II

Darius glanced down at the pieces of broken glass at Laila’s feet, then trailed his eyes back up to her face with a smile. “I can see I might’ve caught you off-guard.”

Laila suppressed the impulse to scoff as she gestured towards the splinters and made them glow with aether. She knew Amira would have her head if she encountered a mess. “Not at all, Darius Rex. The impératrice should be with you in a moment, if you’d please take a seat.”

He didn’t move, at first, remaining leaned against the wall to observe her. The decades had treated him well, if sight alone was any indication. His dark hair had retained those loose princely waves. He had altered the Mortesian court fashion—his black velvet kaftan extended well past his knees to the floor, bordered with oak leaf embroidery in gold thread. A matching belt emphasised the slightness of his waist, and a parting in the garb’s thigh revealed a black set of form-fitting breeches.

Laila took a furtive peek at his elegant pose before redirecting her concentration to the mending of the glass. “Won’t you please sit rather than skulking in that corner? You are unnerving me.”

“Forgive me.” He chuckled, head cocking to one side. “I was just admiring your handiwork. Rather convenient, your aether magic. I wish chaos provided the same skill.”

To this, she said nothing. She took the newly repaired glass in hand and sat down on the settee, pointing towards the other vacant chair.

Darius took the opportunity to refamiliarise himself with the salon. His eyes swept over the sumptuous giltwork panels and heavy green silk curtains, the bronze wall sconces with glass rose-petal lampshades. He took his place on the settee carved in the form of a gilt rose-garden trellis and propped one leg atop the other.

Laila cleared her throat, smoothing out her linen shorts. “So?”

“So,” he answered.

Laila laughed airily. “I feel as though one of us ought to say something.”

“How about we start with the customary, then?” Darius gave a half-shrug with his elbows. “You look well.”

“Well enough, I suppose.” Laila tucked a stray curl behind her ear, peeking up at him through demure lashes. She was aware her satin blouse and linen shorts were a simple affair, and she felt uncharacteristically underdressed before his regal attire. “Had I known you were coming, I would’ve—” She shook her head, realising how puerile the concern for her appearance was. “Why are you here?”

“I was invited, directly, upon the summons of the impératrice herself.”

It dawned on Laila that she ought to consider this yet another test from her mother. Amira wanted to see how Laila would react in Darius’s presence. In light of this, she was determined to keep her true emotions tucked beneath the surface.

“And where is our impératrice this fine spring afternoon?” Darius asked.

“Likely withheld by a prior engagement.” Laila poured them both a glass of rosewater. “Hence I am at the helm of your welcome committee.”

“Well, I can certainly fathom worse hosts.” Darius scooped up the glass and perched it between his sensuous lips, a dimple forming in his razor-boned cheek as he smiled.

The smile alone made her want to fidget, coaxing a warmth to her cheeks that threatened to soften her lacquered veneer. She took a sip of water to neutralise it. After nearly five decades of this, Laila thought she’d been prepared for the sheer levels of spite Amira had in store for her. Yet her mother continued to surpass expectations.

“If the impératrice asked for you directly, then the matter must be grave.” She would keep the conversation removed, political. He was just a king, after all, a foreign king of a foreign land. There was no reason to read too much in the way his eyes rested upon her countenance with a lover’s fondness. “You haven’t been causing too much havoc up north in such a short amount of time, surely?”

“Twenty years since we’ve seen each other, and already you launch into matters of state.” He shook his head with a wry chuckle. “That’s a fine record. But you can’t expect that I would give myself over that easily.”

“I fail to see what you mean—”

“If you want a tête-à-tête, then I expect to be asked properly. Trying to extract me for mere dregs minutes before the arrival of your mother isn’t befitting of that Soleterean etiquette I so know and love.” His smile broadened, along with the depressions in his cheeks. “Ask me to dinner.”

She was so startled she almost didn’t know what to say. “Excuse me?”

“I was thinking… tonight, perhaps?”

Affront burned on her cheeks. “You have some nerve.”

