Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Consort: Hummingbird Circus	By : GoldSnitcher Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 28278 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Harry’s world was a smooth mosaic of sound and sense. The distant whisper of voices layered on the faint trace of music and the scuff of sandal shod feet across cool marble floors; despite the fact that a part of him knew that he was not alone, that he was in fact in a room full of people, to him it felt as if there were nothing beyond himself and the music.

He twisted his hips, the movement causing the loose silk of the pants he wore to brush against his body, cool against his heated flesh. Harry was sweating slightly, and he was certain that if he opened his eyes there would be a sheen on his bare chest that he had previously only seen on his skin after working out in the field when he had been home, or more recently, after a vigorous bout with Draco. Despite the heat of his skin, Harry felt very relaxed and not at all uncomfortable.

He spun in a slow circle, wrapping his arms close about his chest, tipping his head back. He was vaguely aware of a presence moving close to him and it made him want to smile, though he settled for relaxing his body as hands gripped him about the waist. It felt wonderful, as if they were slowly merging into one fluid form. The added heat at his back urged him on in his movements and Harry turned in the embrace and allowed his forehead to rest against the broad chest.

The hand that was loosely wrapped about his waist ghosted up his bare back until it firmly gripped the back of his neck and Harry didn’t tense or even hesitate as his body was forced to arch backward, his weight supported by the hand bracing his neck and one still gripping his waist. When he was pulled up from the dip Harry opened his eyes, keeping them half-lidded, and he pouted prettily as he draped his own arm about the front of Dean’s shoulders and, maintaining the contact, walked slowly around him.

Everything was hot and erotic. Everything was sex. Harry imagined that everything in the room was making love to him at that moment: the eyes of the people who no doubt devoured their every shift, the music as it ghosted over his body and urged him to move in ways he’d never done before, Dean, his body thrumming and Harry could feel it, though they never spoke of it. The silk he wore, the very air about him; and he let it all take him to a new level of arousal, one that wasn’t expressed in any way except through his dancing, through the slowing of his movement until he could make women groan with the slowest twist of his hips and men beg with the barest tilt of his head.

Harry allowed his body to be pulled flush against Dean’s chest and he rapped a leg about the taller man’s waist, pulling their bodies even closer, their faces so near that their noses brushed, and they were panting, equally seduced by their dance. The court mistakenly thought the performance was for them. It made Harry feel giddy inside, knowing that whenever he and Dean danced it was for no one but each other. They put everything into it, seducing one another and teasing, making love with every cool caress or spin or dip, because they both knew it was all they’d ever have of the other.

The dance ended with another dip, this time Dean leaned over with him and bent his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the base of Harry’s throat, but the other man’s hair and the angle which they were at kept the action hidden from their audience, who were too busy applauding to notice the crime. Dean pulled him up again smiling broadly, and without letting go of Harry’s wrist, led him off the small stage and into the back where the others were already waiting.

“That was amazing, as usual,” Pearl, one of the other dancers said, kissing both Harry and Dean on the cheek. “Hurry up and get changed, we need you both for the group dance right after. And Dean, the prince was speaking with me about some party next week. He wants us all there.”

“What’s so special about that? We’ve danced for the court before,” Harry asked when he caught the significant looks that passed between Pearl and Dean.

“The prince hosts small parties with close friends. When we dance for them, it’s an entirely different kind of dance. If you thought today was hot, little Emerald, dance at one of the prince’s gatherings,” Pearl said with a smile. “Now hurry up!” and she ushered them over to change costumes.

…………………..

Severus took his eyes from the hypnotic and sensual dance for only the briefest of moments to acknowledge Blaise as he came to stand beside him, before they both turned their gazes back on the catamite who everyone in the palace, and in the city, was whispering about. Here, dancing as he was, it did not take a very imaginative mind to conjure the reason to Emerald’s continued success; the youth was beautiful, confident, and radiated an intriguing blend of sex and innocence like the sun cast-off rays of light.

“The prince is quite captivated by him,” Blaise said after a moment, not looking away from the scene as Dean ran his hands up Emerald’s torso, cupping him under his arms and hoisting him into the air, their bodies close. “I think he is not the only one.”

Severus was quiet a moment, sifting through the layers of implication and query in the statement and in the end, he answered the only way he could, “I find it is disturbingly simple to become so.”

“I agree,” Blaise said. Again they were silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts, their own futile affections. “I heard news that you have hired a taster for his meals.”

“I believe it would be imprudent not to do so.”

“I had been under the impression that one was already employed.” Blaise turned his eyes from the dancers and fixed his worried frown on Severus, because the other man’s silence was answer enough to his question. “Does he know?”

“I found no reason to enlighten him of the turmoil within the harem that his success is causing. I am aware of it, and that is enough. He does nothing foolish, and spends little time in the place as it is.”

Blaise turned his eyes back and they fixed on Emerald once again. “I don’t see how they can want to kill him.”

“I thought your kind was heralded as the intelligent bunch,” Severus snarked. “It is not him they wish to kill, it is what he represents. It is clear to everyone exactly who it is that Draco wishes to take as Consort, there is little doubt in anyone’s mind. The gossip, even now, turns in this direction on farmland and manor house alike, both within the city and without. As far as the peasants are concerned the wedding might as well have already taken place. Yet there are those within the harem, as you should well know by now, who covet not the prince, but what a marriage to him stands to offer.”

“Politics,” Blaise snorted with disgust.

“Yes.” Severus turned and met Blaise directly. “You would do well to learn the fine art of lies and manipulation that is politics, otherwise you cannot expect to be of any use to him.” Severus turned on his heel, walking in a swirl of robes from the building towards the back of the large hall where the dancers had sectioned off a changing area. Blaise pondered the man's words as he found his own way outside.

He was one of the prince’s advisor’s and also one of his closest friends. Lately, Draco had taken to bringing Emerald along to an increasing number of their discussions. It had not taken long for Blaise’s affection for the young man who looked sweet and innocent, but planned and plotted better than some of their most astute generals, to grow beyond what he had been able to convince himself was appropriate. Severus raised a point. Emerald had nothing yet; he was precariously poised at the moment, mid-step between nothing and everything, and the slightest error could see him banished, or worse. Yet Blaise as well as Severus, were perfectly placed in positions where they could help the alluring youth. Severus was already turning his considerable power to Emerald’s aid, whether the catamite knew of it or not.

