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birthrightgreenThe spa had helped a bit. Not a lot, not as much as Daemon had probably hoped when he set up the appointments. There were still knots in her shoulders that the masseuse had clucked over reprovingly, but finally had to give up on when, after she smoothed them away with Craft, they reformed before she'd finished with her lower back.
She couldn't help it though. Lu's words kept reeling through her head, so at odds with what Sam seemed to see and she felt caught in a very silky web of deceit and wondered if she was the fly. Already confused at their world, the mixed messages swirling around her made it so much worse. He'd seemed...last night he'd seemed...
But then Lu had said and everything she'd hoped had shattered with those two phrases.
Beloved. Life partner. Only not married because she didn't believe in the ceremony.
A man who hadn't yet decided who he wanted to build a life with, Surreal could handle. A man not ready to settle down, still playing the field, she understood.
It's not like she was certain she wanted to build her life with him, yet either. But she could see the possibility. She could see the chance of it, what their life could look like. But if he'd already made that choice...then she'd been right. There really was no place for her there.
It hurt, knife to the gut hurt and there seemed to be a permanent lump in her throat. The masseuse had tried to soothe her, seeming to sense her mood. Probably some sort of empathic talent. A Healer, definitely. It had helped. She wasn't fighting hysteria. It was colder than that. Numbness almost. A detached sense where she could look at her nails and smile at the manicurist with a smile that even got to her eyes. She could wiggle her now scarlet toes in the lush carpet with a luxurious sigh, and close her eyes and relish the cool tingle of the cucumbers resting over them.
She could manage small talk with the stationer, ordering calling cards. She could bow and nod in the streets as she passed people she recognized.
She even managed to laugh at Prince Rainier's jokes when he hailed her and treated her to coffee and all the latest gossip. The gossip was useful, and she paid close attention, her mind filing the information away. He must have noted the intent look in her eye, because he casually shifted the conversation to the goings on in other Courts and some of the new immigrants he'd met. She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. Jaenelle didn't choose stupid males to be members of her Court. Whether he knew why she wanted to know, or was doing his own covert operations for Jaenelle, he could prove to be a valuable ally here.
He shifted back to upcoming social events, asking if she was planning to be in town for any of them. She smiled, still not sure when exactly she'd make the move, but mentioned a couple in a week or two she wouldn't mind attending. He promised to secure invitations, offering to escort her to the first, see she was introduced.
She wavered then, uncertain, not trusting the motives of any male at the moment.
"As friends, Lady Surreal." How in the name of Darkness did he know what she was thinking? His smile was easy, charming as he sipped his coffee. "Two members of Jaenelle's Court." His eyes flitted away from her, distracted by a passing figure, admiration sharp. She looked in irritation. After all, friends or no, the man really shouldn't be looking elsewhere when she was there. But it was the figure of a slim blond Warlord she saw. One who nodded to Rainier with a slight blush on his cheeks before hurrying on. Looking back at Rainier, she relaxed. If he could be distracted from her by a pretty male face, then perhaps they could be friends. Clearly he had his mind elsewhere, and that was just fine with her.
"I'd like that," she finally accepted with a smile.
It was settled, date and time, and she took her leave. The numbness was still there, and alone, away from the distractions, it hurt even more, almost choking her. She made it through the doors of the townhouse before the tears started, hot against skin that was far too cold. The maid looked up, concerned.
"Lady Surreal...?"
She shook her head, hurrying upstairs. She'd told them before she went that she'd be moving in. That there was authorization to hire more staff, to be prepared for the season, possibly even to entertain. They wanted to get her tea, wanted to get her nutcakes, something, the males all turning protective and fretful at the sight of her tears, but she told them to leave, to just go.
She wanted to be alone. She understood alone. Alone was better. It didn't hurt like this, didn't cause dreams to grow only to knock them down with three little words.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, to be beguiled by pretty words and warm hands and a touch that even now made her weak in the knees just to think of it. Stupid, this craving that went deep and made her want to cry out that she didn't care. If a whore was what he wanted, she'd been that. She could be that. Just don't go. Don't leave. And she knew even as she thought it that he wasn't. It wasn't him. Wasn't Luella. They didn't mind. They saw the world differently, saw it in shades of colors that she didn't know existed and couldn't seem to grasp. If he had a partner, then he didn't need her for that. He needed her for what the partner didn't provide. He needed her for the thing that men had always wanted her for.
