by Casey Lea
“Not used to the ocean?”
“Not so much.”
Falkyn stepped forward and it took only two strides to reach the very edge of their platform. He tried to reach out over the drop, but his hand was stopped by an invisible barrier. It seemed the balcony did have some protection. He stepped back, eyes fixed on the view and stumbled into a dip. He looked quickly down and saw he had slipped into a smooth hollow in the stone.
The butterfly laughed, but gently this time and moved to take Falkyn's hand. “They call this lovers' ledge. Many couples have enjoyed its atmosphere and their bodies have worn this dip in the rock.”
Falkyn smiled down at the deep groove in the ground. “That's a lot of enjoying.” He glanced back up and saw the butterfly checking the time on her wrist. Obviously he was making a great first impression. “Do you wish to leave?”
“No,” she protested. “Most definitely not.” She stepped in closer and rose on her toes to press her lips to his. Falkyn relaxed at once and kissed her back. As reassurance went it was very effective.
Within seconds everything was warm and moist and definitely fun, but that was all. Falkyn planned to keep his belt well buckled. He wasn't about to go somewhere he hadn't been invited. However, the butterfly's reaction to his kisses surprised them both. He felt both astonishment and recognition from her, which made no sense at all, but then she squirmed against him, pushing closer in interesting places and his resolve to be very polite slipped a notch.
The butterfly pulled back far enough to wave her wrist over her body, compressing strategic pieces of her costume into com storage. Falkyn hardly had time to gulp before she was grinding against him again while tugging at the fastening of his trousers. Okay. Now he had a gilt-edged invitation. He tried to kiss her, but she buried her face in his neck and jumped to wrap her legs around his waist. She snuffled at his throat and he felt how familiar his scent was to her, before her mind snapped shut again.
“Now,” the butterfly demanded of his shoulder and Falkyn obliged. Their metabolic fields merged first, then guided their bodies together. He entered her carefully, but she sat down hard, thrusting him deeper. He groaned and his lips searched for hers, but she was biting his throat. He threw his head back instead and went with the moment. Oh, yeah. That was definitely a good choice.
The butterfly was breathing hard and making noises completely foreign to any insects he’d ever known. Falkyn groaned too and his fronds tried to touch hers, but they were tucked tight behind her ears. This coupling was definitely all about the physical. She gasped a word in his ear, but he was distracted and missed it. He could have sworn she said 'wing', but that made no real sense. Was he crushing her costume? He risked a glance down her back to check, but everything was in place. Maybe she wanted him to crush her wings?
Falkyn carried her backward to the nearest wall and the sea roared in response. He realized he hadn't driven them against the stone palace, but instead into the unseen field protecting the ledge. He looked down, past gossamer wings draping female curves to the surf crashing just below. He groaned and the butterfly cried out, fluttering against him while her body convulsed. He breathed deep and the cliff shuddered with the waves and everything was wild and wonderful. Falkyn cried out too and it was over.
Over before he could blink away sweat and salt spray. The butterfly was wriggling free before his orgasm was even done. She pulled away and he gasped, struggling to find his balance again. He turned unsteadily and she was already tugging her costume back into place. She spared him an angry look.
“Dress. This place is scarcely private.”
Falkyn grunted in response and scrubbed his face with his hands. So much for pillow talk. He pulled his trousers further up his hips and fastened them, keeping his head ducked. This moment would certainly count as awkward plus. He managed a smile and looked up through the half-screen of his helmet. “That wasn't the unmasking, but it was quite a revelation.”
The butterfly laughed harshly and under her antennae blonde hair stirred in embarrassment. “That was no part of my plan.”
“You had a plan?”
“Not truly-”
They were interrupted by the sound of approaching boots. “You're certain-sure you need to be here? Lady Floe invited me to lovers' ledge for a reason you know,” a young male asked and an older voice responded.
“Indeed, Highness.”
“And I scarcely need you, my friend. I've been handling ladies on my own for some years now.”
“They all seem well satisfied, lord, but let me check for danger first. That will satisfy me.”
