.

  “Who is that?”

  “Look at her dress!”

  “I can’t tell who it is behind that mask.”

  “Her hair is superb!”

  “Who is her escort? Who sent her an invitation? Where is she from?”

  “Have we met her? We must have her for tea.”

  He hid a smile as he glanced back at his mother on the dais, with Desdemona de Rochambard cozied up, failing in her attempt to distract the queen from the new arrival.

  He and Leandre had agreed that, for tonight, they would keep Caresse’s introduction to the queen brief. He wondered if introducing Caresse as Leandre’s personal guest would be enough to satisfy her apparent curiosity. Leandre’s sister seemed to think it was important.

  The murmurings built to a tumult as the orchestra drew out the last strains of their melody.

  A pair of female voices conversed behind him at amplitude as he scanned the crowd. Niebleht and Poutina, evidently ready to claim another dance from him.

  Niebleht said, “Sister, you know I am no prude—”

  “How well I know you are no prude—”

  A fleshy smack was followed by a squeak, and then Niebleht said, “Do shut up. As I was saying, her dress is rather shocking, both in its scantiness but also in its coverage. The froth, the lace, the...flesh!”

  “Quite! I don’t know whether to be offended or applaud the boldness of it. And strike me with your fan one more time and I’ll break it off in your nether region.”

  “You could try, lazy cow,” Niebleht growled, setting in to squabble like a child with her sister.

  Sebastien took the opportunity to walk away, pretending he hadn’t heard their exchange.

  Where is she?

  He measured the open stares and followed them to their source—Leandre and Caresse.

  He could scarcely breathe, taking in her beauty. Her ball gown would be talked about for weeks to come, there was no doubt. Leandre had excellent taste in fashion. But what Sebastien noticed first was the woman filling out the dress in such a delectable way.

  She stood in profile, gazing up at Leandre as he clasped her hands in his and whispered to her. A half-mask disguised the top part of her face, and her hair was arranged in a soft up-do and decorated with sparkling crystal accents. Leandre spotted Sebastien’s approach and escorted her across the floor so they met halfway, amidst all the whispering gawkers. Her expression was schooled, so he couldn’t tell how she felt about being the center of attention.

  The gown enveloped her upper torso and arms, all the way down to the tops of her hands in a lush, heavily embroidered lace. The undergarment showing beneath the lace was a transparent silk, her visible cleavage revealing that she wore no undergarments beneath it. The lace pattern was tightly woven in some places, and a minimal excuse for coverage in others. Her nipples were even slightly visible through the weave. Except for the row of tiny buttons that followed her spine to her tailbone, the back of the dress was a sheer mesh.

  From the hip down, the gown transitioned smoothly into a flowing skirt of the same lace, gusseted with panels of transparent silk in the same color. If one observed carefully, her bare legs were visible in teasing glimpses as she moved.

  Dancing with a cockstand would be a challenge, but he’d gladly suffer for her.

  In the interlude while the musicians tuned up for the next song, he heard the telltale sound of his mother clearing her throat. She did that in such a way he could tell exactly what she was thinking. This particular vocalization was a command.

  Bring her here.

  Leandre was chuckling as he drew Caresse close to his side and leaned toward Sebastien so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Cousin, your mother is impatient. Let’s get the presentation over with. Caresse wants a dance with you.”

  “That is exactly what I was hoping for.”

  Leandre said, “Introductions first, for the sake of our audience. If they think you already know each other, it will only fuel further specul
ation.”

  With a flourish of his hand, and in a voice that could be overheard, Leandre said, “Prince Sebastien, may I present…Nicola de Rainier.”

  Clever. A first name similar to the name she was given at birth, and a surname she could easily remember. The same set of initials.

  “Your Highness.” Caresse’s skirt fluttered around her when she swept into a low curtsy, as if she was accustomed to doing such things, reminding him there was still much to learn about her life in a sophisticated world he could only imagine.

  “Lovely Nicola,” he murmured as he held out his hands to receive hers and help her rise. “The pleasure is mine. Welcome to Plaisir D’Or.”

