fariare
Luxury ran in his blood. Thick as fresh sap from a mapul tree, sticky as it to. He drank down his fourth glass of dark wine. The sun had yet to reach noon. He had three other beautiful souls in his bed.
This was his Aeterna.
He sighed, setting his chalice down and laid back, head on the chest of a soft-breasted Victusian who he had met the day prior. She snored quietly, cutely.
“What do you have to do today?” One of the others asked, a Decroan with soft, white curls and dark eyes.
“What if we did this all day?” The Victusian sleepily mused, running her hands through Fariare’s raven tresses.
Heavenly fingers, he thought. Heavenly body.
It was probably too soon to be thinking these things again. he reached across the soft, saffron silk to slide a soft hand up her exposed thigh, giving her a gleaming smile, “I’m sure it could be arranged. Plans are not hard to cancel.”
“Not for you. I get the flack for that,” Came a voice from the doorway, soft and understanding despite the words.
Fariare’s heart was smoothed as it always was by the sight.
Far shorter than he was (though he towered amongst most), an entirely different physique. Where Fariare was tall and toned, the other, a comrade of the highest regard, was soft and shaped with delicate curves. He was pale, contrasting against Fariare’s dark skin. One of the other’s eyes reflected a moss like green and the other a molten warm brown. They crinkled at the corners as his full lips pulled into an even warmer smile.
“Markis,” Fariare sat up on the bed, forgetting his other companions. “Where would I be without you?”
“Probably still in this bed.” Markis chuckled from the doorway, sweeping in the room, nodding to Fariare’s companions. “No, but really, you do actually have to do things today.”
Fariare sighed. He supposed if it meant less work for Markis. It was worth it.
Rising, disrupting his companions, he stood up and stretch, basically naked aside from a silk sheet that clung to him, “What is there to do for today, anyway?”
“Lunch with your cousin and sister, dinner with the Lux Deorum. There’s some sort of a large ritual tonight for the new moon as well,” Markis read from a piece of parchment, looking up at Fariare with gleaming eyes. “That’s not so bad, is it?”
“No, not at all,” Fariare sighed. Markis was right. It wasn’t that bad. Really.
Except for his sister but he wasn’t going to mention that.
He led the three beauties from his room, giving them far too long of a kiss goodbye as they filtered back into the bustle of the prepping Palacio Deimos. Fariare retreated, going to his luggage to pull out his personal blend of tea, pulling at a string that hung from the wall. It released a reeded spigot, hot water spilling into a kettle just below. He made the tea silently, stewing with thought, anxiety beginning to bubble up in his throat.
“Have you seen much of my sisters today?” Fariare asked, trying to cut the nervous edge out of his voice. Markis caught it easily, as he always did.
“No more than yesterday,” Markis sighed, rummaging through something behind Fariare. “Which is to say little. She shouldn’t give you too much trouble, especially with Daf and I there as well.”
Fariare watched his tea steep in the clay kettle, bright red bleeding out in the shadows of the pot. His brow furrowed, anxiety twisting in his gut. His sister was his sister, yes, but-
“Fariare.” Markis was suddenly next to him, holding a light green, light-colored shirt. “Change. We will have some tea and then leave, alright? It’ll be over before you know it.”
Fariare nodded, shaking his head. He needed a fat hit of a blunt before leaving, but otherwise, he felt fairly ready. He withdrew a half blunt from his pocket along with a small, unmarked tin. He put the blunt between his lips, dipping his middle finger and thumb into a sticky salve laid in the tin. With a snap, a flame appeared on his fingers, lighting the blunt slowly as he took a deep inhale.
This will help.
Lunch will go well.
Dinner will go well.
And then I’ll go to sleep.
He exhaled.
This will go well.
-------
Lunch went just as well as expected.
Terrible.
Fariare and Markis entered the small banquet room to a table laid fresh with local foods. Soft, fist-sized cherries, warm, dark-colored buns, buttery looking shoots, and root plants, and tender filets of blue-fleshed fish, still steaming. There were other odds and ends, making Fariare’s mouth water.
Daf had already arrived.
Thank the Gods.
“Good afternoon, Fariare,” Daf rose, raising a jingling, adorned arm. She gripped his forearm, he did the same with a bow of the head. “How has your day been?”
“Astounding,” He said, slipping into a cushioned, bowl-like chair. “Almost as good as the night before.”
Daf chuckled, jingling, her metal earrings creating a tinkling sound that rose to the domed room. The copper of her jewelry was alight next to her deep skin. Her frame was lithe, more so than even himself. Far taller too, a few inches past seven feet. Despite this, her clothes were tailored to hang off of her, billowing even when sitting. Her hair was short, tight coils of black and silver framing just down to her chin. A wide nose with soft looking dark eyes. A top her head was a crown of trelk horns, bent into circles, wrapped with leather string, beads of rock and a few feathers.