But his words were so pretty. His eyes so sincere, arms so warm, telling her how much he loved her. How much he needed her. How afraid he was she'd leave him. That she'd go. As if he'd be all alone if she did.
But he wouldn't. Beloved. Life partner. He'd chosen already. He'd found someone to build his life with. He needed her, all right. For what was between her legs. And he'd told her all of that to get it. Centuries of watching men, of hearing their lies, and yet his eyes. How did you fake that level of love? Of adoration? Easily, she knew. She'd played the game.
"Some men die for love. Others for lack of it. Think about it, Surreal." She'd thought and she'd learned and she'd played it well.
And yet she'd let herself be played.
Even as her rational mind spat curses at him for making her love him, making her believe, the part that wanted to believe kept asking why. He'd had her in his bed. Casual lovers, with amazing sex. He'd had that already. He had his whore, and since she was getting quite the physical benefit for it, she'd been happy enough. Liked him. Respected him. Loved what his body could do to hers and the way he made her feel alive, breathless with a touch. He'd had that, so why up the stakes? Why ask her to move in with him? Why convince her to take rooms at the Tower? Why be so afraid for her safety, so concerned she'd be hurt that he shook the way he did. So afraid of losing her that he was near falling apart last night. Why? To play with her? Was it power? To see how far he could push her? What he could get from her?
And she'd given him everything. Body. Heart. Soul. His for the taking in a way she'd never been for any man.
Beloved.
But he'd already chosen.
The pain nearly choked her again and she wondered if this was what the threshhold to the Twisted Kingdom felt like. But it didn't. She knew pain. Had felt it when she...this choking. She knew it. When she'd found Titian dead. When the male had dragged her to a bed in an alley room and speared her viciously. Pain spiraling out, physical and emotional and shattered, and yet knowing. Somewhere detached and watching and mocking any despair that threatened to well.
All of this over a male? And sure knowing that it was as much fury at herself for being vulnerable. Knowing that the anger of the day before was right there, spiraling up and burning through the numbness and the ice, heated and she didn't know who she was angrier at or what hurt more.
And that small, still, voice that asked, Now what?
She didn't know. She couldn't stay. She didn't know how to go. She didn't know anything. Didn't know...couldn't. Wouldn't. Would.
She finally surrendered to the confusion, the pain, curling up in her favorite windowseat, drawing the curtains, and sobbing into her freshly manicured hands.
She couldn't help it though. Lu's words kept reeling through her head, so at odds with what Sam seemed to see and she felt caught in a very silky web of deceit and wondered if she was the fly. Already confused at their world, the mixed messages swirling around her made it so much worse. He'd seemed...last night he'd seemed...
But then Lu had said and everything she'd hoped had shattered with those two phrases.
Beloved. Life partner. Only not married because she didn't believe in the ceremony.
A man who hadn't yet decided who he wanted to build a life with, Surreal could handle. A man not ready to settle down, still playing the field, she understood.
It's not like she was certain she wanted to build her life with him, yet either. But she could see the possibility. She could see the chance of it, what their life could look like. But if he'd already made that choice...then she'd been right. There really was no place for her there.
It hurt, knife to the gut hurt and there seemed to be a permanent lump in her throat. The masseuse had tried to soothe her, seeming to sense her mood. Probably some sort of empathic talent. A Healer, definitely. It had helped. She wasn't fighting hysteria. It was colder than that. Numbness almost. A detached sense where she could look at her nails and smile at the manicurist with a smile that even got to her eyes. She could wiggle her now scarlet toes in the lush carpet with a luxurious sigh, and close her eyes and relish the cool tingle of the cucumbers resting over them.
She could manage small talk with the stationer, ordering calling cards. She could bow and nod in the streets as she passed people she recognized.
She even managed to laugh at Prince Rainier's jokes when he hailed her and treated her to coffee and all the latest gossip. The gossip was useful, and she paid close attention, her mind filing the information away. He must have noted the intent look in her eye, because he casually shifted the conversation to the goings on in other Courts and some of the new immigrants he'd met. She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. Jaenelle didn't choose stupid males to be members of her Court. Whether he knew why she wanted to know, or was doing his own covert operations for Jaenelle, he could prove to be a valuable ally here.
He shifted back to upcoming social events, asking if she was planning to be in town for any of them. She smiled, still not sure when exactly she'd make the move, but mentioned a couple in a week or two she wouldn't mind attending. He promised to secure invitations, offering to escort her to the first, see she was introduced.
