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The lady huffs, swings her fan, and slaps him across the face. “Guards!” she shouts, and the guards oblige.
One down. Six more to go.
Suitor number two sees suitor one compromised and smirks, handing off his glass of peach punch to a male next to him. On his way to the queen, the long-haired blond pulls out a velvet pouch, and about halfway to the spot where the queen stands with a group of aristocrats (two of whom are her suitors), the male stops and places a hand on his stomach. He grimaces, then his eyes widen before he turns bright red, having just shit his pants.
I may have known he would try something, and I may have slipped a laxative into his food. It could be worse. I consider it a blessing that I don’t wield bone magic, for I would break the legs of all the male population of the Spring Court, with the exception of Alestho.
The queen is mine tonight. I wish to dine and dance and enjoy her.
I only hope I don’t have to kill any of them. That’s never my plan. I want the powerful male fae to breed and prolong our Seelie bloodlines, especially now that I have witnessed the power of the Unseelie court. Besides the seer fate who came from the Summer Court, they also acquired Princess Fleur of the Summer Court, since it turned out that her vampire boyfriend is her fae-ted mate. The Seelie must match their powers.
The queen enjoys chatting with the pair of charming twins. I think she might even be flirting. They suck it up like sponges, all handsome smiles and polite manners. They each offer her an elbow, and she accepts both. I imagine what a young fairy queen in heat is thinking when two identical brothers offer to escort her to the table.
One of them whispers something in her ear, his lips touching her skin.
I grind my teeth so hard, I might break my jaw. Or beat him with his brother’s arm.
Who knows where this night is going? Seems as if the queen changed my plans. And I think she knows that flirting with her suitors bothers me, and she’s doing it on purpose, trying to make me jealous.
Petty, my queen, petty. I should spank her for this. At the recollection of her bent over my knee with her red bottom exposed, I groan. My shaft expands, and the ring around it squeezes it tighter.
The queen glances my way before accepting her escort.
Definitely aware I’m watching her.
They whisper in her ear, one brother growing bolder than the other as their trajectory changes. I presume they’re headed for the punch table, where Pavonos awaits with an evil grin on his face. He doesn’t care for Chloe’s suitors either.
The queen and Pavonos exchange pleasantries, and when he catches sight of her wings, he comes from behind the stand and casually taps one of them, his eyes on me.
I’m aware of her wings. Now, back off.
Pavonos winks at me, then serves the queen her punch. Once she’s busy enjoying the violinist who’s come to play for her, Pavonos takes two glasses and sets them on the table. While engaging the twins, he reaches into his pocket and pours something into the glasses. It appears to be herbs. Terian herbs, perhaps?
Those have no smell or taste, and even the aristocrats who are trained to recognize poison that can be dissolved in drinks won’t recognize or smell it. The twins and the queen step aside, and after a while, I start noticing the males’ shoulders slumping, their eyelids drooping, their bodies swaying.
One of them excuses himself and walks off into the gardens, but the one with the longer hair remains, albeit not for long. He starts leaning toward the Spring queen, and I catch his clothing to prevent him from landing on her as he begins to fall into a deep sleep.
In control of his clothing and shoes, and while he’s still somewhat coherent, I walk him the way one would a manikin on strings, into the gardens after his brother, who is already snoring in the bushes.
Four down, three to go.
I search for the rest and see only two. Kostya, the one who won’t give up, isn’t in attendance. I dislike not knowing where he is. I also dislike that I have no idea what kind of magic he wields. The records of his magic are vague, but in cases like his where I can’t find records of magical powers, the rumor mill going around generally points me in the right direction.
Rumor has it the male carries no magic at all.
Which, by all standards, isn’t possible since he was born of fae parents. He’s a fae male through and through.
The two suitors who are present, one on each end of the vast dining space set up in the gardens, are watching her like hawks. Once the ladies in her attendance begin to make their way toward the tables, likely to greet some of the elderly aristocrats who aren’t milling about, the pair of males make their way toward the queen.
They’re both assigned to sit at the same table. I find it interesting, but I notice Chloe’s brother walk past one of them and stick out his foot. The male catches the ill-intended action and doesn’t trip, but the pair of males are placed at the table together so that they cancel each other out. Smart move, Alestho. Smart move.
The queen arrives at the table, where two older ladies are already sitting. The one with charcoal hair pulled tightly at the back looks familiar. I can’t think of where I know her from because the males are moving toward the one unoccupied chair on Chloe’s left. Once they realize they’re both arriving at the same time, they run for it and collide, causing the older ladies to squeal in shock and outrage over the two young males brawling near their table.
“There we go,” I whisper, and rub my hands together.
I take control of one’s jacket, pull back his arm, and sharply elbow the other male.
The offended male grunts and elbows back.
