Page 1 of Milk and Honey

MEL

Five minutes. That was what I always gave myself before I took a deep breath, plastered on the night’s smile, and slipped into The Scarlet Pole for my shift. It was a little pocket of time, a gift of some peace and quiet while I sipped the dregs of my daily latte. I savored that syrupy bottom-of-the-cup goodness before finishing off the best bite of my pain au chocolat—a bougie croissant with some chocolate shoved up the middle—and headed inside.

I carefully tongued a little cinnamon cream off of the corner of my mouth to avoid smudging my dark red lipstick as I tugged the oversized brass handle of the club’s back door. I’d been doing my makeup at home lately, after some of my more expensive products were permanently “borrowed” by the younger girls. A wash of loud, drunken revelry greeted me, a deafening beat all but shaking the walls as I made my way down the service corridor. Mandy must be on stage. Her ongoing joke was that bass-heavy songs were the only thing she wanted between her legs these days, and I couldn’t blame her. That last ex had been a real piece of work until our bouncers put the fear of god in him.

Vic waved me down before I’d even made it to the back. The short, perpetually-stressed Italian gave me the cajoling smile he only pulled out when he wanted something. “Mel! Thank god you’re a little early. Mandy’s exhausted and Jessica called out, can you work a double for me? Some management retreat’s supposed to be swinging by with a bunch of guys later on and you know I can’t have an empty stage.”

I sighed, adjusting the strap of my duffel on my shoulder, already feeling the ache in my feet from future hours on stage. “I mean, I guess, but do you have any shorter heels in the stash? The ones I brought will damn near cripple me if I’m up there too long.”

He nodded eagerly, holding the door of the dressing room open for me and sliding past me to drag out the big bin of shoes and accessories from the closet. Rissa looked up from switching out the balls on her nipple piercings and gave me a grin. Vic was a five-year Scarlet Pole staple and fiercely loyal to his wife Mary, so none of the girls gave a damn if he was in the dressing room, Rissa included. “Good to see you, Mel. You picking up Jess’ sets?”

“Mhm, if Vic can find me a pair of shorter heels that won’t send me straight to the damn chiropractor.” I unzipped my duffel and dangled a sky-high heel from an ankle strap with a pointed look. “I could manage them for the time I was supposed to be on stage, but not more than that.”

She huffed an agreement, giving her piercing a final turn and spinning to inspect it in one of the lighted vanity mirrors ringing the room. “I’m telling you Mel, you should do a set barefoot. Some of these guys tip twice as much for it, and they don’t give a damn if you’re short if your toes are cute.”

Vic sighed behind me, passing me a pair of strappy black leather heels that were much more reasonable in height. “Don’t give her ideas, Ris. I already worry you’re gonna slip or step on something one of those assholes leaves on stage, don’t need two of you giving me agita.”

She laughed in response, pulling on a crop tee so short and tight, the Scarlet Pole logo in the middle was essentially overkill. She stuck her tongue out playfully at Vic as she slid past him to work the floor. Our overworked manager gave me a jaunty salute and headed after her while I got ready and took the stage a few minutes later.

Even though my feet still ached after smiling, spinning, and swiveling my way through twice the sets I’d come prepared for, I made it through the night. I’d have to take a long, hot bath tonight as an apology to my body, but I kept the money in mind with every wincing step out to my car, promising myself an extra fancy latte before my next shift.

I yawned and rested my forehead on the steering wheel of my ancient sedan before shoving the key in the ignition. The sodium-yellow lights of the parking lot just made the nearly-full moon overhead look that much brighter through the windshield, coaxing a genuine smile out of me. One of these nights I needed to take off, go star gazing the way I used to, decompress a little.

But for now? I had glitter in places no glitter should be, that bath was calling my name, and my bed was just about the sexiest thing I could think of.

ELIM

The dark was always beautiful, but less so when it painted the walls of my cell. I wrinkled my nose at the damp grey stone of my largely-underground cell, lit by a few wan strands of the moonlight struggling through the window. Iron-barred, of course, because my uncle was no fool. Soon enough harsh sunlight would be pouring through those columns of vile metal, heralding the execution that would remove his last obstacle to the throne: me.

I growled with frustration, shoving my hands through my hair: shamefully close-cropped now, my ceremonial braid lopped off in the pre-death ritual. That was the moment it’d sunk in that I was in real trouble: Vanor had sneered and dangled my braid like a prized mud-fish after his shortsword made the cut, taking it for a trophy. Boot-licking guttersnipes, he and Jerid both, so eager to throw down their loyalty to put their father on the throne in place of my own.

The Unseelie court was rougher than that of our sun-soaked highborne cousins, as we had the decency to be upfront with our backstabbing. That, more than anything, was what troubled me about all this—the duplicitous scheming instead of a proper open contest for authority. Disrespectful, honestly. Sinking onto the worn wooden bench, I sighed as my feathery black hair danced around my palms and sharp black talons, tickling against the points of my ears as I glanced out at the bars again. My entire plan of escape had relied on those bars being anything but iron, and hopelessness roosted like a raven in my chest.

The sound of a stray pebble careening down the stairs beyond the barred gate stirred me from thoughts of my imminent demise. A soft sob preceded the slender form of Glade, my fallen brother’s child, as she rushed down the steps, eyes going wide as she spotted me. “Uncle Elim! Uncle-oh! No! They’ve cut you!”

