Page 36 of The Grip of Death
I shrugged. “And besides, we all have the same friends. Wouldn’t it be kind of weird for all of you to basically throw the same party twice?”
“But it’s tradition. I think?” Niko looked more confused than downtrodden, scratching the bridge of his nose with one fingernail. “I mean, it sounds kind of fun anyway, all the drinks and the stupid games. Also the strippers. Oh, we need strippers. I volunteer Reza.”
Anyone else would have cowered under the intensity of Reza’s glare. Niko just stared back expectantly, as if actually waiting for Reza to take it all off.
“Where’s the Black Market connected to at the moment?” Preston counted off on his fingers, trying to work out the Black Market portal’s comings and goings. “And what time is it there? I’m sure we can find at least one agency willing to send over a half-dozen half-dressed go-go boys.”
“Guys,” I grumbled.
“Black Market my ass,” Beatrice moaned. “All the best enchanted wares in the universe, but where’s a guild of magical strippers when you need one?”
I kneaded my forehead with my knuckles. “Guys. I’m serious. Xander and I don’t care. Don’t worry about it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Sedgewick said. “It’s late anyhow. And besides, we’re guests here. Our host was kind enough to offer us this space as a venue, not to mention give all of us rooms to stay for the weekend. And this is a royal palace. I support anyone who wants to strip to his skivvies to make a buck, but I’m sure King Oberon won’t take kindly to — ”
“What exactly is it that I won’t take kindly to?”
Silence fell over the garden as we watched the King of the Summer Court stroll out of his palace. A bemused Sparrowheart followed behind him, looking gradually more confused as she looked at each of our faces. How the hell did you begin to explain the concept of strippers and bachelor parties to a fae monarch?
The redness of Sedgewick’s cheeks grew to match his hair. “Well, Your Highness, I — gosh. Could I just explain it to Sparrowheart, please? And then maybe she could tell you in her own words?”
Oberon frowned, but acquiesced with a wave of his hand. Sparrowheart leaned closer to a red-faced Sedgewick, letting him whisper in her ear. Soon they both had matching red faces. Oberon frowned harder.
“Well, what is it, Summer Knight? What human ritual is so embarrassing that it may only be spoken of in whispers?”
Sparrowheart cleared her throat. “With all due respect, King Oberon, I believe that our friend Sedgewick was mostly embarrassed to speak these words in your royal presence specifically. And now that burden falls upon me instead.”
She shot Sedgewick an accusatory look. He bowed his head in apology, and maybe a little shame. Preston snickered, then clapped him on the back for support. Sparrowheart bent closer to Oberon to explain. King Oberon’s forehead creased in concentration. The gardens stilled. You could hear a pin drop.
King Oberon’s laughter boomed across the gardens. They could probably hear him in the kitchens, all across the Summer Court.
“Bare-chested dancers? Is that all? I never took you humans for prudes. Why, I’ve attended far bawdier festivals in my youth. A crush of glistening bodies of all shapes and colors and sizes. Breasts and balls and all the other dangling bits swinging to and fro.”
“Your Highness!” Sparrowheart protested, redder in the face than ever.
“Sparrowheart. Send for the dancers.”
“But Your Highness, I — ”
“Fine! Then I’ll send for them myself. No human shall have to suffer without a pre-matrimonial celebration of the senses in the Palace of Briars, of all places. A bachelor’s ball it is, then. Summon the court dancers!”
Oberon clapped his hands, bright pink butterflies scattering from his fingertips and straight into the palace. He clapped again, this time conjuring a burst of golden butterflies that flew for the kitchens.
“Bring out our finest wines, our sweetest meads!”
I watched the flurry in a daze, sensing an explosion of energy from within the Palace of Briars as the household staff went full throttle. Oberon swaggered over and slapped me hard on the back. I tried not to choke.
“We’ll save the very best bottles for your wedding, don’t you worry. Ah, here come the dancers now!”
As promised, dancers equipped to tantalize every taste and proclivity burst out of the doors of the palace, too little of their bodies covered in swirling veils and jangling jewelry, their plentifully exposed skin gleaming with fragrant oil.
The air filled with the music of lutes and flutes, the banging of invisible drums, the clanging of bells and little cymbals. King Oberon clapped along, enjoying the spectacle more than anyone.
Even more dancers streamed out of the Palace of Briars, some taking position around the gardens to perform in their respective corners, others strutting boldly up to the king’s guests.
Niko stood on a chair and howled with both hands cupped around his mouth. Reza stayed on the grass, arms crossed and shaking his head in mildly jealous disapproval. Master Vikhyat hid his blush in his beard as a young fae woman attempted to lure him into a friendly dance.
A lithe, muscular specimen made his way over to Beatrice, who immediately abandoned her decorating duties in favor of fist-pumping and hooting. A more reserved, but no less attractive member of Oberon’s retinue approached the Summer Knight, performing in a manner that somehow came off as both extremely sensual and oddly respectful. Sparrowheart, blushing bright as a tomato, clapped politely.