His words had the intended effect, causing her to lose decorum. She ought to have known he’d come prepared to break her most predictable form of defence. He wanted to dismantle her guard, chip away at all that finely-glazed polish to someplace still raw and sensitive and exposed that she had not yet learned to fold away behind prim-laced pleasantries.

“I’m only asking for one meal with you, Laila,” Darius said, his eyes as crystalline clear as a blue tarn. Though not nearly as innocuous. “Where’s the harm in that?”

It was the first time he used her name, and the effect was immediate. She glanced away to shield her face from him.

He was right in saying that one meal would be a harmless thing—had she been dining with anyone but him. However, Laila had enough self-awareness to question whether she could trust herself. And yet, curiosity overruled…

“Well?” Darius asked, having taken a lengthy sip of water in patience. “What do you say?”

Laila pressed her lips together, eyes roaming over him with scepticism. Could she survive an evening with the serpent without becoming infected by his venom? It took a moment before her resolve depleted, ever so slightly. Then her lips gradually parted in a willingness to accept.

The door opened at that very moment to announce Amira’s exceedingly convenient arrival. One would almost think she’d been eavesdropping, preparing for her precise timing to strike.

Laila shot up from the settee in an instant. “Maman!”

Amira entered in a blue striped walking suit appliquéd with flowers, a large feathered hat covering her platinum braids. “Welcome back, Darius Rex. I hope the princess has been tending to you well in my absence.”

“Your Luminosity.” Darius stood to bow. Here was where he played at being the well-tailored beast, not like the other coarse-mannered brutes of his kind. He had learned to maintain respectability and make play that he was domesticated. Brought to heel. Brought under her heel at least. And what a fine one it was this afternoon—white leather with a gilt birdcage frame adorned with flowers.

“Princess Laila has been enchanting. As always.”

“Pleased to hear it.” Amira narrowed her gaze on her daughter. “You may leave us now, Laila.”

“But—” Laila halted, knowing better than to question that imperious stare. She dipped her head coyly. “It was nice to see you again, Darius Rex.” She cast another secretive look towards him before making her exit.

Amira invaded the seat she’d vacated, removing her cream lace gloves. “Well, the reapers certainly work fast, but you work faster, it seems.”

“I am unsure of what you would expect, dangling her in front of me like that.” Darius returned to his catlike repose on the settee.

“Oughtn’t you to have taken on a Mortesian bride by now? Rutted her to produce heirs? Or whatever undignified acts you creatures partake in to spawn more of you…” Amira waved a hand in dismissal as she picked up a macaron.

Darius did not rise to the bait.

“I suppose this is beside the point now, isn’t it?” Amira took a sharp crunch out of her macaron. “We’ll skip to the subject of why you’re here, shall we?”

“I do apologise that I didn’t sooner answer your call,” Darius said without a hint of irony. He kept his head slightly bent, shoulders tractable. He knew Amira would want a show of his humbleness, and so he would give her one. “Mortos has been seeing some difficult times as of late.”

“Yes, I have been hearing there have been a number of qarna insurrections in the hinterlands,” Amira said, plump lips curving upwards. Having others ingratiate themselves to her was always the most satisfying part of her role. “You haven’t been having trouble feeding them again, I’d hope?”

Darius massaged his temples, suppressing a sigh for what would come. Little did he like to expose his vulnerable underbelly to the White Lioness, but he’d found himself out of options. “The summer hasn’t been what we’d hoped it would be. And the typical channels I’d turn to for aid have been compromised. My prefects forecast the winter is likely to be abominable and will cause—”

Amira’s amethyst eyes lit up with understanding. “A famine.”

“Indeed,” Darius confirmed. “I’ve been trying my best to prepare for it, but unless I can tackle this one mitigating factor… the results won’t be favourable.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Another punctuated bite of her macaron followed. “While we’re on the subject of disasters, certain areas of the continent have seen an alarming increase in chaotic magic activity since we opened our doors to your kind. You can understand that—chaos magic being a forbidden art here—it has come to be some cause for concern to see so many new incidents.”