I ruffled my short hair and managed an uncaring shrug, not wishing to alarm her further. I had a deep and abiding tenderness for my little niece, and had watched out for her since her father Perikar had been struck down in battle alongside our cousins, a history I now heavily doubted given my current predicament. The little spore was, through no fault of her own, half-highborne, a product of my brother’s peculiar tastes in women. A mop of golden curls made Glade a pariah among the dark-haired Unseelie, but Perikar and I had loved her all the same. My fondness at seeing her one last time before my execution eroded as I realized what she was wearing. The lacy cover of a mushroom veil was pinned askew on her fair brow, likely dislodged on her barefoot sprint here.

I stood and stepped close to the barred front of my cell, beckoning her closer. “Don’t fret, I’m not hurt. Little spore, why in the seven soils are you wearing a veil? Are you playing a make-believe game with the others?” Even as I asked, my stomach sank like a cold stone: she wouldn’t be crying if she’d been playing, nor would she seem so frantic to find me.

“Oh Uncle Elim! Great Uncle Gretvir says I must marry him! Jerid came and took me from the tree, I screamed and screamed and he hurt my arm dragging me to the Shadow Court. All these ladies held me down while they tried to braid moss in my hair and they tied the veil on b-but I got away and ran.They said you’d been brought here but oh the stars your hair Uncle Elim!” A fresh wave of sobs wracked her thin form, clad only in a thin linen shift, and she looked at me with such grief and misery my heart panged. Hair held a great deal of societal importance, both here in the Unseelie realm and in Glade’s mother’s lands, and my niece had never seen a shorn fae before. Her distress at my appearance, however, was overtaken by a rising rage at the news she’d delivered.

Yes, I’d expected Gretvir to do some heinous things after wresting the throne from me, but Glade was a child. Perikar would have had our Uncle’s head for even suggesting such a foul thing as this union, but now that my brother nourished the soil, the duty fell to me, for all the good that did. I carefully slid a hand between the bars to stroke Glade’s downturned head, swallowing a hiss as a careless movement of my wrist brushed the unforgiving iron. “Little spore, listen to me. You will not be wed to Gretvir, I will not allow it. If you marry, you will marry when you’ve grown, and for love, not duty. I need you to be brave now, and do as I say. Can you do that?” A hasty plan to keep her safe, at least, began to form.

Glade tipped her head up and sniffled loudly, big blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Big words, Elim. How in the deepsoil do you intend to protect her once you’re dead? I shook off the snide voice of doom and set my jaw, doing my best to look regal and strong. “Glade, you must hurry to your mother’s lands. Peri-” I allowed myself a moment of grief as it welled up in my throat, thinking of the day we surrendered my brother back to the soil. “Your father’s issue, the things we laid with him to rest, I need you to be a brave girl and go to his tomb, take those for yourself—the sword, the cloak. Rest there with his memory, and in the morning get to your mother.”

Glade had already begun to shake her head in protest. While he lived, Perikar’s wounded heart had villainized his highborne lover, the one that had left their daughter in a basket at the edge of our woods, alongside a folded letter as if she was a market delivery. The highborne are cruel and dangerous, he counseled our little halfling as she grew, and never to be trusted with one’s heart. My brother’s ego had done his daughter a disservice, but any hopes I had to undo that over time had just been swallowed whole by unexpected mutiny.

“Listen to me, Glade. You must. You must be my brave girl, or I-” No, she didn’t need that weight on her small shoulders. Let her put all her thoughts to speed and safety, not her soon-to-be former uncle in agony. “You simply must. The sooner you get to your mother and the Highborne, the sooner I can join you and we can plot to usurp that awful Gretvir, right?”

Glade shivered and hugged herself, eyes still uncertain but more determined than they’d been moments ago. I only hoped she’d survive the uncertain journey; her mother’s people were not built for the damp, and even Perikar’s blood in her veins only offered so much protection against the chill. As I thought about the long, difficult journey ahead of her, I was grateful my brother’s burial ceremony had been sparsely attended; neither my Uncle or cousins knew where he lay, or what we’d tucked into his tomb for safekeeping.

I closed my eyes and sent up a silent prayer to the night that the Highborne wouldn’t turn my little spore away at the gate. Still, even living wild in the forests would be a better life than becoming a child-bride to my traitorous wretch of an uncle. I hoped with my last shred of faith that Gretvir only intended a political alliance, but faith wouldn’t keep my niece safe. I would.

I crouched, getting myself eye-level with Glade so she understood my urgency. “Hurry, little spore, go quickly. Know that I love you, and I’ll pray the seven soils keep you hidden. Find your mother, tell her all that’s happened here, and she might have some allies in the High Court willing to help.”

Glade sniffled loudly, hugging herself and biting at her bottom lip before hesitantly nodding. Her foot had barely touched the bottom step before she spun and rushed back to me, reaching under the neck of her dress. “Here. Here, Uncle Elim. I’ll tell them to save you, I’ll tell them to look for this. I ran away right after they put it on.” With a sharp jerk of her hand and a whisper of metal, I looked down to find my freedom in my niece’s small palm: a shard-of-night, glowing a deep blue amid a pooled silver chain.

I stared at the pendant as she carefully tipped it into my palm as if it was an ordinary crystal, and not one of only two in the entire kingdom. One of the literal keys to the throne, no Fae could command our realm without the pair in hand; one was typically given to each of two monarchs as a defense against the very treachery that had imprisoned me. It was also ritualistically worn as part of the marriage ceremony, but they clearly hadn’t planned for my niece’s speed and bravery. I gave her a fond smile, clouds unfurling from the moon of my heart.

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