  Behind the mask, her eyes held a sparkle as she looked up at him and replied, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “My mother, the queen, wishes to meet you.” He turned in the direction of the dais and offered her his arm while Leandre offered his arm on the other side.

  “She does?”

  Leandre snorted and leaned closer. “Indeed. I heard her summons from across the room. Doesn’t Caresse look beautiful in her gown? She was worried what you’d think of her appearance.”

  Her body language held such confidence he had a hard time imagining she didn’t know she looked gorgeous. But he saw the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes before she averted her gaze to hide it, smoothing one hand over the lace at her hip.

  She said, “Yes. Is it too much…or too little? I feel every little breeze, even your breath on my skin. It’s unsettling.”

  Trying to maintain a detached exterior, as if he was making simple conversation, he tightened her hand against his side and whispered, “I think it’s perfect. Imagine what it will be like when we dance.”

  Her intake of breath sent a surge of heat straight to his cock. Would she sound like that when he finally had her pinned beneath him, ready to plunge into her sweet depths?

  “Yes, just like that,” Leandre whispered in reply as if he’d heard Sebastien’s inner lusting.

  It’s a good thing I chose a long coat for the ball tonight. An obvious erection fighting for room in the confines of his soft leather pants wasn’t something his mother or her closest confidante—blind as the bat was—would be able to overlook.

  Talk about making one’s intentions known.

  “Do I curtsy or bow, and do I speak?” she whispered as they came to the end of the line of debutantes making their greetings to the queen.

  “Full curtsy with head bowed and wait until she speaks to you, my love,” Leandre replied, patting her hand in encouragement. “And don’t worry. She will set eyes on you and be just as enchanted as everyone else.”

  Casting a furtive glance around the large ballroom, she arched an eyebrow and murmured, “That’s not terribly reassuring. Judging by the looks I’m getting, these girls are imagining dicing my body up and feeding me to the hogs.”

  Leandre barely hid his laughter at her vivid imagery. “Perhaps Sebastien should stop gaping at you as if you’re a goddess.”

  “Can’t do it. You’re too exquisite in this creation, Caresse. Was this Leandre’s idea?”

  “Yes. Otherwise I doubt you’d ever see me in such…ohhh…” She bit her lip to cut off the soft moan as he drew his fingertips up her back. Satisfaction filled him as gooseflesh flickered over the skin above the lace closure at the back of her neck in response.

  Schooling his features, he leaned close and murmured, “I plan to put my lips there, to feel your silky skin, to taste you…everywhere.”

  “Oh...sweet merciful heavens. Yes.”

  Sebastien gulped at the longing in her tone. To make love to her would be…

  The smile on Leandre’s face was broad, his grin showing his vast enjoyment of the situation. The group in front of them completed introductions and greetings and moved on. He took the steps up the dais and bowed deeply to Regine and then grinned up at his queen. She offered her hand, her eyes sparkling as if she knew she was dealing with a very naughty boy.

  “Leandre, I see the light of happiness in your eyes and a rare beauty in your company tonight.” She offered her hand to him with a nod. His mother was always one for protocol and duty. Leandre, ever the courtier, kissed her knuckles and the ring on her hand, proof of her right to rule the kingdom.

  Rising after her nod, he turned on the step and gestured to Caresse. “Your Majesty, may I present Nicola de Rainier, newly arrived across the western seas from the forest regions of Washington, bordering the Great White North.” Caresse lowered gracefully into a deep curtsy with head bowed, as if she’d grown up doing such.

  Regine wrapped her mouth around “Washington,” trying its syllables out twice before smiling. “I would like to hear more of this Washington.”

  Desdemona’s lips drew up into such a twisty pout that they resembled an—

  Caresse glanced up at him with uncertainty. They hadn’t had time to discuss what to share of her land of origin yet. The less time she spent speaking before Desdemona, the better. The look Leandre gave him said think fast! Coming up the steps, into her more personal space where Regine had invited Leandre and Caresse, Sebastien said, “Mother, she’s only just arrived. She just promised me a dance, and—”

  “Oh, in that case,” Regine said, her eyes lighting up as she looked between the two of them. Caresse’s head was still bowed, and Regine leaned forward to lift her chin and said, “Welcome to Plaisir D’Or, lovely Nicola. Of course I look forward to learning more about the land you were born, but I certainly understand my son’s desire to dance with you. Since my musicians are superbly talented, you could demonstrate a dance of your native land and…perhaps teach it to my son.”

