by K. L. Thorne
“Does your father not celebrate it? He doesn’t strike me as the sort to miss an opportunity to throw some sort of elaborate event,” Haros asked Sivelle.
“You’d be correct in your assumption. He does indeed host an exceptionally extravagant ball here in the castle.”
“Were you not invited?”
“No, it has always been strictly for him and his dignitaries.”
“That’s part of what makes the Winter Fayre so brilliant, Haros. Usually the king pulls all the guards from their posts to support the castle – having so many of the city’s rich and famous in one spot would make it a prime target for an ambush. The rest of Awrelwood is left mostly unsupervised as a result. Everyone really lets their hair down.” Mivian grinned.
“Maybe we can just get a nice bottle of wine in and watch the fireworks? I usually have a pretty good view from my balcony,” Sivelle suggested.
“Pfft, and miss all that fun?” The demon frowned.
“I can’t go to the fayre, Haros!” Sivelle laughed and shook her head. “I’m not allowed to leave the castle walls, remember?”
“I’m sure you’re not allowed to do a lot of the things you’ve done since I met you, Sivelle.”
Mivian snorted loudly. She held up a hand apologetically and busied herself with dusting a bookshelf.
“Well, no, but this is a bit different.”
“How so? Tell me honestly, which would your father be more pissed about – a demon deflowering his precious daughter, or you sneaking out to enjoy a night at the fayre? Because I have an inkling it would be the former.”
“You haven’t deflowered me!” Sivelle spluttered, her face growing hot.
“Not yet.” Haros grinned at her before continuing. “If you’re going to break one rule, you might as well break the others as well.”
“You pig. Don’t be so presumptuous!” Sivelle chided, but nibbled her lip thoughtfully.
“You want to go to the Winter Fayre, don’t you? I can tell by your expression.”
The princess frowned but didn’t deny it.
“Haros has a point, Your Highness,” Mivian chipped in. “You’ve already stepped over the line – does it really matter how far you go now?”
“Don’t you start,” Sivelle grumbled.
“It would be so wonderful if you came with us. You can join Dorian and I.”
“Dorian?” Sivelle cocked her brow quizzically.
“The head chef, Princess. He and I are—”
“Fucking like rabbits,” Haros interjected, ducking to avoid the candlestick that Mivian launched at his head.
Sivelle’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Mivian! How long has this been going on? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, we were on-again, off-again for a little while…” the handmaiden mumbled, blushing furiously.
“And you knew?” Sivelle asked Haros.
“It’s kind of hard not to notice. They spend most meal times glued at the mouth.”
“…No wonder you spend so much time in the kitchens,” Sivelle mused.
“Oh gosh, I hope it’s alright that Dorian and I are in a relationship, Your Highness. Please don’t be mad with me,” Mivian implored with her eyes wide.
“Nonsense, I think it’s fantastic. Besides, it would be a bit hypocritical of me to be too judgemental. You’re not the only one fooling around with someone beneath your station, remember?” She nodded her head in Haros’s direction.
“Hey!”
The two faeries ignored the demon’s complaint.
“Please come with us, Princess. It will be so much fun!” Mivian clasped her hands together at her chest.
“Oh, I don’t know… Surely I would stand out like a sore thumb?”
“Not if you borrowed one of my dresses. I can fashion your hair differently and you won’t have any jewellery on. Plus you’ll be with a maid, a chef and a demon. I can’t imagine anyone who may recognise you would even pause to consider it could be you.”
“When was the last time you made any form of public appearance, Sivelle?” Haros asked. “And by public, I don’t mean with your father’s cronies, I mean with the common folk.”
The princess paused thoughtfully. Not since she was a small child, if ever. She had a very vague memory of standing upon a float for all of five minutes one summer, but she couldn’t remember where or why that was.
“It’s been a long time,” she admitted.
“Then no one will even recognise you. It’ll be fun. What time are you leaving, Mivian?”
“In an hour or two,” the handmaiden replied.
“Would you be able to get Sivelle a dress by then?”
“It would be my honour.”
Sivelle swallowed and clenched her sweaty palms. Despite her nerves, her stomach turned over with happiness and excitement. What had she gotten herself into this time?
Chapter Fifteen
Dorian sat on the settee across from Haros, watching the dragonette from the corner of his eye. Mivian had brought the chef upstairs to wait in Sivelle’s room whilst she and the princess readied themselves for the Winter Fayre. Judging by the man’s stiff body language, he was not a big fan of dragons either.
Thankfully, Nyre remained oblivious. The dragonette had returned from her adventures out in the garden exhausted and had swiftly fallen asleep, curled beside the fire. She was too big to lie amongst the flames these days, but she still sat as close as was physically possible.
“I’m surprised you’ve got the night off. I expected you to be roped into helping with the party they’re hosting here tonight,” Haros said, drawing Dorian’s attention away from the sleeping reptile.
“Oh, yes. I’m only employed to cook for Sivelle and the faeries who work here. The king has his own private kitchen staff over in the main wing of the castle. King Lazuli’s private head chef is catering tonight’s celebration. Thankfully, he’s a pretentious arse who would never dream of asking for help from a lowly sort such as me – even if he really needed it.” Dorian snorted and rolled his eyes.
