Faery Godlover(2)

By: Lizzie Lynn Lee


“Memorable indeed.” She laughed coquettishly. “I might have to request an extension for my duties here,” she said as she stretched in one languorous sweep.

Duada gave a light chuckle as he made his way across the room, his walk a lazy saunter bred only from a life of ease and authority he exercised through his status.

“I think the powers-that-be might just be amenable to that,” he half-lied as he headed for the door. In truth, he had no direct authority over that kind of thing, but he’d come this far leading the lovely lady along, and he didn’t mind doing so a bit longer until the Queen dismissed her.

It was a guilty pleasure of his; giving into the lustful pursuits he could afford himself while idling about the court. In fact, he didn’t have any kind of personal attachment to the woman he’d just had fun with—and he knew that the feeling was mutual. To her, he was just a means to her ends, and to him, she was just a bit of fun. Such gallivanting was a deadly game for the lower-ranking courtiers, but as a prince, who could tell Duada to behave himself?

His answer came in the form of a pounding at the door right as he reached it, startling him. There was a silence after the knocking, and Duada cast a perplexed glance back at the noblewoman, who bunched the sheets up over her naked body, looking just as confused. The prince nodded to the door with a questioning expression, but she just shrugged her shoulders, bewildered.

“Prince Duada, are you decent?” boomed the voice from the other side of the door.

After a moment, Duada raised his eyebrows and glanced back at the noblewoman. “Ah, see? Not to worry, it isn’t for you.”

Despite a yelp from her as she threw the silk covers over her body, Duada swung the large, beautiful door open, letting out the scents of expensive incense and lovemaking as he made eye contact with two of the Queen’s elite guards standing in the doorway. The fae guards looked unamused.

“Are you lost?” he asked, leaning in the doorframe. “My chambers are two floors up, third door on the right. I’m sure you’ll find me there.”

“Your Highness,” said the one on the left, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight that spilled in from the windows in the hallway behind him. “Her Majesty has requested your presence in the court, post haste.”

“Now?”

“Her Majesty insists the timing is of most importance, Your Highness.”

The guards stepped back, expectant looks in their eyes as they waited for him to follow, but Duada held up his hands as he stepped out, making his way in the opposite direction down the hallway. “Come now, do you really think she wants to see me like this?” he said, gesturing to his person. He very obviously looked like a man post-coitus, half-dressed with hair mussed to all ends.

“Her majesty instructed—”

“Believe me, I’m just as eager to see my dear aunt as she is to see me, but I assume you’ve seen how she dresses in court? I can’t present myself like this. And could you imagine what the repercussions would be if you dragged me like this into her court?” He wiggled his eyebrows with a grim expression, suggesting the consequences could, indeed, be dire.

The guards exchanged glances before Duada continued with a sigh. “By all means, escort me to my chambers and wait for me to change, then I’ll come with you.”

A short while later, convinced yet reluctant, the guards stopped at the entrance to Duada’s personal chambers. The faerie prince waved to the two guards as he stepped into his quarters, breathing in the fragrant air as he stripped himself of the clothes he’d been sauntering around in.

Summerland, and the Summerland Court, was truly paradise. His room was a prime example of the decadent wealth the fae reveled in on a regular basis, columns of ivory lining the golden-hued stone that made up the ancient walls, ivy running along the tops where they met the ceiling like natural molding. His rich, purple bed sheets and massive bed put to shame the comparatively humble quarters the ambassador was situated in, each of them bearing fine gold thread woven into the seams.

He strode into his colossal walk-in closet and took his time in selecting an outfit. He thumbed through the various articles of clothing, from deep and vibrant red silken shirts to flowing black robes, all of them absurdly soft to the touch and made to be comfortable enough as to be unnoticeable to the wearer. He had always believed that he ought to shape his body to match the majesty of the luxuries around him.

His aunt would just tell him he’s being an ass, but he didn’t let that stop him.

Duada’s dawdling was wholly intentional.

He spent a large amount of time picking out just the right shirt, the trousers, the belt, even a small shoulder cape he debated over for a few minutes before tossing it on, trying to look like he put effort, but not too much effort, into the way he looked. His new shirt still left almost as much of his chest visible as the haphazard robe had, and he rather liked it that way. It was nearly an hour later that he re-opened the doors to find the two guards, now decidedly irate, standing there.

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