🎶 click to play scene track

he Moon Tower was a slender column of pale-coloured marble located on the outskirts of the main palace structure. Though quite an insubstantial building at first blink, its primary attractions came in the form of its lofty height and endless rows of staircases that were enchanted to transfer directions. This made it so however far the occupant spiralled down they would always be redirected into their room. By day, it was stained pink with the hue of a newborn’s blush, while the evening dyed it violet through the circulatory migration of the sun’s cycle.

Darius was escorted by his Lightshield entourage who delivered him in chains to the top of the tower, unlocking him only once he was safely installed within its rooms. Once freed, Darius massaged his wrists and looked about his surroundings. The furnishings had been finely carved from mother-of-pearl and chiselled with celestial motifs.

It was a beautiful setting, one much suited to opulent tastes such as his own, and he heaved a sigh of relief that he had seen the end of incarcerated austerity. The first thing he did upon receiving his new dwellings was request a change of clothes—for a good predator should always seek to camouflage amongst his surroundings. He would embody monstrosity in its most subtle form, the kind even hunters couldn’t perceive until he was upon them.

He chose a suit of wine-red velvet with a corseted vest. The tailcoat was embroidered with gold roses; the same that blossomed in the pavilion not far outside of his window. Pleased with his meticulous facade he sprayed a few puffs of perfume, indulging in the subtly citrus aroma, before he moved into the sitting room to await Laila’s arrival.

He found he was not prepared for her when she did.

She ascended the steps in red charmeuse draped in a black overdress of jet-beaded point d’esprit with a neckline that drooped from her shoulders. She entered with one brow quirked towards him in appraisal, her gaze taking a lingering journey down his form.

“Well, don’t you look fetching,” Laila said, reaching up to adjust his cravat. “Soleterean attire suits you well.”

“I could say the same of you.”

She released a soft breath of laughter as her hands came to rest briefly on his chest before she removed them. “How are you liking your new abode?”

“Quite well, thank you.” The corner of his mouth inched up wryly. “You have chosen an impeccable setting for my confinement.”

“I know this may seem like a rather unconventional arrangement but you are not a prisoner here.”

“You have a habit of locking up your guests in towers?”

“That is only at my mother’s discretion until we can ascertain your reliability. I’m sure you can understand.” Her tone had taken on a serrated edge to the otherwise pristine primness. “And speaking of—she has asked that you join us for dinner tonight.”

He hadn’t expected to meet the impératrice so soon. He fiddled with his cravat in apprehension.

She held out her arm for him to take. “Shall we?”

When she turned he could see her dress was similarly low-cut at the back adorned with a red velvet ribbon, displaying the delicate framework of her shoulder blades.

He slotted his arm through her elbow as they walked down to the bottom of the tower.

Laila breezed past the guards with a nod of acknowledgement before steering him past the rose bushes to a candlelit setting prepared for their arrival.

“It’s such a lovely night out I thought we’d enjoy our meal in the gardens,” she explained, approaching the table to pull out their chairs and re-scatter some of the rose petals that had clustered at one corner of the lace tablecloth.

Darius certainly wouldn’t disagree with her assessment, for in contrast to the frigidity of Mortesian climates, Soleterean nights were sultry events that left one gasping if not accustomed to the rise in temperature. Even their darkness made him want to strip himself bare.

“Why not?” he said, taking a seat by the faint purl of the fountain in the pond where the light breeze could cool the nape of his neck.

Not long after did the impératrice herself arrive wearing iridescent blue silk.

Laila burst out from her seat to receive her. “Good evening, Maman,” she declared bright as a bell as they exchanged kisses on both cheeks in Soleterean custom and began to speak rapidly in the liquid speech of Soltongue.

Darius was content to listen to them. Soltongue had a pleasant cadence to one’s ears—like dripping honey on the skin.

Laila parted first to introduce him. “Maman, you’ve met Prefect Darius Calantis.”

“Indeed,” Amira drawled in response, looking none too impressed with what she saw.

“It’s a pleasure to be in your company again, Your Luminosity.” Darius bowed low in deference. He peeked up at her beneath his lashes. “I should hope I can make a better impression on you than our prior encounter.”

“That remains to be seen,” Amira responded, impervious to his charming looks. She took a seat at the table and unfolded her napkin. “So tell me about yourself, Prefect. Why is it that my daughter seems to believe you a suitable replacement for our current Mortesian menace?”

“Let’s say I have become accustomed to a certain lifestyle afforded by a peaceful nation and I would like to uphold it where possible,” Darius explained as a server arrived with their drinks—soft pink cocktails misting with froth and rimmed in crystal sugar, bearing cocktail sticks of speared strawberries. Love potions.

“So you would be willing to maintain an allyship should you ascend?” Amira swirled her cocktail stick around her glass.

“Yes.”

“And the trade agreements?”

“Will resume as normal.” Darius took a sip from his glass. “Hopefully with some re-negotiations to be made in the future, of course.”

“Hm.” Amira hummed in response, still regarding his compliant nature with suspicion. “What makes you so much more amenable to treat with us in a way your father and brother couldn’t before you?”

