Page 4 of Milk and Honey

Much to my dismay, the goddess frowned peevishly as I mused, reaching out and tugging the cup from my hands as I stared in awe at her. She muttered something I couldn’t quite make out, staring at me as she sipped the drink herself, brows drawn together in concentration.

How bold, and how fortunate! I’d only just arrived in the Bright Court as a refugee seeking alliance, and already I’d been proposed to by what had to be the most beautiful Fae I’d ever seen. My heart beat for her, my loins strained for her, and soon, I’d bed my bride and properly show her the prowess of the Unseelie.

“I accept, my Queen.” Eager to make a good first impression with my betrothed, I bowed and addressed her in the evident language of her people, struggling to recall the words the man by the cauldron had used to greet me. Aha! Now I remembered…

MEL

“Who the fuck are you.”

The man who I’d caught holding my coffee for some reason had bowed and delivered the blunt, expletive-laced question as if it were a love poem, or a philosophy prompt, immediately after calling me his Queen. I realized, belatedly, that I probably shouldn’t have taken my unattended coffee from a stranger and chugged it: I definitely knew better. I chalked the stumble up to running on autopilot from the shock of the burglary, which is also why the stranger was able to step in far too close and press his lips to mine.

I hadn’t kissed someone in a long time, but I realized that even then I might not have really understood what a kiss was, because holy hell could the stranger kiss. He pulled me in tight, the bare skin my dress left exposed sliding against the silky fabric of his shirt as his lips brushed mine, inviting more. I groaned, god help me, and kissed the bastard right back. A neediness I’d stubbornly exorcised long ago came rushing back in like a flood, my fingers curling into the edges of his oddly-cut blazer to keep us pressed together. He smelled like a garden after a good, cleansing rain, all lush green and earthy goodness and I greedily inhaled it as we devoured one another.

“...Mel?” Rog stood at the bottom of the stairs, waffling between visual confusion and staring furious daggers at the strange man kissing me. He was asking without asking if I wanted him to puncture my strange visitor like a rotten paintball for putting his hands on me, because that was his job as our bouncer. I broke off the kiss with a gasp, more than a little breathless for reasons that had nothing to do with the surprise liplock.

“Rog—oh! Rog, hey, no, it’s okay, this is…” Whoa. Why the hell was I so dizzy?

“Her betrothed.” The man offered before I could get a word out, flashing a bright smile full of concerningly sharp canines as he reached his hand down to Rog. Had he had them filed down or something? Was he a vampire? Oh no, was he going to be all broody and sparkly? I didn’t want to be a juice box for a disco ball.

I stifled a giggle. Why did I feel drunk? Did the guy manage to spike my coffee in the minute and a half I was inside? Why did he drink from it too, then? This whole scene really should have been setting off alarm bells for me, but instead my brain was gently petting me and telling me to calm down.

The stranger shook his hand a little too vigorously as Rog continued to stare at me, puzzled. “You’re engaged, Mel? Since when? You gotta let Vic know these things, I was ready to skin this guy. No offense-?” He raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Elim Shadowcourt, second heir.” Again, that overly-formal bow. Shadowcourt? Oh man, I’d either just made out with a pretentious goth or I was definitely gonna be a juice box. Damn.

“Uh, sure. Nice to meet you. Is Vic inside, Mel?” Rog subtly wiped his own palm on the side of his pants as he retrieved it, as unnerved as I was inexplicably charmed by Elim. It took a lot to put our door guy off his axis after some of the shit the Scarlet Pole had seen, and that more than anything cleared away some of the fog. I nodded mutely, standing aside so Rog could edge past Elim and I and get inside, side-eyeing us all the way.

The scrape and thump of the door left me once again alone on the back steps with Elim, who smiled brightly at me with a familiarity he definitely hadn’t earned. I squinted at him, racking my stressed-out brain to figure out if he was one of the handsy patrons that often lurked in the back of the club on off nights. “My Queen, I honor our impending union with deep gratitude, and while the Shadowcourt line has experienced a bit of a…disruption, at the moment, I am actively remedying that problem. I assure you that you will have a place worthy of your station once the throne is properly retaken. In that vein, has my niece arrived at your borders, by chance? She is called Glade Shadowcourt, daughter of Perikar-First-Heir, given back to the seven soils.”

I blinked, muscle memory forcing me to take another sip of my coffee, which was now not only cold and likely full of crazy person saliva, but lacked that nice warm cinnamony flavor too. “That was sure a lot of words, uh, Elim. I dunno what-” I gestured around him with my free hand, taking in his embroidered black silk pajamas, “-Dungeons and Dragons thing you got going on, but no one else has shown up here, sorry. Thanks for the kiss, I guess, and I gotta get back to work, lets nev-”

I broke into a coughing fit, unable to finish my snappy retort, an uncomfortable fluttering in my throat like a moth had wedged itself in my esophagus. As soon as I straightened with a kinder send-off in mind, the feeling vanished, as did the furrow of worry on Elim’s forehead. “Yeah, I gotta get back to work. You should come in.”