But what of Blaise? He had spent his days locked in the library, doing his best to forget the hopelessness of his situation. He’d avoided the youth, and lately, had been avoiding the palace as well, but even without his presence, he knew things were already growing increasingly more serious. Blaise knew Severus had hired a taster as soon as Emerald’s prolonged favor had grown apparent; and Blaise did not like to reflect on the implications, but either way, plots were abounding and schemes were moving forward. Whether Blaise hid in his library, or fought for what he … fought for Emerald’s security, there was still going to be uncertainty in the outcome, it was just a question of what Blaise was willing to sacrifice, and what he was willing to risk. It was easy, then, to come to a decision. His pace picking-up momentum, Blaise turned his steps toward the palace.

………………………….

The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was the vase that held another orchid blossom; the fifth that Harry had received within the past two weeks. He huffed and slowly managed to push the blankets off himself, reluctantly getting out of bed. Draco had been so busy with organizing the palace for Nott’s visit that they had barely had any opportunities to spend time together. Harry had to admit that he had lost all patience with the king who had suddenly become quite hesitant and uncertain and was relying heavily on his son for even the barest of decisions. It meant that, for the fifth night in fourteen days, Harry was left on his own. Sometimes he really hated how spoiled he’d gotten.

Determined to take his mind off things, Harry hastily threw on his riding things. The walk from the harem to the stables was not a long one, but he appreciated the opportunity to get away from the stares and the whispers that lately haunted his steps. Freedom to walk about the palace grounds as he pleased was one of the benefits that Draco had deemed fit to grace him with in the past four and a half months that they had been together, and it was one gift that he felt the most grateful for. Harry knew his travels were always haunted by Justin Finch-Fletchley, a young eunuch and warrior (a rare combination) who had been entrusted with Harry’s protection when he roamed, but it was a small price to pay for the freedom to leave the harem, even the palace itself at times.

Arriving at the stables, Harry walked directly to the far-end of the building where fiery red horse's stall was situated, calling a soft greeting as he slid-back the stall door and stepped inside. The hot-tempered horse was feared by all of the stable hands, and it was only a particularly brave and stubborn army captain who had accepted the perilous task of tending to the beast that had been a gift to the royal family.

The horse had been dubbed Demon, and Harry thought that the creature took a certain amount of pride in its name, he certainly made a strong attempt to live up to it. Yet Demon was always on his best behavior in regards to the lithe catamite, and Harry rewarded the horse’s good behavior with apples that he would sneak on his daily excursions to the stable. And Harry did have to sneak them to the animal as the keeper of the stables had placed a ban on any reward given to Demon until his behavior changed, not that it seemed to be helping with the horse's general disposition.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Mardirand, the keeper of the stables said, as he peered into the stall. “It was all too quiet, of a sudden, and the only one who ever gets him to shut up is you.”

Harry smiled back widely and patted Demon gently on the snout before exiting the stall to speak with the man. “Did you need me for something?” Harry asked, confused as to why the man would seek him out. Mardirand was a nice man and very pleasant to speak with, but he preferred the company of horses and usually kept out of the way.

“He’s yours,” Mardirand said bluntly, nodding his head in the direction of Demon.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, glancing at the horse briefly before turning back to the taller man.

“Order of the High Prince. He spoke with me directly, he did. Said that the beast was yours and wanted us all to know, and that he wanted it to be a surprise, but if you were to come in for a ride before he had the chance to tell you himself, to tell you in his stead because the damn thing isn’t getting enough exercise.”

Harry felt a good many things at hearing this news. Every time Draco gifted him with something Harry was always deeply touched, but this was by far the greatest gift the prince had ever given him. Demon was a marvelous creature and already shared a bond with Harry, however inexplicable; but with the gift was an implied trust and freedom, because Harry now had a horse of his very own, rather than using horses that Mardirand would loan him from the stables, and horses could travel fair distances.

Despite his tangle of emotion, Harry kept his face pleasantly blank and merely smiled at the man and nodded his head. “I imagine Wardby is relieved to hear he no longer has to tend to him,” Harry joked, referring to the captain who had previously been entrusted with Demon’s care.

“Yes, fairly relieved,” Mardirand said with a wide grin. “I took the liberty of preparing the beast’s tack, since I’s was knowing you’d be down for a ride today.” Harry’s pattern was fairly predictable; he made a mental note to change his routine, if only to ease Severus' mind. Through his brief talks with the keeper, Harry knew that it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep Harry removed from the upheaval within the harem that his lasting favor with the prince was causing, there was no reason to make eliminating him any easier.

Harry accepted the gear and hastily readied Demon before leading his horse outside of the stables and out into the sun.

Demon was the fastest horse Harry had ever had the pleasure to ride. His gait was long but his stride smooth, and once Harry had adjusted to the horse, and the horse had adjusted to him, Harry had coaxed Demon into a full-out sprint away from the palace, following the well-trodden path that wound through wood and field and passed stream and waterfall, all of which were on the palace grounds.

With the wind in his hair, Harry imagined that he had never been caged at all, that he had never seen the harem, or known what the bowels of Agathe looked like. He imagined himself riding Demon beyond the palace walls, through the crowded streets and away towards Wystenia. He imagined his home, bright and peaceful and waiting for him. He imagined each of the millions of possibilities, but then he noticed the position of the sun in the sky and dutifully turned Demon to return to their respective cages. Draco would likely wish to see him that night, and Harry had to thank him for his gift.

………………………

As was their usual morning tradition, Emerald and Cho sat on the edge of the pool after a long swim and enjoyed the fruit Gwynn had brought for them. Today it was a bowl of cherries, which had sparked a very peculiar game between the two friends.

“It’s all in the tongue,” Cho said as she plucked off a stem from one of the cherries, took it into her mouth and after a moment, removed it again with a quaint knot tied at the centre of it.

“That’s helpful,” Harry muttered as he plucked off a stem and popped it into his mouth. He sucked on it, he contorted it in his tongue, even managed to loop it but then was at a loss as to how he could bring the one end through the loop, and in the end popped the stem out with an indignant expression at the thing’s complete and utter lack of cooperation.

“Oh, that’s pathetic, Emerald,” Cho teased. “I don’t know what the prince sees in you, then!”