Another platter arrived, this time an appetiser—bruschette topped with sheep’s cheese, sliced pears and pansies.

“As my father’s bastard, it has been my lot in life to be overlooked and disregarded. I have watched over centuries as my brother took every opportunity in life afforded to him and chose to squander it. I suppose this arrangement is about as good an opportunity as any I will receive to take what I feel ought to have been mine to begin with.”

“You’ve been thinking about that for a while, haven’t you?” Laila observed; a smile soft and teasing playing on her lips. “Ways in which you might accomplish a usurpation.”

He gave her a blithe shrug. “When you have an eternity to live you start to daydream a few things.”

Amira quirked a brow in amusement, taking a bite of bruschetta. “I assume daydreaming isn’t all you’ve done over the centuries?”

“Certainly not,” Darius said, “I have been amassing a number of names and contacts during my brother’s brief absence who would be willing to come to my aid. It’s a significant enough number of the gentry though still small—my father was greatly feared, you see. But with your support we are certain not to lose.” He helped himself to a piece of bruschetta. “Though I feel I should be asking questions of you also, Your Luminosity.”

“As you wish.” Amira beckoned to grant him speech.

“I assume Mortos shall retain all of its sovereignty in the event I ascend?”

“I see no reason to argue against that.” Amira crooked up her lips. “Let Mortos be your sole playing field. The role I see Soleterea playing is… supervisory at best.

Her very specific word usage did not go unnoticed by him. “So what is it that you want in return for this gesture? Just my loyalty?”

“Loyalty shall be all I require from you,” Amira confirmed, “anything else is simply additional. You are not the only one who has become accustomed to a peaceful lifestyle, Prefect. The easier it is to uphold, the better. And I will do whatever I can in service of keeping that peace.”

The threat beneath was veiled, but widely heard all the same. She wouldn’t hesitate to act against him should he disturb their tenuously held peace.

“Then it seems we’re all in agreement,” Darius said, gesturing to them both, “the next step, I would gather, is to talk strategy.”

He felt Laila’s knees collide against his, not for the first time that evening, but he’d tried hard not to notice it until now. He stole a glance at her as she took a bite out of bruschetta and saw her cheeks had gone roseate from all the alcohol she’d been drinking, her lip rouge enticingly smudged, and he wondered again if this was how she might look after being kissed.

He swallowed the thought away with another drink from his cocktail glass and transferred his attention to Amira, whom he engaged in an intense intellectual back and forth until the main course arrived.

A platter of deep sea delights was set down with one focal centrepiece—butter-poached lobster with sparkling nectar wine sauce. The lobsters were an iridescent teal blue to match Soleterea’s waters. Darius had never seen it before.

“I hope you don’t mind seafood,” Laila said, chasing away the sensual memory of her and Dominus’ first meal together with a sip of cocktail.

“Actually, it happens to be one of my favourites.”

“Any particular reason for that?” Amira asked, swirling her half-full glass of cocktail, “I would’ve thought an occassi would prefer something bloodier.”

Darius’ smile did not falter. “I suppose it goes back to my time doing mandatory military service in Mortos. It is required of every male who comes of age in my country to select a particular branch and do a full seventy-five years before we are able to discharge. I managed to put mine off for a bit, attending university instead, but it soon caught up with me so… I chose to join squalons, which is our naval branch, and spent a lot of time out at sea guarding our waters and slaughtering sea monsters.”

“Do you miss it?” Laila asked, “being in service, I mean?”

“Calante’s wrath no, it was awful.” Darius took an oyster from its neatly arranged platter. “I do however miss the sea terribly. I would spend hours in the water, catching all the food I could want and exploring the depths of the ocean. You should see it for yourself sometime, Your Radiance, it’s a whole other world down there. Entire civilisations built to suit the sea—carried on the backs of whales that span centuries older than even myself.”

She bit her lip, her finger becoming tightly wound inside a curl as he spoke. “That sounds fascinating.”

“Oh, there are all sorts of things I could show you,” he said, sucking the contents of his oyster shell and licking his lips. “Sunken ships, secret treasure troves, underwater caverns full of giant squid. But my favourite, and the one I think you’d like best, is the show the sirens put on every year during midsummer. They turn docile and their scales go entirely bioluminescent as they do their ritual mating call to lure a partner. It’s… hypnotic, hearing their voices. It’s something that has to be heard to be explained.”

Laila angled her body towards him, her chin resting deeply within her palm as her eyes glistened with interest. “Oh, I’d love to.”

“Perhaps one day I’ll get to show you,” he said, fixing upon her with his eyes of aqua blue—as depthless and dangerous as the ocean itself.

“Oh, I—” she said softly, clearing her throat as the moisture receded. She tilted her chin down, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Perhaps.”

The last course of the evening was a lemon pound cake glazed with vanilla. Darius curiously helped himself to a slice, having never been exposed to citrus, surprising himself with how much the sour, piquant flavour stimulated his taste buds.