Wait, what? Where the hell did that invite come from? As I was trying to process the fact that words I had not cued up in my head just came out of my mouth, Elim frowned in assessment at the parking lot around us before he moved past me. As he pulled the door open, his fingertips ghosted my hip with a casual possessiveness that kindled phantom moth wings much further south. Who the hell was this guy? More importantly, why wasn’t I punching him?

Flustered, I allowed him to guide me into the dim, familiar embrace of the Pole’s staff hallway, tension ebbing out of my shoulders as his presence registered behind me in the wake of the closing door. Heat slithered down my spine as he leaned in close, his oddly-accented voice all but purring at my ear. “Work, my Queen? I admire spirit as much as any of us, but a life of leisure will be yours for the asking once we’re home, you know.”

I spun, planting a finger in the middle of his chest and preparing to give Elim a large piece of my mind. I hated the assumption that all dancers were just waiting for their Pretty Woman moment, for some rich man to whisk us away and financially dote on us. In the remote chance a guy ever tried it, the offer usually came with enough strings to make a hammock, or wrapped in enough misogyny to manifest an alpha male podcast. Thanks, but no thanks.

The words died on my tongue when I saw the soft sincerity in his dark eyes, the gentle tilt of his head as he prepared to actually listen to what I had to say. I clenched my teeth, frustrated at the way this near-perfect stranger excelled at catching me off balance. “Yeah, well, I actually like dancing. You should uh, probably go sit in the club if you want to stick around, though. I’ll be up for my dance set soon.”

I lifted my chin towards another door at the end of the hallway, one I knew locked behind itself. If he wanted to watch me, he could go sit out with the rest of the rabble and tip like any other guy. For some reason, I was struggling to tell Elim to get lost, that the nicknames and the touches were presumptuous at best, or admitting that our unexpected kiss was anything short of addictive. Sending him on a one-way trip to the other side of the stage was the best I could manage for now.

He glanced at the door with a raised brow, a sly fang-flashing smirk creeping to his lips a moment later. “Ahh, a bit of courtship then, my lovely quarry? Very well, I look forward to enjoying your talents. After, however, I’ll need to speak with those in charge.”

He wanted to talk to Vic? Well that was weird. I’d deal with it after my set, Vic had more than enough to handle at the moment, and some rando stranger asking for him wasn’t going to help matters.

Before I could untangle things any further, the soft thump of the club door sounded and I was alone in the hallway with my confusion. Shaking off the strange urge to follow Elim out the wrong door, I steered myself to the dressing room and nudged open the door, staggering backwards as a tiny, loud ball of enthusiasm hugged me like a spider monkey.

“Biiiiiitch you’re lucky I love you! How the hell do I have to hear from goddamn Roger that you’re engaged? Since when? Is he hot?” Rissa rapid-fired the questions at me while squeezing the life out of me and standing on her toes to look over my shoulder, as if I’d ever bring a strange man into our sanctuary unannounced. Unlike Vic, Rog never came into the dressing room, which meant I didn’t have the chance to glare at him for spreading my theoretical business around.

Our bouncer’s loose lips had also just put me in a really tough spot. Mandy’s ex Paul had belligerently declared himself her fiance on a night they’d had a fight about her chosen profession a few months ago. Rolling up already drunk to the club later, he’d attempted to shove past Rog while his definitely-not-fiance Mandy was on stage in order to “set her straight.” A scuffle had broken out, and Paul ended up getting acquainted with one of Rog’s knives to the upper arm before he was permanently banned as a patron. Since then, the house rule was no partners or fiances at the Pole unless the attached dancer vouched for them first, before her shift started. With tensions already high from the robbery, explaining that I’d somehow allowed a stranger to introduce himself as my fiance and invited him into the secured back of the club wasn’t going to go well.

I managed a brittle smile and accepted Rissa’s hugs and Mandy’s squealing congratulations before clearing my throat. “Yeah. It’s, yanno. Wanted to keep it private, you know how it is. Elim’s out in the audience, he wanted to watch my set tonight.”

Vic shouldered the side door to the dressing room open as I rambled my explanation, looking weary as I’d ever seen him. I was glad Mary had made it in record time, our manager’s wife seemed to be one of the only things that could calm him down when shit got hectic. An unusual pang of jealousy hit me when she followed him through the doorway, gently squeezing his shoulder as if she was physically grounding him. Would I ever have a partner that dedicated to my peace? It just didn’t feel possible when every single day was focused solely on financially surviving.

I beelined for my usual vanity, burying myself in getting ready to duck further probing questions from the girls. Vic gave me a questioning look after Rissa hastily filled him in out of earshot, but my manager was smart enough to realize it was a subject best left for another day. Putting the unsettling events of the last 20 minutes firmly out of mind, I dug around the drawer for some old makeup and concentrated on making my reflection gorgeous.

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