“Yes, because it is, of course, the prerequisite of all members of the harem to tie cherry stems into little knots. I’d much rather eat the cherries than tongue-fuck them!”

“Ahem.” The low sound of a throat clearing caused both friends to twist in their seats and see who the intruder was.

“Severus!” Emerald greeted happily then, upon recalling the nature of the conversation the Keeper of the harem had just stumbled on, turned a vibrant shade of pink. Severus, who seemed to be attempting to smother a smirk, nodded at them both before gesturing Emerald over. “What is wrong?” Emerald asked as he crossed to the man's side, twisting the long towel about his waist.

“There is nothing wrong, I am simply delivering a message from the prince.”

“Draco? Another orchid, is it?” Harry asked, feeling just the slightest bit put-out. He knew that with Nott’s upcoming visit and the king’s recent illness Draco had been quite busy, and the fact that he’d still managed to make as much time for Harry as he had was quite an accomplishment.

“The prince expects you in his chambers this night,” Severus said with a twitch in his lips, and Harry knew his friend was attempting to quell a smirk. Severus was evil like that. “I am here to relay to you the invitation extended to the Oraios. You are invited to dance at the dinner party the prince is having this weekend. He specifically requested a dance from you.”

“One of his soirees?” Harry had heard about the parties Draco purportedly held, but had thus far never been to one. “Yes, of course I’ll dance,” he answered when he realized that Severus’ emphasis of the word ‘invitation’ meant that this was yet another thing the prince wished for but would not force from him. Severus nodded and half-bowed in a way he’d been doing for a while now.

“What was all that about?” Cho asked when Harry returned to his seat.

“Draco asked me to dance for him.”

“I thought you already do?”

“At one of his soirées. He asked for me specifically.”

“Well, he would,” she dismissed with a casual wave. “You’re his little treasure,” she teased, and Harry rolled his eyes.

…………………………

The weekend came much faster than Harry anticipated. Days passed in a blur of full-day practices and nights with Draco. He'd spent most of the week feeling utterly exhausted and, subsequently, Harry had taken the afternoon before the performance to himself in an attempt to catch-up on much-needed sleep, and it was because of this that he found himself sprinting through the back hallways of the palace heading towards the dressing room where he should have already been in costume.

“You’re late!” Pearl hissed when he came tumbling through the door.

“I know, I know!” Harry said distractedly, already tearing off his clothes and heading towards the dark crimson wrap that would be his only piece of attire.

“We need help, here!” Pearl cried, and in a flash, Harry found himself surrounded by the other dances, each grabbing items of his costume and getting him ready. There were gold armbands and bracelets, a gold collar and a gold anklet, to echo the gold lining on the red wrap he wore. His head was tugged to the side and two of the female dancers smeared gloss on his lips and kohled his eyes, and he felt someone else applying the glitter to his hair and body, and yet another outlining his nipples with henna.

Harry found it amusing that, though their costumes were practically identical, he always looked more feminine then those who made up the male portion of the Oraios. All of the male dancers were taller than he was, though he was not that short by any means; and the majority of them had a much greater muscle mass. While on the other men the gold bands stretched tight over rippling muscle, Harry’s bands were just the slightest bit loose. And, because of his standing in the prince’s favor, he was always given something that would further attract attention to him, in this case it was more glitter and gold threads in his wrap, just enough to sparkle in the light but not so much that someone could realize they were there.

“Come on!” one of the men called, and everyone stepped back from him and surveyed him a moment before turning on their heels and hurrying out.

“Emerald!” Dean called, grabbing Harry’s arm before he could leave the dressing room.

“Dean,” Harry said, his voice sounding the slightest bit hoarse. Dean cupped the back of his neck and tugged him closer so that their foreheads rested against each other and the movement was intimate enough that Harry glanced to either side of him to make certain there were still others in the room. Having an audience and being this intimate was one thing, the Oraios were used to touching each other when they danced, but if he and Dean were alone, that made the action mean something else entirely.

“Are you ready?” Dean asked, his voice soft.

“Erm …” Harry cleared his throat, and then responded affirmatively.

“We’ll dance like fire,” Dean said, which was what he always said, and Harry wasn’t sure why he did, or what exactly he meant by it. He couldn't deny, however, that whenever he was near the other man, he felt hot and full of wanting. It was forbidden, but the more he danced, the more difficult it was to set aside his budding feelings. He pressed a hand to Dean's chest, palm resting flat so he could feel the soft thump of the man's heart, and he nodded. In that moment, he would have promised Dean anything at all.

………………..

Draco was reclining on a soft cushion, sipping on a glass of fine wine and doing his best to hide his boredom with the conversation that was taking place around him. He had originally arranged for a party because he had sorely needed a break. Between his father falling ill and his needing to take-over the running of the palace not to mention the empire while Lucius recuperated, and planning the meeting with Nott, Draco had been hard-pressed to find a moment to himself.

Of course, there was always Emerald. He had become increasingly appreciative of the young catamite. Emerald always knew exactly what he needed to relax. There were several occasions where they didn’t even make love, merely snacked on a late dinner while sprawled on Draco’s large bed, talking until they fell asleep, too tired to do much of anything else.

“Any tasty morsels out for the sampling tonight?” Dartiver asked and Draco only just managed to smirk back and hide his disdain for the man because he had been trained since birth to do so.

Lord Dartiver was not really a lord; at least, he had the title, but neither the money, the land, nor the political clout to be of any use as a lord. Still, he liked to consider himself important, and Lucius had let the man be, much to Draco’s chagrin, he did not approve of his father pandering to fops and idiots as he did. If it were up to Draco, everyone with a title would be someone who could aid the empire.

Dartiver doubly irritated Draco because not only was he completely pompous and totally useless, but the man was well over fifty, and round and balding, yet continually insisted on cozying up to Draco and behaving as if he were as young as everyone else at the prince’s parties. Despite the fact that the prince never issued any invitations to Dartiver when it came to his private soirées, somehow the man never missed a one, and arrived unfashionably early to each. Draco would have tossed the man out on his ear, were it not for the fact that Lucius had firmly reprimanded him and issued a direct order to make nice with the members of teh court; all of them.

