FOREVER KNIGHTS: #4 Battling Black Roses

Wilhelm Castle, Dread Country (Lost for eighteen years)

RAESE

Raese moved amidst the other TreeCutters. Transitioning smoothly into groups of aristocrats. With the mask on, no one saw his face.

I blend with either.

I’m dreaming again. He recognized. The last thing he recalled was going to bed. But the drab dry room he slept in was no comparison to these rich colors and the pleasant sounds of muted voices and laughter. The tink of glasses toasting. Candlelight shining off sparkling decanters. Silk dresses gleaming and smiles all around. Some toothy and dirty, some well-manicured.

Only in Dread Country would King Lareth expect Lords and Ladies to mingle with peasantry. His one redeeming quality. Raese thought. Knowing how pompous the man could be.

But King Lareth’s interest was in politics. And celebrating together did appease the general discontent of the working class.

Most identified each other’s class by the finery they wore.

However, Raese was dressed in fancy enough garb the Lords didn’t spare him a second glance but simple enough fabric the TreeCutters mistook him for one of them. He was seamless. Able to track anyone or anything across this ballroom.

His acute sense of smell caught the faint trace of lilies. Just as the ballroom silenced. She’s here.

His gaze flicked around the room until spotting her. Dark hair lay in heavy curls around her face and she wore a lovely dress. A white gown with an overlayer of gold that was heavy and billowed around her.

A dress? Of course, she had to, to blend here. But he’d seen her in them so rarely he was unsure she’d any finery to wear to a ball.

Her hair, so clearly black, was softer shades in warm candlelight. Nearly brown. Falling in gentle waves around her thickly lashed blue eyes. A braid of hair wove around her forehead, restraining it from falling in her face, save precisely where she wanted it to. Alluringly over one eye.

Good God she’s an appealing little creature.

Wide blue eyes scanned the room those lush red lips begging to be kissed even now.

Whether she knows it or not.

One perfect coral shaped ear was visible adorned with pretty stones down the rim. Her face was rounded which made her look almost childish save for those flashing eyes.

Her slender neck moved as she swallowed, and her pulse fluttered.

The urge to press his lips to that spot, to feel her soft skin, was nearly irresistible.

She handed over her dark wrap. Retrieving her mask from its folds. Setting it in place.

Raese saw her fear, her nervousness. She’s prepared to fight or to dance. Depending on how they react to her. He pushed through the group to reach her.

Offering her his arm. “A dance, My Lady?”

She frowned at him. Eying him quietly.

“After all, you promised me one...”

Her features relaxed and she put a hand on his arm.

Though he’d hoped for it, he was nonetheless a little surprised at her trusting act. Almost touched.

I best be careful, or I could quick tender softness for this snippet. He warned himself.

“I don’t believe I promised you one…” She smiled faintly. But there was a shadow of relief in her eyes.

“Oh, you didn’t?” He feigned surprise. “I was certain you did.”

“No, you most certainly were not.”

He laughed. “What’s your name, Dread Queen?”

“Calisto.”

“Calisto what?”

“Just Calisto. I’ve no surname. And you?”

“Raese Merlinus. Or sometimes just, Merlin.”

“And what shall I call you?” She quirked a brow. A smile turning her lips.

“Since I can only call you Calisto or My Dread Queen, you must call me Raese. It seems formalities between us would only prove superficial.”

I dearly hope.

“It is superficial.” He firmly agreed.

I like you more each moment…

Leading her onto the dancefloor he saw her studying the black mask curving round his eye and down the side of his face which was painted with mock scars. One hand gloved as though he were badly scarred. His dark hair was loose around his face and collar. Straight auburn strands framing that cheek to hide those shameful marks.

He moved to draw her close for the dance, but she resisted lightly. He gave her a playful yank and she fell against him. He tucked her under his chin, one hand around her lower back the other bracing her elbow as they stepped in motion with the dance.

Steps she obviously knows.

She instinctively put a hand to his chest to balance herself. Impossible heat generated through his chest at the simple touch.

“You smell like flowers.” He purred.

Lilies to be specific.

She pushed against him slightly and he released his grip, hovering his hands several inches from her in-case he’d offended her.

“Too close?” He asked.

But she didn’t move back, remaining with her fingers tangled in his tunic. She stepped forward as the next dance step necessitated.

He moved with her, hands returning to her back and elbow. She wants to dance. Just doesn’t want me forcing her.

As you wish, Dread Queen.

“You’ve shaved.” She whispered, rubbing her forehead against his smooth chin.

“I have. I planned to meet a beautiful woman here. Thought perhaps I should clean up a bit.”

“Oh, did you? Poor thing.”

“Whom? Me or her?”

“Her of course.”

“Ha! She’d be lucky to have one as dashing as I at her side.”

“Lucky? Dashing, are you?” She gasped. “I don’t think so…”

“Don’t you? Perhaps it’s because you’ve not seen me cleaned up. Care to have a look before you make hasty judgements?” He feigned reaching for his mask.

“Perhaps…”

“You’ve no idea…” He folded her into the dance.

“It’s strange…” She murmured.

“What?”

“Being so close to another.”

“It’s the custom of Dread Dances. Not unusual at all.”

Not here. It certainly would be in the far more proper Grier. Dread Country encouraged dancers to move in close quarters. Indulging in the pleasure of feeling another’s body.

He twirled her, watching her heavy gold skirt spin around her. Curling black hair flowed through the air in shimmering waves. The braid untwisting to fall around her face.