House of Wings and Roses

Chapter 5

Quentin's room was a grand thing; all dark marble and tumbling roses, with vines draping across the bed frame panels and winding up the doorframe. He flopped onto the large king-sized bed, letting his head fall to the side as his hand traced the deep emerald satin of the sheets. Imported from the Emerald Bay, if he could guess. The luxury goods trade was popular amongst royal fae, who preferred to source exquisite silks and goods from the courts they were specialised in. To boost the local economy, apparently, but it was no secret that the native weavers and crafters were the best of their kind.

The Court of Emerald Waves was renowned for their gorgeous silks and tapestries, while the land of Blazing Sun was known for  their metalwork and gemstone trade. Quentin's own home, the Court of Soaring Wind, was best reputable for its magical creatures, who were ethically used for transportation and other work. The Paredion Forest, unsurprisingly, was the largest source of herbal goods and potions.

Quentin stood up, raising his arms above him in a languid stretch. It was a strange world.

Wind hissed through the swaying trees outside, warning of a storm to come. And was that... a cello, playing? Music, deep and rich, tumbled through the open balcony door, drawing him closer with tentative footsteps. It was beautiful; a symphony of plucked notes and long, drawn-out minor chords that wove into something darkly enticing, filling the night air with wavering melodies.

He stepped into the cold outside, goosebumps rippling down the smooth pale of his skin. He didn't have to look to see who was playing.

In the dark, emerald eyes sliced to his.

Transfixed by the alluring melody, Quentin half-stretched his wings and perched himself comfortably on the balcony railing, the wind causing his silvery blue hair to flutter in front of his eyes. He watched Florian intently—the way his graceful hands plucked the strings, the way his eyes glinted like jewels in the moonlight, the way his lips parted with concentration.

Quentin folded his wings, legs swinging in the dark void below him, head tilted as he listened. The melody intensified, dark and enchanting, filling the sky with dreams and desires. It was thrilling; being able to be one with the wind, with the sky. Nothing else mattered but this music.

Florian's eyes briefly danced to his, swirling with something he couldn't quite place. Quentin's lips parted, as if to say something, anything—

But midnight was falling, and the wind licked cold against his shivering skin. He dragged his eyes away from the other's heated gaze, turning gently and slipping back into the warm embrace of his room.

Outside, he could have sworn he heard a chuckle.

-

The following morning, Quentin awoke to a sharp rap on the door. He mumbled sleepily, turning his face into the pillow. Light footsteps paused at the foot of his bed before retreating back to the door and the hallway beyond. The fae sighed and blearily opened his eyes, sitting up to shake out his tired wings.

A ribbon-wrapped package had been deposited at the end of the bed-frame. Quentin lifted the note attached to his squinted eyes.

Welcoming party at 10. Find your attire inside. Don't be late.

Wincing, he lifted the wrapping, tracing his fingertips against the material. Inside lay classic formal attire for a noble of the House of Soaring Wind; a collared blue cloak and suit, embroidered with twining gold and frills at the cuffs. And resting on top of it... a masquerade mask. Pure, glittering white, adorned with feathered plumes, pale sapphires and lacy fixtures. A bird mask, he realised, turning it over in his hands.

Minutes into dressing, the door to his bedroom was suddenly flung open.

"I'm getting dressed!" He yelped, struggling furiously to do up the buttons on his shirt as he ducked his head around the alcove. A blush seared his cheeks as he was met with feline green eyes.

"Sorry," Florian replied nonchalantly, staying exactly where he was.

"Get out of my room!" Quentin dragged on his cloak, fixing up the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Y'know, it's nothing really I haven't seen befor—"

"Just stop." He finally emerged from behind the separator, lifting his eyes to the heavens in exasperation. Florian turned around to where Quentin was standing, the sly smile melting off his face. His mouth opened, then closed.

"What? Never seen a boy dressed up before?" Quentin taunted, relieved he finally had a shred of power over this situation. Now it was the other's turn to blush, dragging his gaze away quickly.

"I— um. I came to say that the ball is beginning soon. So... yeah." Florian lifted up on his heels and back again, looking like he wanted to say something else.

So Quentin said it instead. "You look nice," He said simply, looking up at the other. He wore his court's standard attire; sleek black, accentuated with winding emerald and paredion red. He was dripping with gold—literally. Rubies adorned his fingers, and delicate gold chain draped across his neck.

Florian hummed, lips quirking up in a small smile. He picked up the masquerade mask and slid it gently over the other's face, fingertips lingering on his skin. "And you, little bird, look lovely."

He extended an arm as Quentin flushed lightly, eyes glittering. "After you."