The musicians occupied the far corner plucking out a soft melody that was meant as background music, just alluring enough to keep the audience anticipating the coming performance. The room was filled with conversations that blended into each other, just like the smoke from some of his guests’ pipes blended with the air to create a comfortable haze, the smell of the bitter pipeweed mixing with the perfumes that his guests always applied in abundance with the hope to distract their dinner companions from the scent of sweat that the warm weather and close-quarters resulted in.

“I heard that you had added a new dancer to the Oraios?” Dartiver questioned.

“That, dear man, is very old news,” said another lord, leaning over to shake his head at Dartiver’s lack of knowledge. “I understand that it was that young man we’ve been seeing around the palace?” Draco nodded his head vaguely, only half listening. These men could gossip and lust after Emerald all they wanted, in the end Emerald belong solely to him, and it was to his bed that the youth would be retiring that night. No one else's.

A clear ringing of a chime silenced the room. The hush fell over the musicians who ceased their song, and the guests who were distracted from their conversation; in unison, everyone turned to the front of the large room to where a make-shift stage had been set-up, only slightly higher than the tables on which everyone was dining.

Two well-muscled guards who Draco employed as security for his dancers and to make certain that his Oraios were behaving themselves had pulled aside the gauzy curtains that sectioned off the stage. Draco settled in his cushion, watching as an ordered line of dancers entered, one line from each side of the stage and met each other in the middle. He scanned the row for a sign of Emerald, but could see none. The music had yet to begin but his dancers already cast an alluring image, dressed as they were in revealing garments, the women exposing their midsections, and the men dressed only in gold jewelry and short wraps of fabric that hung low on their waists.

Cued by some unseen gesture, one of the musicians let out a guttural shout, and as one the dancers raised their arms above their hands, palms pressing and as the music began, a fast beat, wild and erotic. The dancers began to move.

The line broke and allowed two figures forward, and the others formed a half-circle about the two new figures, twisting their hips in a rapid shake, and then pulsing their hips forward and back, their heads thrown back in various depictions of surrender. Draco wasn’t looking at them.

In the center of the arch of dancers was Emerald. Like the others, he was rotating his hips in small circle, his pelvis close to that of another dancer who was moving in the same fashion, their hips grinding close to each other, but never making contact. The other man, who Draco recognized as Dean Thomas, the head of his Oraios, placed a hand at the small of Emerald’s back and Emerald shifted his body, one arm bracing on Thomas’ back and his legs wrapping around the other man’s waist. Their hips pulsed, and Emerald arched his body backward in a sharp angle.

When Emerald righted himself in the tight embrace his face was close to Thomas’ and Draco could feel himself grow hard with wanting as he imagined himself replacing the taller man who danced so well with his treasure. Emerald’s cheeks were flushing with exertion and a thin sheen of sweat was coating his lean, golden body. Emerald touched the ground with one foot, allowing Thomas to drag him like that for a few steps before he stretched his arms out, pushing Thomas away, kicked out with his left leg, which Thomas had been holding around his body, and then turned his back on his fellow dancer.

Emerald’s body was fluid and loose, the embodiment of sex as he twisted his way across the stage, and Draco watched as Thomas followed him and yanked the green-eyed boy to his chest, pressing Emerald’s back close to his own body, and Emerald tilted his head back to rest gently against his fellow dancer’s shoulder, the picture of submission. The other dancers stepped in then, whirling around the stage until it looked like an orgy with every participant still clothed. When they moved aside again, Draco’s breath caught as he watched Emerald with Thomas, again Emerald was confined by the other dancer’s arms and his body, their movements liquid sex. A shiver went through Draco as he watched them, feeling at once a desperate wanting for Emerald, and also a strange feeling, as if he were observing a private moment between two lovers.

The dance came to a close with Emerald, and half of the other dancers, in the arms of their dancing partners, their legs wrapped around the other’s torso, their arms about their heads, looking for all intents and purposes as if they were frozen in a moment of ecstacy.

Draco managed to wait for the Oraios to file off the stage, the audience still clapping and cheering and shouting for more; and then he rose from his chair and hastily exited the dining hall.

………………………

Harry burst into his changing room laughing, exhilarated as he always was from his dance. He had forgotten once again that they had an audience and let himself completely go, savouring every movement; every moment of being with Dean in the only way they had.

His thoughts were so full of his dancing companion that at first, when lips descending down upon his own and he felt his body pushed back against the door he had just come through, he believed it was Dean who had come to him. He raised a hand to Dean’s chest pushing lightly, hoping to catch a breath and when Dean stepped back, Harry realized he had been mistaken. When he opened his eyes, his breath coming in steadier gasps, it was grey eyes not brown that were looking back at him.

“Draco?” he asked, feeling very disoriented and the slightest bit dazed. Draco stepped closer to him once more, and at the same time he was registering the prince’s erection rubbing against his stomach, he felt the prince push a leg between his thighs and became aware of his own arousal.

“You never told me you could dance like that,” Draco scolded in a husky purr. “You could have at least given me a warning.” Harry couldn’t answer, his eyes had rolled into the back of his head as the prince suckled at his neck and bit lightly at the sensitive spot between neck and shoulder.

“Your guests?” Harry managed to question.

“A valid point,” Draco said, and stepped back, which made Harry pause a moment to see what he had done to cause that reaction, and then his brain cleared and he attempted to compose himself. “I’m going to chase them out of my palace, and you’re going to get ready for me, and then,” and here the prince stepped close again to purr softly directly into Harry’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you again and again, on every available surface in my chambers.”

The prince was gone by the time Harry managed to compose himself, and then he had to hurry and change out of his performance clothes because he needed to return to his rooms and wash before he went to the prince’s chambers. He was just pulling on his shirt when there was a gentle knock on the door. “Come in!” he called as he dragged his shoes over to a chair and tried to wedge them onto his feet.

“Emerald?” a voice asked softly.

Harry’s head snapped up. “Dean?” he asked, rising from his chair. “Erm. I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“You were fire tonight,” Dean said, his breath ghosting across Harry’s face causing him to shiver in the same way that the prince’s caresses did.

“Fire,” Harry concurred, his eyes threatening to fall closed. Perhaps his body was simply sensitive from the prince’s earlier assault, but Harry wanted this man that stood before him now, and even if every ounce of sense in his body was demanding he step away, he found he could not move. Dean’s fingers ghosted softly along his cheek, tucked errant strands of sweat-damp hair behind his ear, and then urged Harry to meet his gaze again.