...
“It is customary,” Fariare and Talides’s mother began, pulling the crown from atop her head, “that you were your marker of status, your crown whenever you are outside of the Tree of Skyward heights. You must always be humble, but you must always show who you are.”
...
They had both heard the message many times before.
But, rarely did Fariare heed it. His crown, a gift from his father many moons ago, was tucked away in an ornate box in his room, carved with the story of the Ancients and their quest. It came with him everywhere, but he never wore his crown. Not like-
His sister.
Talides strode into the room with the grace of someone meant to bear a crown. It was made of gold metal, set with small chunks of krystallin that shone from beneath her long, straight black hair. It wrapped around her skull, not quite joining above her nose. She wore an emerald kaftan, thick jewelry and a silvered nose ring with a chain connecting it to an antique earring.
Looking across the table, Fariare felt less.
He always did.
He sparked his blunt once more as Daf and Talides idly began to chat.
He inhaled.
He exhaled.
And the feeling vanished.
He passed it easily, both Daf and (surprisingly) Talides taking a deep inhale.
“What are your plans today, Fariare?” Talides asked, raising an eyebrow as she passed the blunt back to him, to which he passed it to Markis, who graciously put it out in an ashtray he had remembered to bring.
Bless his soul.
“I have a dinner with the Lux Deorum tonight,” He took a piece of flatbread from one of the platters with a filet of fish and some soft cheese. “I haven’t seen her in the last few days, let alone had a true conversation with her since the last time we came here.”
“You haven’t tried to talk to her since arriving?” Talides raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of dark wine. Fariare stiffened, as did Daf. Markis’s shoulders remained tensionless, but he was already beginning to glare at Talides.
“I have been busy,” He said confidently, a true statement. He spent the first three days in Diamus exploring the town and its beaches, the last four here meeting with other diplomats as they arrived.
“Doing what? Fucking new whores? What a surprise.” Talides sipped her tea, not even looking at Fariare.
“Talides,” Daf warned, glaring. “Not now.”
Markis was bristling next to Fariare, normally calm eyes aflame.
It was how it always began.
And it wasn’t like Fariare didn’t feed into it.
“So, I don’t spend all hours of the day begging at the feet of foreigners, so?” Fariare set down his fork, poised. Markis grabbed his arm, urgingly.
“I’m making connections in a way that’s actually beneficial,” Talides scoffed. “I am the primary heir to the throne of Terran Imperia; they are begging to spend time at my feet.”
Fariare gripped his pants, manicured fingers digging into his legs.
“I am the primary heir to the throne of Terran Imperia.”
“I am the primary heir to the throne of Terran Imperia.”
“I am the primary heir to the throne of Terran Imperia.”
...
Did I use to say that?
He did, perhaps, when he was younger. Before Talides turned cold and inward, and he turned warm and fearful. He was the primary heir, others always told him that he was.
But never proclaimed.
“Stop disrespecting Fariare, Talides,” Markis stood up next to him, soft eyes turned cold and hard. “There is no need for this.”
“Wow! What a surprise that your little servant has to stand up for you,” Talides laughed, sipping her tea. Daf’s eyes were wide, Markis’s mouth had fallen slightly open, a tear or two in his eye.
Servant.
“Take that back,” Fariare stood up, pressing down on Markis’s shoulder so he would sit. His chest ached with the pounding of his heart. “He’s practically family.”
“He wishes he was, so does everyone who has the audacity to be in your bed. All they want is the name. Idilis, never Fariare.” Talides sat back, her long hair streaming down her front. Her lips were painted dark, an eyebrow raised.
Fariare’s mouth had gone dry. He used to be better at this. Retorting to his sister’s ridicule. It had been happening for years. And contrary to one’s initial thought, the continued jabs and stabs only made his ability to shield himself worse. And with time, she got better. Faster.
But he had learned a more powerful skill.
Despite his pounding chest, the hurt and the rage that were swirling.
He smiled.
A dazzling thing, bright and luminous as he sat back down, patting Markis’s arm.
“Honestly, I’m not sure why I even listen to you,” Fariare said, eyes shifting to Daf (still on edge). “Or try to even commune with you when all you try to do is spite me?”
“I wouldn’t do so if it weren’t so easy,” Talides took another sip of tea. “Honestly, Fariare, if you were a proper monarch, even a proper heir, these sorts of comments wouldn’t even phase you.”
“I’m glad I still have a reaction to my blood sister’s cruelty,” Fariare took a sip of his own tea. “It probably makes me a better monarch that I do have a reaction.”
Talides sat back, not retorting, her face blank. Markless as she met Fariare’s eyes. Calculating.
He wishes she looked at him differently.
But that simply was not the case.
? un sURprising!!
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