Page 26 of Midnight in the Garden of Okay and Meh
On the appointed day, Desi stood in the doorway of the chamber he had designated as his own. Three demons scurried about placing furniture, rugs, statuary, and, on a table next to the bed, copious amounts of fruit, cooked meats, and the finest honey. “No, no, Parisi doesn’t favor fish. Put the roast pig out for her.” He looked around, wanting everything to be perfect. “Is there both ale and wine? Maybe she’d like some goat’s milk. I recall her enjoying that. Let us have goat’s milk, as well. Wait ... where is the bread? She loves bread!”
One of the demons scurried in at that moment, bearing a massive wooden tray filled with a variety of bready goods. Desi perused them, rearranged a stack of oatcakes to look more appealing, then nodded to the table. “Put it next to the cheese. The flowers look a bit sparse. Perhaps we need more. Parisi always enjoys the flowers in the fields when we meet at the summer solstice. Whitney!”
The man who served as his steward bustled into the room, bearing an armful of fresh linens. “You bellowed, my maleficent prince?”
“Flowers,” Desi said, gesturing toward the few scattered vases of flowering buds. “I need more. Parisi will not be at all impressed if there aren’t copious flowers.”
“But ... there are no other flowers to be found this early in the planting season,” the bread-bearing demon said just before his eyes grew wide when he realized he had spoken without permission. He ducked as Whitney, with an oath, reached out to strike him.
“Hold,” Desi said, frowning. “You know how I feel about the beating of demons and lesser beings. They are too weak to deserve such punishment.”
Whitney made a sour face. “But surely you cannot object to disciplining those who disrespect you? If you don’t exert some sort of control over your vast legions, they will take advantage of you. There are times when you must raise your hand.”
“I don’t consider answering a question I asked as disrespect,” he said, glaring at the steward. “Nor do I condone making a scapegoat of the demons in my legions. You know this!”
Whitney mumbled something as he turned away, but Desi wasn’t about to excuse that, and demanded, “What did you say?”
“My prince?” Whitney squared his shoulders before turning to face Desi.
“Repeat what you said.” Desi pulled the blood moon out from under his tunic and traced the symbols on it.
Whitney’s eyes grew wide with fear, but Desi had to give the servant credit—he did not cast himself down and beg for mercy. Instead, he answered, “I said that I know that it has been so ever since you met Lady Parisi.”
“That’s right. Keep that in mind when you think to please me,” Desi said in a silky voice that had the steward backing up several steps, his eyes wary. “You may leave now, and do not return until I summon you.”
Whitney bowed low, and shot a fulminating glare at the demon, who was almost prostrate with appreciation as he backed out of the room after Whitney.
Desi turned back to study the bedchamber one more time, desperately wanting it to be perfect for Parisi.
And then suddenly, she was there, looking around her with wide, astonished eyes. “What is all this? Desi, you’ve built a villa?”
“You’re early,” he answered, a bit disappointed that she had seen the building without him there to watch her reaction.
“I am? This is ...” She stopped and slowly studied the entire chamber as he closed the door behind her, making sure to slide the bolt home. “This is beyond lovely. Oh, Desi. You did this for me?”
She was in his arms as she spoke, and for the first time in three moons, Desi felt like he had breath in his lungs, and blood in his veins. Her scent, that of warm woman, teased him until he felt nigh on bursting in his braies. “Of course I didn’t do this for you. Would the head of Abaddon build a villa on the most scenic spot he could find, just to please the head of the Court of Divine Blood? To even suggest such a thing is pure idiocy.”
“And I love you for it even more than I loved you the last time, when you surprised me with the Arabian stallion,” she answered, adoration and laughter in her face and eyes. Just seeing her again, feeling her body fit so perfectly against his, eased the constant feeling of iron chains across his chest.
“Only when I am with you does my bond with the blood moon become bearable,” he murmured into her hair, his ardor growing when she wriggled against him.
Much to his dismay, she stopped her enticing dance against his rod to look up at him, her gaze searching his face. “It still causes you pain? When we met last, you said it had eased, and you were no longer bothered by it.”
He didn’t like lying to her—in fact, the only time he had was to assure her that the relic’s demands on him were minor—but he knew full well he couldn’t do so with her in his arms, her breath soft on his face as she all but exuded love and concern.
“I lied,” he admitted, falling victim to her beautiful dark eyes, the browns and gold in them flecked with black. He loved how soft emotions made her eyes almost dewy, and once again he felt as if he were sinking into a whirlpool, unable and unwilling to separate himself from her.
“Desi, my love, my infernal one ...” Parisi laughed, giving him a moment’s surprise. “After all the years of us being together, have you forgotten who I am?”
He was about to protest when she took his head in her hands and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his forehead. Her lips burned hot on his skin, causing him to involuntarily jerk backward, one hand raised to his head, but at that moment, he realized the constant searing pain that was the blood moon eased until it was barely noticeable. “What did you do?” he asked, rubbing the spot on his forehead she had kissed.
“Placed a boon upon you.” She smiled, her eyes dancing with love and laughter. “Sovereigns, as I have repeatedly told you, can do much to ease the life of mortals ... and immortals, even ones so handsome that it almost hurts to gaze upon them.”
“I shall worship every morsel of you in profound thanks that you are in my life,” he said, moving her back toward the massive bed he had made just for their bedsporting.
Her smile faded as she bumped against the bed. “Desi ... I feel we must talk.”
“We always do talk after lovemaking,” he said, quickly stripping himself before standing before her, his fingers spread as he tried to work out if the shoulder brooches on her peplos were attached to the undertunic, or if he could simply whip the outer garment off and still allow Parisi to do one of her enticing dances as she disrobed.