A pair of males dressed as gladiators appeared on the ledge together. The taller of the two froze, but his companion seemed unsurprised. Perhaps he was expecting trouble, for a sword dropped straight from his com to his hand. A real sword. Falkyn stepped in front of the butterfly, but spread his arms wide to show that his hands were empty.
“Falkyn IceFlight, Ambassador for the Alliance,” he identified himself. Ambassador was pushing it, but Falkyn had no intention of being drawn into a brawl. As a guest of the Arck he should surely be safe from that.
“Blizzard,” the taller gladiator ordered, “put your sword away. These people are our guests.”
His companion obeyed at once and Falkyn realized that he knew the shorter male's name. It had been near the top of The Kres Court for Dummies file that Darsey had given him. Blizzard was a Court functionary who had risen to become Senior Companion to the prince. Which meant that the taller kres must be Arkyn Hawkeye, heir to the throne. Falkyn instantly dropped to a knee and ducked his head. He felt the butterfly's hands on his waist, steadying herself while she dipped too. “We were just departing, Highness.”
The masked gladiator inclined his head and gestured for them both to rise. “Please, Ambassador, I've no wish to disturb you and your guest. I'm simply searching for a friend. Have you seen a lady dressed as a butterfly?”
Falkyn felt heat on the back of his neck, the breath of his new friend who pressed herself even closer behind him. “Only the one-” he began and jumped when female fronds finally wrapped around his.
Don't tell. entreaty/fear/disgust Please, Falkyn. He's been pursuing me, trying to get me alone. I hoped your company would discourage him. help/save/distressed
Falkyn finished straightening more slowly. Drak. The situation seemed to be heading somewhere more serious than awkward.
“Is that not the lady?” Blizzard asked. “Hiding behind you? Your welcome will be short if you're in league with an assassin.”
“What?” Falkyn and Hawkeye demanded together. The prince grabbed Blizzard by the shoulder and half spun his subordinate to face him. “What are you saying? I told you that this was a tryst. That the lady wished my company.”
“Indeed she did, Highness, but her intent was murderous. The Beuro for Royal Protection arrested her husband earlier and placed him in the dungeon. He admits to being an anti-monarchist. When I heard your plan to meet with Lady Floe I wondered whether she was in league with him and here she stands, not alone waiting for you, but with a foreigner.” His sword dropped back into his hand. “It seems I was right.”
Hawkeye's sword appeared from his com too and they both turned to face Falkyn. The butterfly plastered herself to his back, clinging tight with fists scrunched in the metallic cloth of his costume. They're lying. They wish to get me alone. They've tried many tricks before and having me has become a challenge to the Arkyn. Please. Don't leave me. Blizzard is lying. honesty/truth/belief
Falkyn braced himself against the mental onslaught, while finding a casual smile. “The lady is wearing a butterfly costume, but her interest here has been far from political. Believe me. Perhaps we could call your BRP-”
No. The guards are loyal to Hawkeye and I have little standing. They would hand me to him.
Falkyn stepped suddenly forward and twisted, tearing free from the butterfly. He backed to one side, so that he could watch all three of the kres at once, but his qu
estions were all for the glittering insect. “If your standing is so low, how did you bring us through the security screens to get here? And if your status is truly nothing, then how have you resisted the Arkyn this long? And why? You seemed happy to wrap yourself around me without caring who I was. So why not sleep with the most eligible bachelor in the empire?”
They all looked at the butterfly and she tilted her chin defiantly. “I've done nothing wrong. Just let me pass. You've no grounds to hold me.”
“Perhaps not,” Blizzard agreed, “but questions remain. You may go only after you offer fealty. Let your Liege cut your chin to prove your loyalty.”
The butterfly gasped and her hands flew to cover her face. Hawkeye stirred uncomfortably.
“I don't think that's needed, Bliz. Her oath, witnessed by the Ambassador-”
“Highness, your generosity is impressive, but please temper it with wisdom. This female may be part of a plot against you. Let us measure her commitment to the throne more truly. Any loyal kres should be Honored to wear their Arkyn's scar.”