Darius chose his words carefully. “I must apologise for any… transgressions you’ve suffered on behalf of my people. I have made it well known in Mortos that chaotic magic must be limited in Vysteria. And I can assure you we are more than happy to facilitate deportations for any misuse—”

“It isn’t your kind that concerns me,” Amira interjected. “It’s the humans.”

Darius’s brow arched in bewilderment. “Humans cannot practise chaos magic.”

“Not in the way that you use it. But I’ve certainly seen evidence that they can be infected by it. Especially when in possession of a chaotic artefact.”

His expression grew cagier. “What are you suggesting?”

“Someone in your country has been smuggling vast amounts of chaotic magic objects to certain… illicit dealers in Thalistan. I want you to find this person and apprehend them immediately. Or I shall have to rethink our trade arrangements. I’m sure I need not remind you of the infamous Moongrass Debacle—”

“I will look into it at once,” Darius said.

“Regarding the matter of your crop problem… I am always open to renegotiating the ætherglass plan we once discussed.”

Darius exhaled in disappointment, having expected nothing else. “I appreciate your generosity in this instance, but I must decline. Once again.”

“Still?” Amira wiped down her fingers on a napkin. “I must impress that I believe your stubbornness is coming at a detriment to your country as a whole. I’d take some time to think on it… I’m sure you’ll come around to see my view in due course.”

He suppressed a hmph of amusement at that. There was only one reason Amira would be so persistent and “out of the kindness of her philanthropic heart” would be very far down that list. “I’ll manage. Somehow, we always do.”

“See that you do. You have done well to keep your menagerie of beasts in order for two decades thus far, Darius Rex. Let us not see all your efforts fall to ruin over a bout of famine and trafficking, shall we?”

Darius nodded in acquiescence and acknowledged the threat behind the words. Keep your house in order. Or I shall send someone to order it. He knew Amira did not trust him. She regarded him as something immeasurably crass to her but a necessity nonetheless: her tamed beast that kept all the other beasts from scratching away at the door.

“You are dismissed.” Amira picked up another macaron.

Darius stood to bow and take his leave.

“Oh, and I expect you to make your way back to your accommodation without approaching my daughter along your path.”

That had him freezing, against himself. But he ought not to have expected anything different.

“As you wish, Your Luminosity.” He slinked out of the door without looking back.

Darius stayed in Le Creissant only one night before he was homeward bound again.

His black coach, led by hippogriffs, soared above the cobbled streets of Mortos, rousing the sleepy homes of the capital and its fiendish inhabitants. Darius loomed behind tinted glass, his face chiselled with troubled introspection. Beside him, a gold rose sat on a tufted seat of red velvet. Deep in thought, he slid his fingers across the petals, having plucked it from the pavilion before he’d left.

He should not have gone to Soleterea. He should’ve followed his instincts in recognising the lure Amira had set and sent someone else in his stead. He’d thought it would be enough to catch a glimpse of Laila after so many years, to hear the sweet timbre of her voice as she said his name. Small things he could commit to memory so that he might swaddle himself in them to keep him warm over a decade, a century. However long it might be until her absence became tolerable to him. If it ever did.

He’d been foolish to think it’d ever stop there, that the moment he saw her he wouldn’t feel the inevitable pull he always did to be in her orbit. He thought of the flash of her gold hair beneath the sunlight when the rigidity of her spine gradually loosened in his presence as though, for once, he could cease to be an object of fear.

It no longer mattered. She would always remain enskied in her world of laughter and light, unpoisoned by his degeneracy, while he would always be shackled to the accursed land of Mortos.

He picked up the rose and fastened it to a buttonhole on his kaftan.

Since the coup on Gravissia, the city had come back sleeker and sharper than ever before. New gargoyle-ridden towers had replaced the ones that had been felled by solarite starships. They stood solemn, edged with silver and gold, fitted with reflective panels of low reliefs and grotesques in the shape of raptors and wolves.

