Private Tales The Last Dance of Summer

[Amaryllis]

The grand ballroom of the summer court was flooded by a thousand brilliant golden lights. Warm colours mingled with moonlight, casting a bright glow through the halls where the fae had gathered. Their esteemed guests, handpicked by royal advisors and perhaps the Queen herself, moved gracefully through the meticulously decorated space, their laughter and murmurs blending into music being played by violins and harps.

Everywhere, floral arrangements bloomed in lush displays, representing the vibrant colours of summer. Fiery reds, deep ambers and rich shades of honey yellow dazzled at every corner and trails of peonies and magnolias wound around arches and pillars, filling the air with a sweet and flowery aroma.

Below the ceiling and across tables, candlelight illuminated the tall frames of each and every attendee, highlighting their elegant attire. The fae were a radiant folk, dressed in fine silk and beautiful velvet, equipped with secrets and charm. In the late evening hours the crowd buzzed with excitement and the lines between duty and delight began to blur.

For hours on end the princess Amaryllis had swept from table to table, greeting familiar faces and meeting new ones. Meanwhile, Her Highness’ golden dress had caught the crowd’s attention: delicate threads of golden embroidery traced intricate lines along the bodice and around her sleeved shoulders and each fold of its silky material reflected the light with a sparkling gleam. Small gemstones were stitched into her skirt and around her neckline and a tight, jewelled belt accentuated her regal silhouette. The princess wore sapphires and diamonds tonight, and the royal family’s tiara glistened atop of her head.

After some time she became tired of conversation, however, and moved towards the edge of the ballroom and onto the balcony, to drown out the noise and catch a little bit of fresh air.

 

[Faolan]

He hated parties. Unfortunately, they were bountiful in the Summer Court, and the Knight Captain assigned to the security of the princess and Heir Apparent was obligated to attend most of them. There had never been a time in his life where Faolan had anticipated a stuffy room crowded with nobles and wealthy merchants. Their wagging tongues dripped with poisonous ambition. Their eyes were calculating and distrustful.

Born into the Assembly, it was a world that was as familiar as the streets to his home. Like the turn of the carriage on the last corner waking him up, Faolan's social manners were resurrected. He inclined his head courteously. He made small talk. He did all the things expected of a glittering military official raised from noble birthright, and he hated every moment of it. Faolan's fingers twitched toward his sword, skin itching to trace the familiar grooves etched in its pommel. His eyes scanned the room anxiously, too alert to enjoy the beautiful decor or the sweetness of the food. Everything was too bright and saccharine.

Yet there, drifting between the elite fae, was his charge. Amaryllis flitted from one conversation to the next as gracefully as a butterfly sampling nectar. The butterfly wished it flashed as brightly as Summer's beloved princess. In her wake, a swathe of warmth spread by way of smiles on the cold lips and in the glassy eyes of her sister's courtiers.

She was a singular redeeming quality to the affair until she slipped to the fringes of the party. Faolan turned his gaze away from the Lord droning at him about trade routes through swamps and watched as Amaryllis slipped out onto a balcony. Behind her, the guard assigned to shadow her this evening met his gaze from across the room. The guard strung together a series of small gestures, conveying a coded message to the Knight Captain, who nodded in reply.

“Excuse me, my Lord,” Faolan interrupted with flat tones. Offering no excuses, he bowed and withdrew from the conversation. He glided through the crowd like a fish through a kelp forest, weaving his way steadily toward the balcony.

The ballroom was as bright as a midsummer day, but outside it was cool and dark. Vhora's nights were typically chilly, but this evening a warm breeze stirred the curtains draped across the archway. It picked up Faolan's fiery tresses, left loose and cascading over his scarlet dress uniform, and carried on it the warm, sweet scent of the floral arrangements dressing the palace.

Most importantly, it caught Amaryllis’ hair. Jewels glittered between her swaying curls. She faced away from him, but he could see the curve of her cheek, the peek of her lashes as she looked out over the sprawling city. Vhora glowed in the moonslight almost as brightly as the celestial bodies that illuminated it. Canals shimmered, living bodies of water that slithered through the city to a singular unseen point. In the distance, Vhora's mighty wall stood resolute over the rolling dunes, but from the balcony it seemed small, as insignificant as a pony wall.

It was a reverie Faolan was reluctant to break. He nodded to the guard, who positioned himself beside the archway at parade rest, and waited a little while longer.

“Paeonia lactiflora,” he said, finally breaking the silence. Faolan parted the curtains and sauntered onto the balcony, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the balustrade.

“Do you know how many varieties of peonies there are, Your Highness?” His expression remained slack and serious, but his golden eyes glanced down at Amaryllis with a playful glint. He plucked a peony from the garland adorning the balustrade. He twirled its stem between his fingers to inspect the wide bloom from all angles.

 

[Amaryllis]

Soft whispers wafted through open doors behind which lay the quiet of the balcony. The music tuned out the voices of the guests, eventually creating a more muted atmosphere. Here, the princess of the court drew in a slow, deliberate breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs.