She wavered then, uncertain, not trusting the motives of any male at the moment.
"As friends, Lady Surreal." How in the name of Darkness did he know what she was thinking? His smile was easy, charming as he sipped his coffee. "Two members of Jaenelle's Court." His eyes flitted away from her, distracted by a passing figure, admiration sharp. She looked in irritation. After all, friends or no, the man really shouldn't be looking elsewhere when she was there. But it was the figure of a slim blond Warlord she saw. One who nodded to Rainier with a slight blush on his cheeks before hurrying on. Looking back at Rainier, she relaxed. If he could be distracted from her by a pretty male face, then perhaps they could be friends. Clearly he had his mind elsewhere, and that was just fine with her.
"I'd like that," she finally accepted with a smile.
It was settled, date and time, and she took her leave. The numbness was still there, and alone, away from the distractions, it hurt even more, almost choking her. She made it through the doors of the townhouse before the tears started, hot against skin that was far too cold. The maid looked up, concerned.
"Lady Surreal...?"
She shook her head, hurrying upstairs. She'd told them before she went that she'd be moving in. That there was authorization to hire more staff, to be prepared for the season, possibly even to entertain. They wanted to get her tea, wanted to get her nutcakes, something, the males all turning protective and fretful at the sight of her tears, but she told them to leave, to just go.
She wanted to be alone. She understood alone. Alone was better. It didn't hurt like this, didn't cause dreams to grow only to knock them down with three little words.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, to be beguiled by pretty words and warm hands and a touch that even now made her weak in the knees just to think of it. Stupid, this craving that went deep and made her want to cry out that she didn't care. If a whore was what he wanted, she'd been that. She could be that. Just don't go. Don't leave. And she knew even as she thought it that he wasn't. It wasn't him. Wasn't Luella. They didn't mind. They saw the world differently, saw it in shades of colors that she didn't know existed and couldn't seem to grasp. If he had a partner, then he didn't need her for that. He needed her for what the partner didn't provide. He needed her for the thing that men had always wanted her for.
But his words were so pretty. His eyes so sincere, arms so warm, telling her how much he loved her. How much he needed her. How afraid he was she'd leave him. That she'd go. As if he'd be all alone if she did.
But he wouldn't. Beloved. Life partner. He'd chosen already. He'd found someone to build his life with. He needed her, all right. For what was between her legs. And he'd told her all of that to get it. Centuries of watching men, of hearing their lies, and yet his eyes. How did you fake that level of love? Of adoration? Easily, she knew. She'd played the game.
"Some men die for love. Others for lack of it. Think about it, Surreal." She'd thought and she'd learned and she'd played it well.
And yet she'd let herself be played.
Even as her rational mind spat curses at him for making her love him, making her believe, the part that wanted to believe kept asking why. He'd had her in his bed. Casual lovers, with amazing sex. He'd had that already. He had his whore, and since she was getting quite the physical benefit for it, she'd been happy enough. Liked him. Respected him. Loved what his body could do to hers and the way he made her feel alive, breathless with a touch. He'd had that, so why up the stakes? Why ask her to move in with him? Why convince her to take rooms at the Tower? Why be so afraid for her safety, so concerned she'd be hurt that he shook the way he did. So afraid of losing her that he was near falling apart last night. Why? To play with her? Was it power? To see how far he could push her? What he could get from her?
And she'd given him everything. Body. Heart. Soul. His for the taking in a way she'd never been for any man.
Beloved.
But he'd already chosen.
The pain nearly choked her again and she wondered if this was what the threshhold to the Twisted Kingdom felt like. But it didn't. She knew pain. Had felt it when she...this choking. She knew it. When she'd found Titian dead. When the male had dragged her to a bed in an alley room and speared her viciously. Pain spiraling out, physical and emotional and shattered, and yet knowing. Somewhere detached and watching and mocking any despair that threatened to well.
All of this over a male? And sure knowing that it was as much fury at herself for being vulnerable. Knowing that the anger of the day before was right there, spiraling up and burning through the numbness and the ice, heated and she didn't know who she was angrier at or what hurt more.
And that small, still, voice that asked, Now what?
She didn't know. She couldn't stay. She didn't know how to go. She didn't know anything. Didn't know...couldn't. Wouldn't. Would.
She finally surrendered to the confusion, the pain, curling up in her favorite windowseat, drawing the curtains, and sobbing into her freshly manicured hands.