It was a modern eye that Darius had applied to the redesign of his capital, but he never failed to preserve the spirit of its origins for the more nostalgic. This sentiment extended to various other changes he’d made to Mortos during his reign so far, from the court fashion to the redecoration of the Citadel’s interior itself—a slow purging of the unfortunate massacre that had occurred there.

The coach lowered to a stop inside the courtyard. A guard arrived to open the door, and Darius stepped out onto gravel still moistened from the last spring storm.

The Citadel panted smoke from a pre-lit fire as he entered. His arrival had been heavily anticipated, and the servants had already put together a tea set for him in the drawing room. There was the customary samovar with its pot of burnt honey, vol-au-vents with mushroom and shrimp filling, stinging nettle blini smothered with lingonberry compote, and lemon tea cakes.

He helped himself to one of the miniature yellow cakes, pouring himself a glass of hot tea with squeezed lemon. Then he retreated to the divan, flinging himself atop the serpentine frame as figured hippogriffs peered at him between the scrolls. His fall was cushioned by tufted seats of carmine velvet, plump and rich to his travel-weary form. He took a sip of tea still piping with steam, a bite of cake still moist, and for a moment allowed himself to entertain this pure moment of perfect peace.

“A visitor awaits you, Your Majesty,” his corpse-servant Kirill droned from the shadows.

Darius massaged his temples with a sigh. He knew he would only have one caller at this hour. “Send him through.” He took a sip of tea as the shadow of the figure elongated across his Seraji rug. “It’s been a long journey, Delanus. You’d best make this quick.”

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty,” his prime prefect replied, making cautious strides into the room with his cloak draped along one arm. “I am afraid I was too eager to hear what news you would bring from Soleterea.”

“As disappointing as you might have predicted.” Darius took a bite of lemon cake. “Impératrice Amira has yet another errand for us to run to stay in her good graces, under the threat of embargo.”

“Curse it all!” Delanus clenched his fists, approaching an intricately carved armchair that matched the rest of the furniture. Maintaining a careful distance. A few decades prior he might have taken Darius’s less than modest sprawl as an invitation to observe. But enough time spent serving under his rule had diluted Delanus’s desire into fear—perhaps even more intensely than his predecessor.

“She has tasked me with uncovering some elusive trafficker of chaotic artefacts to humans,” Darius said, one arm tucked beneath his head. An artful pose. He was still as beautiful to Delanus as ever, with his long throat, his doe-like yet angular features. But such a pleasing façade only served to disguise the putrid cruelty festering beneath it. A cruelty that, much unlike his father’s, was committed by a startlingly lucid mind.

“Peddling artefacts to humans?” Delanus scoffed in disbelief. “Who would partake in such indignity?”

Darius chewed delicately on his lemon cake in thought. “I’d consider the pirates again, much like with the moongrass, but even they would be getting their supply from somewhere. Contact the sea wardens and have them on high alert for suspicious activity on the docks. However these artefacts are getting out, they are likely being boarded with inconspicuous cargo. Anyone with a vast amount of ships ought to be considered a suspect.”

“Sounds like a task for your Eagle Eye.” Always the play for Delanus. His answer to everything had become a tiresome excuse to thrust his daughter before Darius’s eyes.

Darius sighed at the notion that he had not already considered that avenue. “Alas, she is currently still patrolling the forests for the infected. However, I may set her on the task to raid the docks with a convocation.”

Delanus made a noncommittal sound, shifting in his seat.

Darius tilted his head in expectancy. “What is it, Delanus?”

“A spy sent me this today. It seemed relevant.” Delanus reached within his kaftan to produce the scroll of a canvas tied with ribbon.

Darius snatched it from his grip and unfurled the scroll. His eyes roved over the dense greenery of the canvas, humidity practically seeping through the fabric. It was no land that could be found in Mortos. “The Parvani Rainforest.” He tapped his lips in thought. “I suppose it’s as good a lead as any. I’ll have to get someone to start searching there. Dominus’s body has been missing for twenty years now, and for twenty years I have sought, and failed, to locate it. Should he be alive and well by some divine intervention, it will be my foremost goal to ensure I find him before anyone else.”