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onewhoturnsStory Title: Iron & Gold
Chapter Title: The Queen
Chapter Part: 3/3
Story Part: 4/?
Pairing: Emily/Outsider (emsider)
Word count: 965
Rating: PG (higher rating later chapters)
Summary: Ever since she was a child Emily had been cautioned: beware the fae. She’d heard the typical warnings – faerie rings, wishing wells, mysterious lights in the darkness. But they were just cautionary tales... [A Dishonored fae AU]
start here (prelude), previously (1-2), next part (2-1)
“If I may?”
Before she could protest, the young lord stepped away. Emily’s eyes narrowed at the man who took his place, though she accepted his hand on her back without comment. He said not a word, and his silence was intriguing. She studied him carefully as they danced.
His clothes were well-tailored, if a few years out of fashion, but there was something unsettling about them. It took her a moment staring at his shoulder before she realized -- the cloth was so pitch black, light died on it. Even as they made a turn around the dance floor, passing under lanterns, there was no reflection. It was as though he wore a hole in the world, with only small dots of gold or black thread (but not black black, not nearly as dark as the fabric itself) giving shape to the void. Her hand drifted down from his shoulder a few inches until she touched an area free of stitching, and she felt as though she should be able to reach into the emptiness, yet the resistance proved his solidity.
She saw the way his lips curved at her curious touch, and quickly placed her hand back in its proper place. Still, he stayed silent. Now her eyes traced his face, looking for-
He was familiar.
One year ago, exactly. A night not so different from this. The last night of the Mummers’ Feasts, the last night of her royal progress; the night she’d turned eighteen. The feast tonight was in the palace gardens instead of another noble estate, the music a bit less vibrant, the whole party with a less excitable aura than was befitting a Feast. Underwhelming.
But he wasn’t like the rest of her surroundings. Cheekbones slightly too sharp, eyes that gleamed gold… He’d disappeared so quickly before. She’d thought he may have been fae-touched then, taken as she was with eyes like polished amber. Now, though… Her brow furrowed, wondering who he was, why he was here, what it was about him that--
For an instant, his eyes shifted. The white became black, the gold molten honey, and Emily fumbled her steps in alarm. His hold tightened, keeping her on her feet, smirking, but still he said nothing.
He was not human, of that she was now sure.
Emily’s gaze darted to the outskirts of the party, where she knew a boundary of salt was drawn. “How did you-”
Lips split into a grin that glinted in the lamplight. “Not everyone stuffs their pockets with berries. An amenable guest was easy to find.”
She pursed her lips, her theory confirmed, and wanted to check to make sure her pockets were, indeed, full, but he held her hand firmly, and she didn’t want to make a scene. Instead her fingers dug into the impossible fabric. She shouldn’t be dancing with him. She knew the stories, how humans could be swept up in a faerie revel and dance until their feet bled -- or until they died of exhaustion. But she didn’t feel any giddiness. Her mind was as sharp as ever, if abuzz with questions and curiosities.
“I’ve seen you before.” She pulled her gaze from his eyes to examine the rest of his face, looking for other signs of difference. His skin was smooth and clear, eerily poreless, and there was none of the pink flush that colored her own cheeks after hours of drinking and dancing. He didn’t respond. She met his eyes once more - sensing his thin smile - and it took Emily a moment to realize she hadn’t even asked a question. “Why are you here?”
She didn’t need to think as they moved, making another smooth round of the dance floor, and she imagined a different song above the notes of the nearby musicians. Something floating from afar, coaxing her, something ringing with light and shadow and a beauty that couldn’t be found in the mortal world.
“Your people don’t celebrate as they should.”
It wasn’t an answer to her question, and she frowned as she attempted to ignore the other song drifting through the air.
“In the village they burn high fires. They wear masks and spend all night shrieking and laughing. Your nobility does no such thing. You gather among yourselves - your fires are tame, your focus on politicking and trade.”
His voice was low and smooth, and when she glanced to the other dancers she found their focus passing over her, glassy, as though the two of them were merely space in the air that must be left empty.
“This is no way to spend the Feasts. Don’t you wish to celebrate? To revel with your true face hidden? To watch the bonfire spit sparks into the air and dance through the smoke?”
Yes. Of course she did. Still, Emily shook her head. “So you’ve come to lecture me on the faults of noble party planning?” Her tone was light, casual - polite despite the sardonic nature of the question.
His smile was unnatural, though she couldn’t say why. Again, she felt like there was something hidden from her, like the shift of black in his eyes. “No.”
She raised her eyebrows at the ensuing silence, expecting him to clarify. Instead, they just danced. Sweeping steps and delicate turns, and she had to admit he was very good at it. As the song drew to a close, his words were spoken quietly - so quietly she had to lean in to him to hear.
“Next year, I would like to avoid the complications of an intermediary. If you would be so kind.”
Her mind was still processing the words, their chillingly playful lilt, as he sent her twirling away with a flourish that made her dizzy, and by the time she’d gotten her balance, he was gone.