“I’m looking forward to getting out and seeing a little more of the city. That day I made the trip to Fur and Feathers was cut short by the terrible weather and some other… unfortunate business.” Haros smirked.
“Yes, I was meaning to ask about that. Clearly you got what you needed.” Dorian cast his eyes warily over Nyre. “But a friend of mine who works in the tavern opposite said the shopkeeper of Fur and Feathers met with some pretty serious injuries after one of the animals got loose later that day. Can you imagine if you had gotten caught up in all that?”
Haros scratched the back of his head and averted his gaze. Before he had to drum up any further small talk, Mivian emerged from the wardrobe.
“Okay, we’re all set,” she said cheerily, grabbing her fur-lined cloak from where she had flung it onto Sivelle’s bed. “Are you boys ready to go?”
Both Haros and Dorian got to their feet and buttoned their own thick winter cloaks around their necks.
Mivian looked lovely, as she always did the few times Haros had seen her out of her maid’s clothes. Her dress was a simple but attractive rosy pink, the material moulded well to her figure. She had entwined small flowers into the elaborate braid in her hair. Dorian gazed at her as if there were nothing else on the entire plane worth looking at.
Haros smiled at the besotted expression on the chef’s face and strode to the doorway of the wardrobe, popping his head inside to see how the princess was getting on.
Sivelle was sat on a small stool, leant over to lace up the last few eyelets of her soft leather boots. Her dress – or rather, Mivian’s dress – was an appealing dark forest green. It was softer and simpler than anything Haros had ever seen Sivelle wearing. He cast his eyes appreciatively over the generous amount of cleavage that popped over the low neckline as the faerie was bent forward attending to her boot.
Contrary to her usual extravagant hairstyles, Mivian had left Sivelle’s long curls mostly loose, just br
aiding a small section at both temples. More of the same pretty little flowers studded her hair. Haros was a big fan.
“Oh, Haros. I’m not sure about this.” Sivelle sighed and worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she got to her feet and straightened her skirts.
The dress was shorter than the demon had been expecting, finishing just above her knee. All of Sivelle’s usual dresses were floor-length. The frock she wore this evening was much more akin to the sort of attire he was used to seeing on women – albeit of better craftsmanship than most demons could afford.
He smiled at her. “It’ll be fun, trust me. We’ll be back before anyone knows we’re gone. You look fantastic, by the way.”
Sivelle cast him an incredulous look but her lips curled into a smile as she shrugged herself into her dark velvet cloak. She wiggled her hands into some soft leather gloves and wrapped a thick knitted scarf around her face. They had all agreed the more of her face she could hide, the better; at least until they were out of the castle and into the streets.
Sivelle shuffled to his side and he draped an arm over her for reassurance. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. It was a sure sign she was nervous.
Upon returning to the bedroom, they found Mivian and Dorian in a passionate clinch.
“If you two are quite done…” Haros rolled his eyes and the two faeries parted, smiling bashfully from ear to ear.
One by one, they filed out into the corridor. Sivelle hesitated at the threshold.
Haros didn’t utter a word and held out his hand for her, silently pleading that she take it. He released the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding as she curled her hand inside his and stepped out to join him. He closed the door behind them, and they marched on to catch up with Dorian and Mivian.
The castle was quiet. Deserted. The rest of the serving staff had already left to attend the fayre and the hallways were void of the king’s guards’ presence, as promised. Though Haros had watched some guards patrolling the grounds outside from the balcony, the men who usually stood silent vigil around the wing were gone.
“Come on, this way. Follow me,” Dorian whispered, leading them through to the kitchen.
The group headed down the stairs towards the cellar where Haros had selected Sivelle’s birthday wine, but rather than continuing straight ahead as they had done that day, they turned off to follow another dark, narrow corridor. When they came to a set of wooden doors, Dorian shoved them open. He climbed up the three stone steps and clambered out into the snow. He held out a hand for Mivian and then for Sivelle. Haros climbed up last.
“Leave the doors open. We’ll be coming back this way later and you can’t open them from the outside,” Dorian warned.
The group headed onwards, and Haros was relieved to note they were significantly closer to the main castle portcullis than if they had taken the main walkway through the castle grounds, as he had done on his last expedition past the walls.
The flames of a torch flickered in the distance ahead. The portcullis was still manned by guards.
As they approached, Haros felt Sivelle stiffen beside him. Her hand squeezed his tightly. He glanced over at her, but she already had half of her face covered by her scarf and her hood down as far as it would go. He flicked his own up over his horns.
“Evening, gents,” Dorian said, nodding his head at the guards.
Haros held his breath as they strode past their watchful eyes.
“Hold up,” one of the guards said and raised a palm. “Are you folks heading to the Winter Fayre?”
“We are, sir. What seems to be the trouble?” the chef asked.
Haros marvelled at how calm and collected Dorian was in the face of potential detection.
“No trouble – we’re just warning all the patrons attending the fayre that there will be a monetary fine in place for any loud, raucous behaviour within the castle grounds after midnight. Last year there was that unseemly incident with the vomit, and no one wants a repeat performance this year, if you please.”