“Scar,” the butterfly squeaked, before her hands clutched around her mouth again.
“Show your chin,” Blizzard ordered and stepped back, gesturing Hawkeye forward.
“Whoa, wait and hold,” Falkyn interrupted. “Surely Honor-cuts should only be made by the Arck?”
Blizzard looked at him coldly. “Ideally, but his named heir can act in his stead. Do you think we should interrupt the Arck for this?”
“I think we should wait-”
“No,” Hawkeye groaned. “This will not go easier for the lady if my father is involved. Butterfly, have courage and show your face, or admit to false designs against the throne.”
He stepped forward and raised his sword, while Falkyn silently cursed. His lips twisted, but he shrugged off doubt and regret. His sword fell snugly to his hand, but Hawkeye was concentrating on the butterfly and only Blizzard saw the release. The Prince's Companion instantly backed away toward the door.
“Ware, Highness. He has a sword.”
Hawkeye spun and his blade licked out with the motion, toward Falkyn's throat. The strike was fast, but Falkyn was faster. His sword flicked up to turn the blow. Hawkeye recovered easily, his balance perfect and his sword drew back again, but the fight was already over. Instead of flowing into a traditional recovery and typical repositioning of his blade to continue the duel Falkyn let his sword tip fall and darted forward. His knee rose and punched through the Arkyn's combat field. Falkyn's metal kneepads, infused with exotic matter, drove into the Arkyn's groin.
Hawkeye made a small, strangled noise and dropped to the ground. He sprawled into the hollow and curled there, unbreathing.
“Drak,” Falkyn yelled and dropped to his knees beside the prince. He used his spare hand to roll the stricken boy over and ripped off the Prince’s helmet, dropping it to check his distant cousin's pulse. It was still strong and Hawkeye took a gasping breath. Falkyn's muscles went weak and he slumped beside his recovering foe. What the hail had he just done? Nightwing would not be impressed-
Someone fell on Falkyn's sword arm, driving it forward and down. He tried to resist, but Blizzard's entire weight and combat strength were behind the thrust. The Prince's Companion struck with irresistible force and drove Falkyn's sword through Hawkeye's chest. The blade skewered the Arkyn's heart and grated against rock beneath. There was a moment when the world stood still.
“NO.” Falkyn's anguished cry broke through that shock and movement returned. Blizzard backed away, his treachery complete, but Falkyn ignored him. He threw his sword aside and desperately fed regen strips from his com into the gaping wound that had been Hawkeye's chest. Blood spurted and Falkyn sat back on his heels, trying to wipe his face with hands that were just as red. All he could see and feel was blood. All he could smell and taste was blood. He was drowning in death and there was no way out. This crime could never be undone.
Small hands grasped his shoulders and hauled, trying to pull him upright. Falkyn looked up dumbly at strangely bright and colorful wings. He was being attacked by butterflies. No, there was just one and she was trying to get him to his feet. How would standing help Hawkeye? They needed more regen. They needed medics.
“Help,” Falkyn croaked. “Call for help.”
“I will,” the butterfly promised, “once you're safe away.”
They turned together, the female still supporting Falkyn and he almost ran straight onto Blizzard's blade. The kres pushed his helmet up to show a tight smile. “Sadly I was too late to stop you killing my lord, but I did strike you down before you could escape.” Blizzard's smile widened and he thrust with full force.
18
Flirting With Commitment
Amber kept her head tucked down and tried to disappear. She didn't remember leaving her sanctuary and she certainly didn't remember pushing into the ballroom crowd, but here she was. Nothing less than disaster would ever have forced her this close to the Arck, but disaster was what Darsey and her family now faced. Amber quickly checked the hologram cupped in the palm of her hand. Wing was close. All she needed to do was reach him, show him what had happened to Falkyn and then get back to safety while he ensured his wife's escape. Sharpeye would blame Wing for Hawkeye's death and make sure his family suffered with him. Amber had to get them back to their ship before midnight. It was the only way to save Darsey.
