The slide of silk against skin was more delicious than the wine. And the wine was unparalleled, but that was only to be expected for a gathering of any size that was hosted by High Lord Cavish. Even his garden parties were lavish affairs. Music washed out from the ballroom across the manicured lawn and flower beds, mixing with the sounds of soft conversations and occasional laughter. With the gathered nobility all clustered together there was no shortage of lovely people. But there was one who stood out from the crowd, simply because no-one knew who she was. Noble, of course. One had to be to have an invitation, let alone the features she possessed. But no name was ever given beyond ‘Darling’, and every attempt to divine beyond that was skillfully brushed aside. The most information about her was that she was a far flung cousin from the Quaice line, enjoying these last three summers at the parties her aunt and older male cousin declined to attend.

Though she was taller than most women there, she still stood half a head under the majority of the men. Her slim grace made her seem taller however, along with the draping mass of small black curls that cascaded down the back of her neck from the updo her hair was swept in. Dark soulful eyes watched and twinkled in merriment from behind a lace fan, peeking from under long and thick lashes. A beauty mark just under the corner of an eye invited lingering glances to dance over her tan skin.

Yirel laughed at the flat joke of a lesser lord, because that’s just what one did. Taking a sip of his wine, he fluttered his fan and made an excuse to step away. The heavy silk brocade gown dragged and whispered against his thighs, and he sighed softly with the simple pleasure of it. Combined with the thrill of pretending to be someone he wasn’t, and the wine, it was a heady thing to indulge in. He paused at another group of men and women, seamlessly pulling himself into the conversation and enjoying the gossip. The woman shared conspiratorial glances and giggles while the men flirted shamelessly.

He knew countless eyes followed him and hungered for what they thought he was. Yirel loved it. When one Lord asked him to dance, he smiled and set his wine glass aside, letting himself be whisked away towards the dance floor that had been set out. The lavender and smoke-grey dress billowed out around his legs as he joined in the twirling steps, hands resting on the strong arms that held him closer than was necessary.

If they knew, if anyone knew, it would ruin him. But he couldn’t stop himself from donning the fineries of ladies and pretending. It was too delicious a sensation to ignore, to deny. The rest of the year he’d go back to his regular life as the young Lord Quaice, but for a few glittering weeks, he was ‘Darling’.

“I could give you a warm home, Darling, supply you with the finest silks and gems,” The lord breathed into his ear. “Why do you keep up this game? Be mine and I will give you the world.”

Yirel shivered and licked his lips, careful not to smear the color. “But the game is half the fun, I would say. I’m young yet, and have time enough to enjoy myself.”

“Yes, but not forever. You deserve to be here in the capital all year ‘round, a crowning jewel on a suitable man’s arm.”

“And that arm would be yours?”

“Of course.”

“Mhm. You and at least half of Societies Gentlemen think that too.” He smiled and pressed in closer with the next spin, glad that the undergarments he wore kept him held close and wouldn’t let his arousal give him away. Oh, he could enjoy any number of men’s beds if he and they wished, go without the elaborate game of teasing and keeping them at arms’ length, but it didn’t have the same appeal. Maybe he was wicked in his heart for that. But this illicit excitement called to him. “What if I don’t want to be just another jewel in a box? I’d rather be a bird, free to flit from perch to perch,” he said with a charming smile.

The lord grunted in response and Yirel laughed.

That evening was spent like so many others before, dancing and drinking, flirting without any intention of taking it beyond that. Men tried to capture a promise, a name, or more from his lips but he left them wanting each time. When he climbed into his carriage in the early hours of the morning he was tired but happy. The eyes that had followed him all night watched him leave, but none so closely as the Lord Cavish himself. ~
In some ways it was laughable that he had to sneak back into his own home. But he’d rather creep in and make his way to his room without the servants all waking up and fussing over him. No matter that his activities were more or less an open secret in these walls. He paid his people well for their silence, and avoided entangling them in his depravities. And thankfully, he only had a handful of mortal servants, for things like the cooking and managing the house. The rest were arcane constructs, only capable of following simple instructions.

It was once such servant that was waiting for him in his rooms, standing in the corner with an infinite patience that only automatons could muster. Closing the door behind himself, Yirel sighed and made a small motion to ‘wake’ him. “Come help me from this dress, Sprig.”

The servant stepped forward as Yirel turned his back to it and began removing the jewelry he’d worn that night, placing each piece carefully back into it’s velvet box waiting on the dressing table. Porcelain fingers began the task of undoing the laces and buttons at the back of the dress, surprisingly nimble.

Yirel didn’t give him much thought, beyond his own amusement at calling it a ‘him’. The cast bronze face was carefully ambiguous, neither masculine or feminine, with stoic features. The cast bronze and porcelain body was likewise featureless, rather like a doll.

