Chapter 35: Questions Thy Lady
The scent of jasmine and sex still clung to the air, though the chambermaids had been in at dawn to stir the hearth and leave a pot of bitter kaffa steaming on the sideboard. Elara stood before a gilded mirror, the morning light filtering through the high stained-glass windows and painting her skin in fractured hues of ruby and cobalt.
She was wrestling with the back fastenings of a new dress, a deep emerald thing the castle tailors had delivered yesterday. It was beautiful, but it was armor—structured bodice, modest neckline, layers of tulle beneath the skirt. It whispered ‘royal consort’, not ‘Elara’. Her fingers, still feeling clumsy with residual pleasure, fumbled with a tiny hook.
The main door to the suite swung open without a knock. Vesper strode in, a slate-gray tablet tucked under their arm, their ashy eyes scanning the room with efficient calm. They stopped short at the sight of Elara’s reflection.
“Struggling with the uniform already?” Vesper’s voice was dry as parchment. They set the tablet down and walked over, their slender, prehensile tail snaking out to gently bat Elara’s trembling hands away. “Allow me. Your Majesty’s liege-in-waiting is also, regrettably, an expert in impractical closures.”
Elara let out a relieved sigh, dropping her arms. “It’s suffocating.”
“It’s politics.” Vesper’s deft fingers made quick work of the hooks. “The tailors are terrified of you. They’re used to crafting for our Queen, who exudes ‘bow or be devoured’. You? You exude ‘please tell me your problems over a cup of tea’. It confuses their needles.” They gave a final pat. “There. Now you look like a very expensive vase.”
Elara turned, a smile touching her lips. “Charming as ever, Vesper.”
“It’s my primary function.” They leaned against the dresser, picking a piece of lint off their own tailored jacket. “I heard about the deliveries yesterday. The gossip in the servants’ halls is that you’ve started a shadow cabinet with gift-giving as the initiation ritual.”
“It wasn’t a cabinet. It was… confusing.” Elara moved to the divan where the gifts still sat, meticulously arranged by the staff. She picked up the dagger hilts, now sheathed with their dark, rune-etched blades. The weight was familiar now, comforting. “The smiths’ guild sent these. The blades separately. They fit perfectly.”
Vesper’s flint-colored eyes sharpened. They took the offered weapon, drawing the blade halfway. The blue runes pulsed in the dim light. “Night-Smith commune work. Old magic. Defensive, keyed to your essence.” They slid it back with a soft click. “This isn’t a gift. It’s a statement. They’re pledging to your personal guard. That’s significant.”
“That’s what Lilith said.” Elara hugged the sheathed dagger to her chest. “She said I could be a voice. For the people she can’t reach. The humans, the hybrids, the lower borough demons. That I could make real change.”
She looked up, her golden eyes vulnerable. “I need your advice. Not as the Queen’s assistant. As my friend. As someone from… what was it? The middle caste. If the Twilight Fae want to dress me and the smith mages want to defend me…” She trailed off, searching for the words. “Would I be a good voice? Or just a pretty symbol they’re polishing?”
Vper was silent for a long moment. They walked to the window, their silhouette framed by the chaotic, beautiful spires of the demon city below.
“Lilith is a monument,” they said finally, their voice softer than usual. “We admire monuments. We fear them. We rarely tell them our truths. You were a person who cleaned this room. You understand the grain of the wood under the polish.” They turned back. “The tailor’s terror is your greatest asset. You unsettle the existing order. That is the only way anything ever changes here. So yes. You could be a devastatingly good voice. Because you might actually listen.”
The truth of it settled in Elara’s bones, warmer than the kaffa. “Okay,” she breathed.
“Good.” Vesper’s business-like tone returned. They stepped closer, their sharp gaze cataloging Elara. They reached out, a cool finger hovering just above the neckline of the emerald dress, where a constellation of faint purple marks disappeared beneath the fabric. “Speaking of unsettling the order. You’re wearing the Queen’s signature rather boldly this morning.”
Elara’s hand flew to her neck, a flush heating her cheeks. “They’ll fade.”
“They always do. Until the next time.” Vesper smirked. “Lilith-drunk. It’s a known condition. A slippery, delicious addiction for her lovers. Leaves them blissful and useless for hours.”
“Shouldn’t I be a little obsessed with my future wife?” Elara retorted, the words leaving her lips with a defiant, happy glow.
The air in the room changed.
Vesper went utterly still. Their tail, which had been lazily coiling around a bedpost, froze mid-motion. “Future wife,” they repeated, the words flat.
Elara’s eyes widened. “Oh. I thought you knew. With all the ‘princess’ talk…”
“Suspicion and confirmation are continents apart, my dear.” Vesper’s composure shattered into pure, undiluted glee. They clapped their hands together once, a sharp, delighted sound. “You’re engaged! To the Queen!” They surged forward, grabbing Elara’s left hand and staring at it. Their face fell. “Where is it? It must be astral. Or a brand. Or a cursed artifact of unimaginable beauty. Let me see.”
Elara laughed, pulling her hand back. “There’s no ring. Not yet.”
Vesper blinked. “No ring. You are engaged to the millennia-old Queen of Lust, a being of immeasurable power and theatricality, and there is no ring?” They looked personally offended. “That is cosmically wrong. It’s a missed opportunity for a statement. A burning circlet. A band of solidified shadow. Something.”
“We haven’t gotten to it,” Elara said, shrugging, but a tiny thread of self-consciousness wound through her. Vesper had a point.
“Unacceptable.” Vesper was already pacing, their mind whirring. “We will rectify this. Discreetly. I know a jeweler in the Obsidian Bazaar who works with captured starlight and acceptable levels of sentient malice.” They stopped, pointing a finger at Elara. “But first, you have a role to solidify. Voices need to speak. When are you planning to go listen?”
Elara looked out the window, at the sprawling, teeming city below. She thought of the folios of laws, the weight of the dagger on her hip, the feeling of dissolving fae silk. She thought of Lilith’s ancient loneliness and the hopeful, dangerous gifts now sitting in her room.
“Today,” Elara said, the decision crystallizing as she said it. “The lower market. The one near the guild halls.”
A genuine, warm smile spread across Vesper’s twilight features. “Finally. I’ll arrange an ‘unofficial’ escort. Two guards from the household, not the royal regiment. They’ll look like interested friends. Wear something less… vase-like.”
Elara glanced down at the stiff emerald gown. “What should I wear?”
Vesper’s tail tapped the charcoal garment bag from the fae, still hanging on a nearby screen. “Wear the statement. The one that makes you feel powerful. You’re not going down there as a servant or a porcelain consort.” They headed for the door, already tapping on their tablet. “You’re going down as the woman who is going to marry the Queen. They should see what that looks like.”
The door shut behind them.
Alone again, Elara walked to the screen. She touched the silk of the fae gown, which had been magically restored and re-hung. It felt cool, alive. Vesper was right. She pulled it down.
This time, when she put it on, she did not feel like a gift being unwrapped. She felt like a standard being raised. The twilight fabric clung and shimmered, a piece of the night sky she could command. She buckled the dagger’s sheath to her thigh, hidden by the flowing skirt. A secret weight. A promise.
She looked in the mirror. A succubus with a kind heart and a brat’s smile, dressed in stolen starlight, armed with a rebel’s blade. She didn’t look like a voice yet.
But she looked ready to learn how to use one.