Unfortunately, pushing between close-packed nobles in varying states of intoxication was proving nearly impossible. A swirl of pipes and flutes suddenly drowned out the murmured conversations and people clustered closer, slowing Amber even more. It was almost as frustrating as being old and doddering. Midnight must be close, because everyone was trying to get back to the ballroom to unmask. Fresh faces, mammals, insects, lizards and birds pushed between Amber and the IceFlights. Within seconds any hope of reaching Wing was gone.
Laser confetti filled the room, the giant waterfall ran with rainbows and people shrieked with delight, while Amber shrieked inwardly. The fantastical figures closest to her all turned to stare and she remembered she had yet to regain the mental control of her past life. Drakkit drakking drakkit. Some of those watching her tittered and she spun away, cursing her youthful state and the universe in general.
Amber pushed back past people with all the angry assurance of an embarrassed teen. She threw herself from the ballroom, breathing hard and clung to the edge of a carved rune while latecomers hurried the other way. She was seriously out of time and she needed a plan that did not involve panic. She had always been slow to mature and in this life that was a constant issue. She had now lived nineteen years in this body and was still beset by hormones, despite being born as a ten-year-old. Re-birth was always complicated and only time would sort out the kinks. Why couldn't she be one of those people who seemed to be competent from birth? Wing, for example, had always been- her mental tirade stopped when realization replaced self-pity. Wing and Free were not the only members of her favorite bloodline at the ball.
Amber clawed her way along the wall, ignoring the curses and complaints of those she pushed past. She fell into a now empty alcove and her mind screamed at her com for the location of Jace IceFlight. Her spy flecks responded at once and she sagged onto a feathered bed. An image appeared in front of her and hope returned. It showed Jace and Mistwing standing in the high meadow behind the palace while a sliver uncloaked before them. Perfect. It seemed Free had already delivered on his promise to his daughter. Wonderful, reliable Free.
Amber sent another silent message to her fleck of pollen and it wafted forward in response. It settled against the com field surrounding one of Jace's dark blue fronds and that telepathic strand twitched in response.
Don't brush me off, boy, Amber thought irritably and Jace jerked upright.
Who the hell is this?
Sorry, Jace. I never thought to make contact so quick. I'm an old friend of your father's, but I can't reach him. The security scans close to the Arck are too thick for my spi
es to get through.
Tricky. What do you wish, old family friend?
You're in danger. All of you. Immediate danger. Can you get a mental message to your father?
Possibly. If I thought I should, but I'm not convinced, anonymous lady.
Amber took a deep breath and summoned all of her energy. Her com pulsed as it pushed her metabolic rate to combat levels. She could do this. She might not yet have the mental precision of her past, but at least she had vitality. And if there was one thing telepathy needed it was energy. She replayed the scene of Hawk's murder on her com and as she watched it she mentally relayed the images to Jace. She pushed the message as urgently as she could, then harder still, so hard her vision faded. She sent one last plea and then everything went dark.
19
How to get a Bride
Blizzard's mistake was ignoring the butterfly. She wasn't used to that, but she knew exactly how to take advantage of it. While he threatened Falkyn she sidled slowly away, moving out of Blizzard's peripheral vision. A knife appeared in Falkyn's palm, although he seemed unaware of it and made no effort to lift it. The defensive gesture was entirely automatic and the young kres looked dazed.
However, it was the final distraction the butterfly needed. Blizzard never even glanced in her direction when she closed on him. She darted in, silk wings fluttering and before he could react her blade settled against his throat. He instantly grew still.
“Drop the sword,” she hissed and his weapon clattered to the rock. “Kneel.” He lowered himself stiffly to his knees and her cheeks heated with triumph. Her gaze rose to Falkyn who was staring at the twitching figure of Hawkeye where he lay dying in the hollow.
“You need to run,” she told her lover, stating the obvious, but he never even blinked and there was certain-sure no other sign of movement. Curse it. He needed to leave now. She twisted the fingers not holding her knife through her hair and fought for calm. “Falkyn, you have to go. Run hard and run fast. Do you hear me? Falkyn, move.”