She leaned against the balustrade, her hands resting on cool, white marble. Below her, Vhora stretched far into Summer’s lands and although the steady hum of the city life felt distant, Amaryllis could see a thousand golden lights blinking like fireflies under the sky. Her attention hovered over the winding streets, where silhouettes danced in shadows only to eventually disappear under the quilt of the night.

Then, a chilly breeze threaded through her hair, carrying a hint of familiarity and warmth.

A few moments later Faolan came strolling onto the balcony, with his arms crossed and an expression that could only be interpreted as mild acceptance towards the overall situation. Amaryllis nearly swooned anyway.

Her eyes intently studied the scarlet uniform he wore—a striking colour that was not her favourite on him for it did not match his naturally understated charm. She allowed herself another glance, but to avoid being caught staring Amaryllis eventually returned her attention to the beauty of the city.

It had taken Faolan almost the entire night to strike up a conversation with her even though she was likely the only person in this sizable ballroom that he could stand talking to at all. And for that, she esteemed him.

Faolan was a stoic individual with nothing but disinterest for these glittering crowds and their shallow chatter. Yet there he was, time and time again, lingering at the edges of the hall and indulging in the occasional pointless conversation in an effort to be near her. It was his duty of course, but Amaryllis liked to think that despite this, his presence was never for the party, but for her—a silent offer of his company.

His question pulled her back to the present, but her thoughts were still hung up on the gesture. Amaryllis glanced at the flower in his hand, its lush petals trembling ever so slightly under the twirl of his fingers. “At least two?” she said looking up at him through her lashes.

When Amaryllis noticed the playful glint in his eyes her expression softened visibly. The princess took the peony from him and gently tucked it behind his left ear, her fingers lingering on his skin for a moment longer than necessary.

“You may leave if you’re tired,” she told him earnestly, her voice quiet and laced with soft concern. “I don’t want you to think that you have to be here out of duty.” She held his gaze, silently reassuring him that her comfort wasn’t worth his exhaustion.

 

[Faolan]

At least two. A rare smile flashed across his lips, then was gone just as quickly.

“Yes, at least two,” he acquiesced. Amaryllis took the flower, which Faolan relinquished. When she raised it to tuck it in his hair, he braced his hands on the balustrade and leaned forward, making it easier for her to place as it suited her. His downcast eyes fixed on the slippers peeking out beneath the hem of her gown, noting that she might have difficulty running in an emergency.

Faolan snapped out of his contemplation of security when her fingers brushed against his temple and lingered on their way down his cheekbone. Work completely forgotten, his gold gaze flicked up to hers.

He was difficult to surprise; Faolan was alert and aware of his surroundings at all times. In a constant state of observation, there was little he didn't anticipate. Amaryllis, however, tended to surprise him regardless of how adamantly he was on the lookout.

Her touch was cool on his bronze skin, or perhaps it burned as hot as a brand — Faolan could hardly distinguish. The fingers of his right hand twitched on the balustrade, the beginning of a movement, then Amaryllis withdrew and the spell binding him ended.

“You may leave if you are tired.”

The moment was tender, a vulnerability that thrilled every cell in his body. He was practiced in denying this childish yearning. Faolan cared for her too much to compromise their friendship with the silly crush he'd harbored since their youth and was too committed to her protection to risk losing his placement and putting her in another's hands.

Faolan straightened, restoring a safe, and appropriate, distance between them. His hands gripped through balustrade with effort.

“I am not tired. And I am not here out of duty. I came because I wanted to.” he replied, his voice breathy, echoing her sincerity. Yes, it was his job to watch over her, but it was hardly a duty. It was his life's work, his devotion. His chest tightened and the thread of gold around his pinky tingled.

Too close. They were too close.

Pushing away from the rail, he turned to break away from her gaze. Faolan drew a thin, long, and quiet breath to still his racing heart as he leaned down to pluck another peony from the garland. When he faced her once again, he held out a flower that could have been the twin to the one tucked ever his ear. They were perfectly uniform, a resplendent thing meant to disappear into the background — a waste of their fleeting beauty. He cleared his throat and twirled the new peony.

“There are more than 800 varieties of peony — some herbaceous, some trees, some hybrids,” he continued, as if he hadn’t looked at her with his soul bared. He lacked the finesse to find a smoother transition back to the previous subject and away from tender moments with grace. “However, there are only 33 naturally occurring species. They have been cultivated for millennia to create a diversity of color, shape, and fragrance.”

The flower between his fingers stilled and Faolan let his magick flow into it. The peony was rejuvenated, brought back to its moment of perfection by the power of his bloom. Its velvety petals sparkled, the flesh brand new again. The dark curling sepals unkinked themselves and brightened to a lush emerald green, and its stamens were once more dusted with pollen.

The flower was at its fullest potential and it was magnificent. It deserved to be noticed, honored.

Faolan raised the peony and set it behind Amaryllis’ ear. The sparkles of light that reflected from the jewels in her tiara danced along its edges, as playful as will-o'-wisp. He caught a lock of her curls and gently tucked it behind her ear. A gentle smile tugged at the edges of his mouth.

“There,” he said quietly. “Now we match.”