When Harry once again looked up at Dean, the man lowered his head until his lips were just short of contacting Harry’s, a mere hairsbreadth apart. “Fire,” he said again, and smiled softly before stepping away again and exiting Harry’s room.

……………………..

Harry wasn’t running when he returned to his rooms, though the prince was waiting for him. Instead, he entered in a daze and began to listlessly toss his clothes off as he headed to wash. He did not notice Cho, who stood perhaps a little too elaborately clothed than was normal for this time of night, nor did he notice Gwynn, who was already preparing an outfit from his closet and setting it out on the bed.

He did not notice anything until he was seated in his bath and Cho stormed in, glaring at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice not quite a shout.

“Cho?” He startled in his tub, his eyes flying wide. “What are you doing?”

“I saw you!” she said. “I was there as part of the eye-candy!” Harry noticed her attire but still didn’t quite follow what might be wrong. ”Emerald,” she said, and sounded sympathetic, as if she were aching for him. “You can’t continue like this.”

“Like what?”

“I saw your dance with Dean,” she explained, her voice soft now.

Harry tensed and concentrated on sponging the glitter from his body. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can’t keep doing this. You have the attention of everyone in the kingdom, they’ll notice if you start-up an affair with another catamite!”

“It’s not an affair!” he hissed. He finished washing and rose from the bath, towelling off and wrapping a robe around himself.

“Then what is it? You’re clearly lusting after each other!”

“You can’t understand it?” he asked, his voice rising. “You can’t grasp why I might feel for Dean the way I do?”

“No, I can’t!” she shouted back. “He’ll only be trouble for you! You have the prince! You practically have everything everyone in this godforsaken harem has ever wanted! So no, I don’t understand why you would throw it away!”

“It’s because he’s beautiful, and amazing,” Harry answered. “He loves me! He’s something that’s only mine, and he loves me, and I know it’s stupid! I know! But I can’t help it because it’s not like it is with the prince! Because he really cares and he really wants me and … and I chose him!” Harry finished, his shout cracking slightly with emotion.

“Oh, sweet-thing,” Cho crooned, pulling him against her as she brushed his hair with her fingers. Harry let himself be held, his whole soul aching with the emptiness he felt, with the hurt and sorrow and desperate wanting he felt to be loved by someone, anyone. After a moment, Cho pushed him back slightly and stroked his cheek. “Dean doesn’t love you.”

Harry winced and tried to tug away from her. “You’re lying!” he hissed, and managed to break free of her grasp.

She looked at him with sorrow in her eyes. “You’re not the first who has believed that Dean Thomas has a heart,” she said. “He’s done it before with other hopeful little prospects. Once he’s had them, he turns them out of his bed and moves on to the next.”

“Shut up!”

“He’s broken the law before! Lain with others who belong to the prince before! You’re not the first to believe his pretty lies.” She said it all softly, gently but emphatically, and Harry felt himself breaking apart, twice betrayed and didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I have to go,” he said. “The prince …” he turned his back on her, dressed quickly and left his chambers all without uttering another sound.

Standing in the doorway that separated his bathroom from his bedroom, Cho watched him as he moved and waited still after he had left. When his silhouette had disappeared along the balcony walkway, Gwynn stepped in front of her and touched her cheek to get her attention. “You lied to him.” Her expression was not placing blame nor did it show signs of upset, Gwynn seemed merely to be stating a fact.

“I had to protect him,” Cho answered. “He would have gone and done something stupid if I hadn’t said what I did.”

“I think you envy Dean and the prince,” Gwynn said. “They each have a part of him that you can never have.”

Cho drew herself upward and her guarded expression fell back into place. “What of it?” she asked, and it was Gwynn’s turn to look upon her friend with sorrow in her eyes. Cho turned on her heel and stormed from the rooms.

……………………..

Draco’s tongue played down Emerald’s panting chest. He wasn’t sure what to expect, so he kept an eye on the dark-haired youth.

When Emerald had come to his chambers, Draco had been surprised by his attitude. Emerald had toyed with the line between dominant and submissive before, and the prince had to admit to enjoying the mock power play. This night, however, Emerald was not playing a game; he had stopped any words Draco had attempted to speak with kisses or bites or licks, he’d tackled the prince to the bed without so much as stopping to shed his cloak, and they’d proceeded to roll about, alternately trying to strip the other and devour him.

Now Emerald lay on his back, they were both naked and Draco was enjoying the taste of his lover’s body until slender, long-fingered hands raked through his hair and then yanked his head up and back. “Fuck me,” Emerald commanded, and even if Draco wasn’t used to taking orders, it didn’t even occur to him not to follow this one.

He went to a drawer to fetch some lubricant and when he returned Emerald had already turned over and settled himself on his hands and knees. Draco had wanted to see Emerald’s face as they had sex but he didn’t voice his desire, instead he coated himself with the lubricant and, without stopping to prepare Emerald, slid into the awaiting body.

He didn’t wait, simply started pumping his hips as soon as he was fully sheathed, but after several pushes forward, Emerald began to jerk his hips back and clamped a hand around the back of his thigh urging him to move faster, to fuck him harder. Draco once again complied. He wasn’t sure what Emerald was thinking; he wasn’t sure what had happened in the time following the dance and Emerald’s arrival in his rooms. He wondered if he’d sent the wrong signal when he’d tackled Emerald in his dressing rooms, coming on too strong and making his lover think he wanted it hard and fast like this, when in reality he had just been filled with lust and wanted to have the boy in any way he could.

Something about their lovemaking was off. Draco felt oddly alone in his experience, as if he were separate from his lover, blocked by some unseen wall Emerald had erected. Try as he might however, Draco could not reason what he might have said or done that would have this effect.

When he climaxed, he felt physically sated but unsatisfied. Emerald shifted onto his side with his back to Draco, and Draco was at a loss. Feeling hurt and lost, he shifted to lie against Emerald’s back and carefully wrapped his lover up in his arms, hoping that whatever had hurt the youth would be healed if he simply held him tight enough.

………..

The pavilion where they were was open and roofless, exposing them to the heat of the sun that shone brilliantly in the cloudless sky. The Oraios stood along the side watching as Emerald walked to the centre of the pavilion to meet Dean where he stood. Everyone could sense a shift between the pair, but none could pinpoint it.