  The queen whacked Leandre’s arm with her feather-accented fan and grinned. “You don’t mind do you, Leandre? No, not at all since you know how much I adore you and long to catch up with you. You will sit with me—with us”—she gestured to Desdemona with the fan—“and tell me all about what you’ve been up to on behalf of that sister of yours.”

  Sebastien wanted to bray with laughter at the “caught” look in Leandre’s eyes while Desdemona frowned so hard her chin puckered.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  “And after your dance, I will have a visit with your lovely guest.” Regine’s tone held no room for argument.

  Caresse hid the panic in her eyes well, but Sebastien could feel the chill creep into her hand. He stroked the top and squeezed in reassurance. Leandre gave her shoulder a gentle touch and nodded at her. She could do this. “It-It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty.”

  Eagerly taking the opportunity to have Caresse in his arms, Sebastien helped her to rise and back down the low steps to the marble dance floor.

  Caresse cast a glance around the huge ballroom. Several couples milled across the pristine ivory expanse, but most of the attendees were females who stuck to the periphery between the massive columns that supported the structure. She bit her lip and then gathered the lace of her skirt in her hands and said, “I need to speak with the leader of the orchestra.”

  “You have a plan?”

  Caresse gave him a radiant smile. “Your mom said the musicians were talented. Does that mean they can pick up a new rhythm?”

  “As if by magic, my angel. If you can demonstrate it to them, they can learn it.”

  “Excellent. We might just have fun tonight after all.” As they made their way across to where the musicians had been arranged, she added, “I was sweating back there, afraid to speak or look up with Desdemona sitting there next to your mother, like a big black buzzard.”

  “Don’t worry about her. With the mask Leandre created, and this dress, she’ll never suspect. Is this dance going to be complicated?”

  “It’s easier than any of the ones you taught me last night. Anyone in this room could do it. You’ll see. Hi,” she said as the maestro turned and bowed to her, seeming to already know she needed his assistance.

  Sebastien
noted the curious stares that followed her as the attendees edged closer to the dance floor.

  The percussionists were entranced as she addressed them, using her hands to demonstrate a rhythm, which they duplicated easily. She hummed a recurring melody, which the stringed and wind instruments picked up one-by-one, bobbing their heads and nodding to each other. She spoke quietly to them, reminding them of the counts, and pointed to the owner of a large bass drum, giving him his cues.

  Caresse’s cheeks filled with a blush as the musicians bowed to her, thanking her for teaching them something new. Many of them kissed her hand and reassured her they wouldn’t let her down.

  She probably didn’t think she was anything special, but it was obvious her own magic affected all those whom she encountered.

  The maestro tapped out a soft beat, and all the musicians took their places while Caresse tugged Sebastien to the middle of the dance floor.

  He hated being the center of attention, and wasn’t sure she enjoyed it all that much either, but she sure didn’t let it stop her from following her instincts to help him.

  “You ready?”

  He gave an uncertain nod and held up his hands as if he was ready to take her into his arms for a face-to-face dance.

  She giggled and turned him so they were side by side, arms distance from each other.

  “A folk dance?” he asked, pleased to have been the cause of the happy sound she made.

  “Kind of.” She looked over at the maestro and gave him a nod. She bobbed her head with the beat, establishing her own rhythm. She looked over at Leandre standing next to the queen and winked.

  Sebastien noted the way his cousin tilted his head and listened to the beat while he gazed at her, amusement gradually coming into his eyes.

  Regine was all eyes, rapt as Caresse clapped with the beat, encouraging the crowd with nods and smiles to clap along if they wanted. Several of the courtiers obliged and carried the rhythm as she gathered her skirt and lifted it enough to show her slipper-clad feet, ankles, and shapely calves.

  She snared him with her sparkling gaze and said, “You ready?”

  “Ready!”