When the group nodded in agreement, the guard stood aside to let them pass. Haros could feel Sivelle trembling beside him and stroked her hand reassuringly. They had made it. Mivian waited until they were safely out of earshot before turning to shoot a wide smile at the princess over her shoulder.
“Welcome to Awrelwood, Your High— I mean, uh, Sivelle.”
They walked on, chatting between themselves about what they expected from this year’s Winter Fayre.
“They do these amazing toffee apples that you must try,” Mivian raved.
“Oh, and don’t forget that ale – you know, the one that tastes like cinnamon,” Dorian agreed, just as excitedly.
“There’s so many carnival games, and a carousel…”
Haros and Sivelle walked along in silence, eagerly taking in the other couple’s excitement. Though he tried to deny it, the demon felt a strange sense of masculine pride to finally be holding Sivelle’s hand in full view of the public.
As they continued on, getting closer to the fayre, the streets became steadily busier. The air filled with a unique blend of aromas – cooking meat, burnt sugar, tobacco… Haros could hear a band playing, growing louder with every footfall.
They rounded a corner and bright lights blinded them. There were banners and tents of all shapes, colours and sizes set up around the large cobbled square. They had made it to the fayre.
The streets bustled with bodies. There were people singing and dancing, cheering and yelling. Haros watched as two older gentlemen crossed their path, so drunk they could barely stand, even as they clung to one another for support.
A young faerie girl was handing out flowers from a weaved basket over her arm. Haros accepted a particularly beautiful white rose and handed it to Sivelle.
The princess looked at his offering, dumbfounded for a moment before she graciously took it. Her cheeks flushed and she snapped the stem to tuck the flower behind her ear.
Despite the bitterly cold winter night, roaring bonfires were set up all around them, heating the square. As they shuffled further into the chaos, they began to unbutton their cloaks and remove their gloves.
Sivelle cautiously unwrapped the scarf from her face and pulled her hood down. Her eyes were wide with astonishment. Haros was impressed with the colourful displays, but he couldn’t imagine what it was like for the princess. She was seeing everything for the first time.
A man approached them with a tray of ales and they each took one, nodding their head in thanks. Whilst Haros, Dorian and Mivian tucked in eagerly, Sivelle hesitated. She sniffed the contents before taking a small, hesitant sip.
It was good ale, smooth and sweet. Haros watched as Sivelle licked her lips. Clearly approving of the beverage, the princess hastily took a second, bigger mouthful. She looked up at him with a smile on her face.
“Come on, let’s get a seat over there.” Mivian pointed to an area which was filled with many round wooden tables and chairs.
They eventually located a vacant table, but there were only three chairs. Before anyone had a chance to look for a fourth, Haros pulled Sivelle down onto his lap. She wriggled around to get herself comfortable, but sat without complaint.
“It’s a really good turnout this year.” Dorian nodded, looking around the crowds and sipping his ale.
“Remember that one year when it hailed the entire night? We all went home black and blue!” The handmaiden laughed.
Mivian and Dorian regaled them with tales of Winter Fayres passed, and Haros sipped his drink, stroking his hand up and down the small of Sivelle’s back. The princess curled against him.
“Do demons celebrate any holidays, Haros?” Mivian asked curiously as she took a sip from her ale.
He shrugged. “Not so much. Not that I mean to put a downer on everyone’s night, but not many people could afford an event like this in Banesteppe.”
There was a long, awkward silence.
“There’s a travelling market that comes in every month.
That’s always game for a laugh,” Haros continued, eager to turn the conversation to something more jovial. “They sell a mead that’s absolutely lethal.”
Dorian laughed. “Sounds like you may be speaking from experience.”
“You could be right there.”
The two men clinked their steins together and each took a deep swig.
Haros cast his eyes around the festivities. He was surprised to see as many demons as he did. They weren’t in the majority by any means, but he estimated there were at least thirty or so that he had seen so far.
Most of them had taken to having their horns shaved down – a practice that was said to denote loyalty to the faerie king. He supposed he couldn’t blame them for wanting to leave the slums of Banesteppe behind and reside here in the faerie capital. Maybe if he didn’t have important connections to King Zelrus, he’d have been tempted himself.
He wondered how many of these demons truly stood with Lazuli and how many would turn their backs on the faeries should King Zelrus’s campaign prove successful. He took another thoughtful swig of his drink.
Sivelle and Mivian finished their drinks and began talking animatedly about a jewellery stall they were keen to investigate. Once the men had also finished their ales, Mivian stood and straightened her skirts.
“Come on, let’s go and have a look around some of the market stalls.”
“I think Haros and I will leave you ladies to the jewellery, but I wouldn’t mind getting another drink.” Dorian grinned.
“Or two,” Haros agreed.
Sivelle slipped off his lap onto her feet to allow him to stand, taking his hand in hers once more. Haros smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand appreciatively and she glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes.
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
“Good. Let me know if that changes and we’ll head right back, okay?” The demon stooped to press a soft, lingering kiss on her lips before following dutifully behind Mivian and Dorian.