Before Dean could give the cue, as he always did, Emerald raised a hand to the musicians and gestured them to begin, their rhythm fast and furious. Emerald began moving without missing a beat and it took Dean a moment to catch-up because Emerald was clearly improvising and making no attempt to include Dean in his movements.

Emerald arched his hips from left to right for several beats and then twisted his body away from Dean entirely, lunging forward as he arched his upper body backward toward Dean, fingers reaching out as if beckoning him closer, but when Dean moved to comply Emerald skimmed his body close to his partner’s, their skin touching before Emerald pressed a palm firmly against Dean’s chest and pushed him away.

The other dancers watched, fascinated by the performance and trying to understand the shift occuring before their eyes. Emerald had always seemed happy to play the submissive dancer, blending his body with Dean’s so that their movements were erotic and slow, like sex on the dance floor. Now, they watched as Emerald alternately pulled a lover close to him and pushed an enemy back. Dean’s own movements were becoming more forceful to match his partner’s. As passionate as the dance was, there was an element of turmoil and anger that made it all the more amazing.

Dean caught hold of Emerald’s wrist and pulled so the other man spun into his chest. In answer, Emerald raised his left leg up, wrapping it around Dean’s waist as they had often done, drawing Dean closer. Then the leg extended to the side and before Dean could process it, Emerald had brought his foot between them and pushed Dean away.

Dean couldn’t understand what was happening between them. Nothing in his last encounter with the other man would give cause, Dean thought, to the way in which Emerald fought with him now as they danced. He rushed forward as Emerald turned his back and caught the lean body up again in his arms, relishing the way Emerald relaxed backward, allowing Dean to pull him backwards, and then Emerald tensed, spinning around, draping his arms about Dean’s neck, pulling him close to rest his forehead against his pectoral, and then pushing him away, roughly arching Dean backward.

Their breath was coming quickly as they attempted to negotiate through dance. Anything that Dean tried, however, was ignored by Emerald. The dance came to an abrupt end when Dean wrapped his arms around his partner, hoping to quell the unexpected anger and Emerald twisted out of the hold, breaking away and hastily walking out of the pavilion as the musicians trailed off, unsure what had happened.

………………..

Harry sat propped against the pillows that were braced against the headboard. His knees were bent, feet resting against the soft blankets, warmed by Draco who had settled between his legs. Harry toyed idly with blond hair and thought of an appropriate response to the rant that he had just listened to. “You just have to play it out and see how it ends,” was his conclusion.

“I already know how it ends,” Draco insisted. “I’m trying to avoid a war. I don’t understand my father.”

“He’s not acting at all how you envisioned he might, is he?”

“He is a good ruler,” Draco said emphatically. “But … but I don’t understand his reasoning.”

Harry pressed a kiss to Draco's head as he said, “Even a good ruler is not infallible.”

Silence stretched as Draco contemplated the statement. “It’s that he won’t see reason. He won’t strategize!” he finally said, venting the thoughts he had been holding-in since he had first become aware of the difficulties with Nott. “He places ridiculous limitations on our negotiations that could very easily cost us in the future.”

“You’ll work it out,” Harry assured his lover.

“So long as you, my brilliant strategist, promise to help.” Draco turned round in Harry’s loose embrace so that they lay chest to chest.

“I promise,” Harry answered.

……………..

There was something about the Serpent Temple that kept drawing Harry back to it. Unlike the rest of the palace zoo, most people found the snakes unsettling, so it was always empty of most everyone, and he had discovered that he could lose track of all time there, lulled by the snakes' sibilant hisses.

Harry had been doing his best to avoid Cho since her revelation after his performance, something that was made conveniently simple by the fact that Harry had been granted royal permission to wander the palace, something that Cho did not have. Most of his time was taken up trying to figure ways to help Draco who was becoming increasingly frustrated with his efforts at political strategy being thwarted by his own father, at least where they concerned Nott. The new king's impending visit was causing a rift between father and son as Lucius became increasingly cautious and conservative and Draco attempted to explain that those were two words that would absolutely encourage Nott's feelings of disdain and hostility.

As the boa constrictor slid carelessly over Harry's outstretched leg a thought suddenly caught him in its grasp and he rose carefully, exiting the chamber and then breaking into a full run toward the palace. He raced through the halls, heedless of the spectacle he presented, running like a giddy schoolboy through the busy halls. He rushed into the prince’s office chambers at the end of the hall and paced fitfully, Draco was in a meeting with his father and advisors trying to finalize the arrangements for Nott's arrival in two day's time, and however much he had risen in the royal esteem, Harry was certain barging into the room and demaning an immediate audience would go over at all well.

So Harry paced back-and-forth impatiently until, finally, the door opened and Draco stepped into his room. The prince's surprise at his catamite's presence evident only the raising of a single brow as he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Do you trust me?” Harry asked.

Draco waved a dismissive hand as he shrugged out of his overcloak. “Of course I do, how did you get here?”

“I ran very fast and flirted with your guards, but that’s not important right now,” Harry said, stepping forward and placing his hands on the prince’s shoulders. “How much do you trust me?”

“Emerald, I don’t understand.”

“If I said that I knew a way to convince Nott we have his kind of power and authority, what would you say?”

“I’d say that I’m open to suggestions,” Draco said, allowing the dark-haired youth to usher him towards the chair behind his desk.

“Lucius said he wanted everything above-board. He specified that he would present himself as the leader of the empire and that should be enough, and that he would tolerate no masquerade on your part either,” Harry said, only half a question.

“He does not wish to appear too desperate for the treaty. We don’t technically need the treaty with Nott, but it would certainly be beneficial. My father has no wish for a war at this time,” Draco explained.

“Yes, you’ve said,” Harry dismissed. The prince was amused as he watched his catamite pace back-and-forth in front of his desk. He had instructed Emerald, near the beginning of their relationship, that he was not to treat him as a prince, that he would always simply be ‘Draco’ to Emerald, unless they were before the court, at which time Emerald was to show the appropriate respect but otherwise alter no part of himself. It always pleased Draco when Emerald acted on that particular wish. “You don’t require a masquerade, however,” Harry elaborated, stopping at the centre of Draco’s desk and placed his hands on it, leaning forward. “He will respect you if he sees you have complete control over something dangerous, would he not?”

“I don’t follow,” Draco admitted.