Within the very first bite he made a soft, orgasmic sound and filled himself with several slices by the time the night was through, much to Laila’s amusement, before Amira polished off the last of her drink and rose to depart.

“I think it’s about time we all retire for the evening,” she said, setting down her empty glass. “Laila, I trust you will handle the prefect getting to his room safely?”

“Yes, Maman.” Laila nodded, understanding perfectly the words behind the words.

“Then I shall bid you a pleasant evening.” She smiled towards them both. Then she was on her way, disappearing into the swathes of pastel-coloured rose bushes and leaving the two alone.

“You can thank me any time now,” Laila prompted, her head arched in slight mischievous glee as she grinned at him.

He found himself smiling back at her, unable to resist being infected by her insidious jubilation. “Thank you, Your Radiance.”

She scoffed, sidling over to him on her seat. “Oh come now, Your Radiance.” She rolled her eyes. “I think I deserve a warmer thank you than that.”

“Thank you, Laila,” he amended, his tongue tracing carefully over the vowels of her name as though he almost couldn’t believe he got to say it.

She paused in response, a blush rising on her cheeks. “Hm, that’s better.” Her features settled into something hazily soft after the fact. “You know you can be nice when you let your guard down. Quite charming, in fact.”

Perhaps too charming. In the span of one evening she had almost forgotten herself, going as far as asking him to say her name just to hear it on his lips. She had to rein herself in. She had cast the net of her charm to keep him ensnared, not to become entangled within it.

Laila traced the rim of her cocktail glass and polished off the final dregs of contents. “I think I shall retire and escort you back to your room.”

Darius nearly forgot his freedom was but a temporary arrangement and it was with growing disappointment that he was led back to the Moon Tower. The Lightshield guards awaited to welcome him inside.

Before he entered he turned back to get a final glance at Laila, finding she had already paused on her own journey to look back at him. Beneath the moonlight, her skin was opalescent and she looked even more befitting of her supernal origins.

“Good night, Darius,” she said, her final vowels floating in the breeze before she turned away. It was the first time they had exchanged names on such an intimate basis and it felt just as carnal a sensation as if she had kissed him goodnight.

🎶 click to play scene track

The next morning had Darius glancing out of the lone window in the sitting room in search of a shred of entertainment. He had become so desperate that he even began to fantasise his escape from the tower and dedicated his mornings to plot out how he may do so.

He peered out of the window to survey the tower’s structure and noticed the skirts of ornate corbels jutting ever so slightly out from the main marble bricks. It didn’t take him long to conclude that simply climbing out would only result in the inevitable shattering of every bone in his skeleton.

However, should he be able to utilise his mathematical aptitude to his advantage, then it was very possible he could calculate a method in which he could jump from corbel to corbel in such a way to avoid certain (temporary) death. However, even with the numerical machinery of his mind on the task, he saw he couldn’t avoid a perilous drop from the last corbel skirt to the ground below.

In simpler terms: he was going to have to break his legs.

He winced in psychic anguish from the predetermined injury, for even though he could repair such damage with the use of a skeletal hex, the sheer anguish endured from contorting his fractures back into place did not quite appeal to him. He’d had enough of that growing up in the Citadel.

Even more bothersome was the idea that he should accomplish this whilst avoiding being spotted by the patrolling Lightshields. He’d already taken note of their shifts and the changes within them. He knew what the best times of day and night were to strike. All that was left to him was pure chance, the chaos from which he was reared.

With a heavy sigh, he propped his elbows against the window ledge and let his gaze travel across the palace grounds. He saw the fair-haired heads of the solarites in opulent hues of gold, platinum and pearl traversing about their day.

He tried to locate hers among them.

Perhaps a difficult task due to the relative uniformity in their appearance from afar, but he’d already memorised enough of her to recognise her catlike gait when he saw it—the lively bounce in her step, the fluid movement of her hips and the particular uptilted way she held her head.

He located her eventually in a daisy meadow drenched in sunlight, wherein her carefree walk was more frenetic than usual as she prepared a parade float. If he focused his hearing enough he could just about decipher her high, clipped tone as she dictated orders to her subordinates:

“...Could you straighten out those flowers over there? They’re looking a little crooked...”

“...I want to make sure there is ample space for the ballerinas to perform their entire dance without peril...”

“...No, no, no, not like that. Rosewater fountain here, rosewood thrones there. Need I present to you the design sketches again ...”

He chuckled to himself, not envying those on the receiving end of her perfectionism; a trait he did not doubt was inherited. Still, he could admire her artistry and fastidious attention to detail as the float—a part of the annual Day of Enlightenment festival, he’d heard—was certain to be nothing short of picturesque.

He decided to watch the transformation in progress as Laila eventually departed from the meadow, satisfied with her outcome. What he noticed most, however, was that positioned away from the eyes of those surrounding her she had let drop that perfectly constructed facade she’d been emitting for the past several hours and allowed her face to look sombre, conflicted. He wondered about the person lurking behind the rosy veneer who could emit such a dour look and decided he would stuff it away for later study as a secret all to himself.