The dress loosened and slipped from his shoulders, and he stepped out from the pool of silk, careful not to trod on it. That too was carefully placed back into a box and stashed away before he sat down in front of his dressing table and continued to dismantle his illusion. Pins and ribbons were pulled from his hair and set aside before he took a brush to the small black curls. Next the cosmetics were washed from his face, and before long he was looking at himself in the mirror again. It didn’t take much to turn his already delicate features into those of Darling, just some color to the lips, a bit of kohl around the eyes and rouge on the cheeks.

The slippers came off next and were summarily put away, leaving him in nothing but silken stockings, garter and lace panties. Yirel dropped into bed and sighed, his long hair splayed out around him on the pillows.

As he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts were a mix of euphoric triumph, and nagging worry. How much longer did he have to play his little game of deception? He couldn’t keep doing this forever, he knew that much. No matter that he found more joy in it than nearly anything else. Would this be his last year to enjoy the glow of attention as Darling?
~
The next day he woke late into the morning, nearly noon. Stripping away the last of last nights’ costume, he redressed in the proper clothing as befitted a young Lord. Dark sable trousers, a crisp white linen shirt with a fitted satin vest the red-brown color of old blood. Tucking a pocket watch into the front, with the copper chain hanging in a fashionable curve outside of it. He trapsed downstairs to his office, and took up the first letter from a stack on the corner, dropping lazily into his chair and opening it as he pulled his breakfast plate closer.

Buttered rolls stuffed with bacon, potatoes, eggs and cheese were dispatched along with replies to the various missives. Most were easy to deal with, a simple matter of agreeing to deals previously negotiated and arranging dates to continue such talks. His estate was a relatively small one, but one that provided much needed resources from both farming and mining.

Yirel responded almost mindlessly to those. But the one from his mother took more time and attention.

My Dearest Son,
How does the Capital treat you? I dare say I do not miss it at all, with the smallest exception of a certain cafe.

He chuckled and made a note to send a box of treats to her. Madam Trevaine’s tarts had long been a favorite of them both.

I am so much better suited to country life, and the villages are so delightful to visit this time of year. I know you’ve never been one for rural living, but I would so love to have you visit soon. I would make the trip back, but the healers -and my own sensibilities- warn against any significant travel.
That being said, I have been keeping up with the news that flows to me here, and oh what exciting news there is! Tell me, is it true that the Lords Kelva and Harmon are to join their houses? Those two have been dancing around the issue for years, and now without warning I hear they have finally taken the plunge! You simply must tell me what you know of this. Is there any gossip for how they will acquire an heir? Adoption from either of their lines seems to be the most obvious choice of course, but they have never really done anything as expected, have they?
And speaking of unexpected news, I hear that your noteworthy Darling Cousin has once again brightened the dance floors of the gentry? I simply cannot fathom which one of the multitude it could be, and your silence on the matter is both noble and exacerbating.

He fiddled with the paper and leaned back, pushing down the wave of guilt he felt for lying to his mother. The less people who knew the better, even if he was relatively sure she wouldn’t damn him for it. Rubbing his face he leaned forward and continued to read.

Suffice it to say that I am brimming with curiosity over the matter.
I won’t badger you for the girls’ identity, though if there is ever a time when she allows herself to be known you simply must let me know at once. Even if she is not out to climb the ranks of Society, I still implore you to keep a protective eye on her affairs. There is nothing wrong in enjoying the entertainments of the Capital, but we know better than to let that enjoyment overshadow good sense, and that the so-called ‘Gentlemen’ of rank do not always take kindly to being toyed with.
Oh dear, I’ve gone and injected a foul mood on what was supposed to be a light hearted letter. Here, let me now tell you about all the silly adventures that living in our country home provides! Not even a week ago I was out for a walk in the moors when I was accosted by a magpie of all creatures!

The rest of the letter was exactly as light and humorous as was to be expected of his mother, and he read it with a smile. Though, the warning for his ‘Darling Cousin’ took root in his heart.

After the letters were read and replied to and sent out -with the exception of his mothers, as he wanted to send her reply on with a box of sweets- Yirel took his leave of the town house and got on with his day. He had two meetings at the houses of his peers, and the resentful duty of visiting his fathers crypt to offer prayers. There was nothing he wanted to do less than honor the miserable bastard, but his sense of familial duty kept him from neglecting the task. The priest was non-committal in his bare bones offering of incense, thankfully. The previous Lord Quaice was due far more in accordance to his station, but the man had never done much to engender a sense of love or even being liked. He got what he got, and that was just enough to appease the dead and keep his ire from striking him.

The visit to Trevaine’s cafe was a much needed palette cleanser after that, and he paid the extra for a stasis box to keep the pastries at their best as they were taken to his mother. Another, non enchanted box was sent back to his home as well. Enough for him and the servants to enjoy. Then it was off to those meetings, and the myriad of other small errands that always popped up through a day. He was diligent in his work, though admittedly by the time that the sun was slipping towards the horizon he was distracted. Another party waited, another chance to steal a few hours of shameful glee.