“It’s one thing to be steeped in shady dealings. It’s another to completely avoid them. But what if you did not hide from those dealings. What if you already had control over the more dangerous aspects of politics, of life, of anything. Something dangerous, something alluring, something completely in your power?”

“I can see your point, and it’s valid. I cannot, however, see your plan.”

“That’s simple enough, so long as I have permission to alter a few lesser arrangements that have been delegated?” Harry asked formally.

“Of course,” Draco offered with a somewhat bemused quirk to his lips.

“And so long as you would not object to my presence at your side for certain appearances over the course of Nott’s stay, that it would be appropriate for a high prince to have an interest at his side.”

“You would have been there anyway, you know that,” Draco said. Harry had been seen more frequently at celebrations and ceremonies. Draco had discovered the youth had a knack for mingling, and he found that he very much enjoyed having Emerald by his side, whispering amusing commentary into his ear and poking him when he started to drift toward sleep.

“Then have no fear. The king will have himself a treaty,” Harry said.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked when the dark haired man turned to exit the rooms.

“To get my hands dirty,” Harry said with a grin.

“Very well, but I expect to find you naked and in my bed when I return to my chambers this evening.”

Harry grinned. “Mm. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

………………..

The entirety of the pier on the palace grounds were filled with people eager to be a part of the official reception of Theodor Nott. At the top of the palace steps, Draco stood by his father and mother beneath a sheer canopy supported by four servants, watching as the young king made his way forward along a path of silk and flowers. The sun beat down on the clustered members of court, glinting off jewels and bright fabrics.

Taking his eyes from Nott's slow procession, Draco scanned the crowds, glittering in the midday sun, and his eyes landed on Emerald, standing between Severus Snape and Blaise Zabini, with another concubine at his side as well as the servant Draco had bestowed on the youth at the very beginning. For a moment, grey eyes met green, and then Emerald winked at Draco before turning his gaze away.

Emerald had discussed many aspects of the weekend with him of course, and they had even playfully argued over some of the arrangements; but for the most part, Draco had let Emerald be and instead had taken-on the task of assuring his father that all was well in-hand and there was no need to fret or interfere. It had been a bit of a surprise, given the amount of work Emerald had put into alterations for the weekend, that the young catamite had insisted that he should not be present at Draco's side for Nott's arrival. Draco had no idea what his lover was planning, but he trusted him absolutely. Whatever Emerald had arranged, Draco believed that the boy knew what he was doing.

His attention was recalled as Nott made his way up the stairs and bowed slightly once to Draco's parents and then once to Draco himself. The usual greetings were exchanged, and Draco watched as Lucius welcomed Nott to the capital formally and, after the standard welcoming and introductions, the group proceeded into the palace.

According to the city’s tradition there was a brief welcoming lunch where Draco and Lucius dined with Nott and his chief advisor, as well as close friends and members of the royal court from both kingdoms. Nott’s other guests dined in a separate room with the nobles and lesser members of the court. Draco knew that Emerald had decided to avoid the other gathering, just like Narcissa had forgone hosting the second hall.

Following the lunch, Lucius adjourned to his library and Nott and his retinue retired to their rooms, leaving Draco with nothing to do until dinner. He idly toyed with the idea of visiting the harem and spending the afternoon with Emerald, but he had no idea what his dark-haired lover was up to. Emerald could very possibly be planning or preparing for the rest of the weekend and that was something Draco was loathe to interrupt. Instead, he retired to his private office, intending to study the treaty that they had been working on extensively for some time, hoping to further prepare.

The treaty had been created in two drafts, the original taking a far more powerful stance and making far more demands of Tharsis and of Nott himself. The second draft was a sort of compromise, it still had Nott and his country paying a fine tribute to the empire, but it gave back a considerable amount as well, more of an even trade than the first.

Draco had been of a mind to destroy the second treaty. The Edorean Empire had no business making arrangements with a single country as if they were meeting as complete equals. The empire, in the original draft, was still promising trade and protection as well as peace with Nott and that was all that should be expected of them. Lucius, however, was favoring the second treaty, not having high hopes about bargaining with Nott, and wanting peace because he did not wish to risk war.

Intending to find some compromise between the two extremely different documents, Draco entered his office in deep thought, all of which were immediately halted when he opened his door and discovered a completely naked Emerald lying sprawled on his desk.

“I thought I told you to trust me?” Emerald asked idly.

“You’re very lucky that I didn’t send one of my advisors in here to fetch me the treaty,” Draco quipped, but he was so relieved to have an excuse to not think about politics.

“You wouldn’t have, I know you too well. You forget that you told me to have the entire weekend planned, and that’s exactly what I’ve done,” Emerald said, rising to sit on the desk as Draco paced closer.

“But I didn’t know I would be coming here until just after lunch,” Draco said, sighing as Emerald lowered his pert mouth to nip and suckle along his neck, fingers already prying his vest and tunic off.

“A good host,” Emerald said in between nips and licks, “knows everything that will occur over the course of their event – every thought, every desire; even before anyone is even aware of what they are wanting – so that he can be prepared to meet the need.”

“Mine better be the only need you’re meeting,” Draco said, head thrown back as Emerald worked the erection he had freed from the blonde’s pants.

“Your need, and the need of the empire.”

“Hm,” Draco sighed. “My good little ruler.”

……………………..

When Draco had entrusted the arrangements for Nott's visit to Emerald, he had not known what to expect. Of course, his father had likely been kept abreast of the particulars, but Draco had been infuriatingly left in the dark, and so many times he was forced to remain impassive and aloof when what he felt was both impressed and proud.

Every aspect of the visiting king's visit had been carefully considered, it seemed, right down to the meals that were served, all specialities of the region, and as decadent as they were delectable. From the moment Nott stepped off his ship he had been swept away by the pure splendor of the Edorean Empire. Emerald had even restricted traffic through the city, and especially the market, so that when Draco invited Nott on a tour of Agathe order reigned supreme. Everywhere there were lavish signs of prosperity and opulence, and everyone, from the nobles who joined the nightly feats at the palace, to the servants and the citizens of the city were as full of honest good cheer as if it were a feast day, though the prince was not sure just what his catamite had done to elicit such goodwill.

Draco had become accustomed to the feeling of surprise, so much so that as he entered the Great Hall to take his place on the four thrones set upon the dais, he managed not to hesitate at how the room, typically filled with dark marble and accented with gold and ivory and rich jewels that glittered in the light, has been altered. Gone were the seats along both sides of the hall for nobles and advisors, in fact, most of the clutter had been emptied from the room, leaving only a few statues along the walls, behind the elaborate pillars, a long silken runner leading up to the steps on which the thrones were perched, and a single, smaller seat undoubtedly intended for Nott facing the dais, and surrounded by cushions, which Draco assumed were there to accomodate the visiting king's advisors. The guards that typically stood along the walls and at each of the entrances had been doubled, and were clad in full parade dress, complete with shining spears, and stood stoically, maintaining silent vigil.

As Draco settled onto his throne he noted that both of his parents were wearing their less formal crowns, despite being dressed finely. His mother in particular, clad in a slim-fitting shift dress whose deep purple color made her pale hair glow, was wearing more accessories than Draco had seen on her in some years; jewled silver bands and bracelets, to go with her jewled sandals, and necklace. Draco himself had selected his simplest crown: a gold circlet diadem with fine carvings, which could not be seen clearly at any great distance.

However subdued his clothes were, and regardless of carefully maintained attitude of collected aloofness, Draco could not help but wonder at the two, rather sizable, tigers reclining at his feet. There, as far as he could tell, no animal handlers in the hall, which was odd, but he supposed that the guards must have been selected for their ability to also handle the beasts, otherwise he was certain than Emerald had lost his mind.

When Nott and his retinue arrived in the hall, they were dressed in black and glowered darkly at everything, but especially at the seating arrangements. They sat in silence as Lucius made his opening remarks, and Nott himself kept his commentary brief.

Draco sat back and listened to it all, hopelessly bored by the ceremony of it and wondering what on earth Emerald could have concocted to loosen-up the young king who sat, tense and uncomfortable on the small throne. Beside Draco's throne, one of the tigers rose to a seated position and he risked a light scratch of the beast’s head. All the animals had been tamed, but that didn’t mean that sometimes one didn’t get out of hand. Still, the tiger merely tilted its head and so Draco scratched a bit harder.

Lucius waved Blaise Zabini forward and called for the treaty, which meant that there was a stretch of awkward staring as Blaise left the hall and Nott seemed disinclined to speak. Draco amused himself with his tiger and felt a little bit smug when he caught the somewhat astonished gaze of Theodor Nott. It occured to Draco then, in a way it simply hadn't before, that Nott was his age. He had likely been confident in a few more years at least of learning before assuming the throne of his country, Draco felt a shockingly strong bout of empathy that he crushed by assuring himself that whenever the day came that he should assume the throne of the empire, he would never put on airs like Nott did, he would back every action with very real power.

A moment later, the curtains that blocked the entrance behind the thrones were brushed aside and Emerald himself appeared. Draco didn’t at first see his lover, but he saw the expression on Nott’s face and thought he might have suddenly understood what his dark-haired lover had said when he had mentioned the night before that a man would do anything for a pretty face.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco watched as Emerald approached Lucius, bowing low and presenting the treaty. Draco noted, with an increasing interest, that document his lover presented was the original form of the treaty, and yet Lucius did not seem inclined to correct the error. Draco began to realize that he had not been the only one placating Lucius Malfoy about the coming weekend, that perhaps Emerald had kept him abreast of the changes and that Lucius had perhaps finally been swayed into believing what Draco had been trying to explain from the start.

With a seemingly careless wave, Lucius motioned Emerald up and as the dark-haired young man stepped down from the dais, Draco finally took-in his lover's appearance. He wore soft, dark red pants that hung low on his hips and accentuated his arse, a very fine feature, in Draco’s opinion. In lieu of a shirt, Emerald wore a dark vest, left open to expose a hennaed tattoo about his navel. There were gold bands on his wrists and one around his throat, and on his head, the thin Consort's crown, faintly glowing. Emerald's lips were glossed and his eyes darkly kohled, and about his body was wrapped a rather large snake that hissed happily and seemed quite content to coil around the warm body.

Draco watched as his lover, alluring and exotic, knelt before Nott and offered the treaty. There was a stretch of time where where Theodor did not move, and took Draco a moment to realize that the young king was kept still not out of anger or arrogance, but rather had fallen victim Emerald. Finally, Nott accepted the treaty and Emerald rose, re-climbing the stairs to settle in the smaller throne to Draco’s right where he reclined quite casually and seductively.

As Lucius began to outline the treaty, Draco watched in amusement as Nott stared fixedly at Emerald. He tried very hard to contain a snort of laughter as the snake, which was moving about on his lover's tanned skin, hissed against Emerald’s throat and the boy tilted slightly, as if accepting the caress of a lover.

Four points of the treaty had been accepted, and Lucius was presenting the issue of the price of tribute that would be given yearly to the empire, and while Nott’s advisors turned startled, helpless eyes from the ruler of Edorea, to their own king, to the boy who had captivated their king’s attention, they watched as their country agreed to become yet another subject of the empire.

Nott's palette had been whet with rich foods, bold and elegant architecture, tours of the grand city, its large library and historic sites and monuments, with a sampling of the pleasures of the flesh; he had been dazzled by a king and queen who seemed aloof and unmoved by the wealth and power they wielded, as if it were common, as if it were nothing. He’d been impressed with the prince’s intellect and ideas and decorum; and now he was solidly seduced by an imp of a boy who wore a crown and a snake and looked like sin.

Draco stretched his hand over the armrest of his throne and rested it lightly on Emerald’s arm, stroking slightly, and Nott saw the possessive gesture. Saw how the mysterious youth with dark hair leaned his head towards the prince and whispered something that caused the set mouth to quirk slightly in amusement, a promise on the lips of a lover. With a quick flourish of a quill, Nott placed his name at the bottom of the treaty, and bowed low to the figures perched on the thrones.

When Nott and his advisors had once again retired to their chambers, Lucius turned to his son and nodded simply. As the four of them rose, Draco turned to Emerald, squeezing the hand he had grabbed a hold of, wanting to laugh and celebrate but not being able to do so in front of his parents and the guards. He motioned for them to retire but Lucius stopped them. Standing in front of Emerald he reach forward and lightly touched the gold circlet on Emerald’s head. He smiled slightly in aristocratic amusement, and said “It suits you.”

-----------------------------

End Chapter
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The Consort: Hummingbird Circus