A Sordid Soirée

"Galindra, your elvishness," the poet simpered.

"Right. I'd love to hear the rest of it sometime, but I'm afraid I've got to go check the quality of the cream puffs on the table over there."

"Of course, mistress!" Galindra bowed obsequiously, "Later, then!"

Hopefully much, much later, Elemiel thought as she sashayed as quickly as she could away from the young woman and her rhymes, heading in the general direction of the dessert table. Something sweet seemed like just the thing to take the edge off after that conversation.

Elemiel had just finished eating an eclair so suggestively that a group of partygoers had actually stopped watching the acrobats in order to look at her, when she spotted the party-crasher. He was standing alone by the icewine fountain, sipping from a glass of his own and staring out at the ballroom like a sated wolf watching a flock of sheep. Be grateful, his expression seemed to suggest, that I'm not hungry right now.

"We'll see about that," the elf muttered to herself. Elemiel bolted down the second eclair she picked up, not noticing the collective wince of the men watching as her teeth chomped into the pastry.

The lissome, dark-haired elf stalked towards her uninvited guest, rolling her hips with the languid grace of a hunting panther. The man jerked in surprise when he saw her approach, his easy confidence leaving him for a moment. He quickly recovered, but Elemiel hadn't missed his reaction and knew she had him flat-footed.

So, she mused as she drew to a halt in front of him, he knows who I am, at least.

"Enjoying the party?" she asked sweetly, taking the opportunity to study the man's features in the better lighting of the ballroom.

He wasn't exactly handsome, not in a classical way at least, but there was something about his face and the gleam of his storm-grey eyes that suggested he'd seen some things, and could probably tell you interesting stories about them.

His lips looked soft and full, and the five o'clock shadow darkening his cheeks and chin gave him a roguish appearance which was only reinforced by Elemiel's knowledge that he was brazenly crashing her gala. His sheaf of dark brown hair was cut in a style two seasons out of date, although it suited him in a rakishly appealing sort of way.

Elemiel couldn't quite put her finger on why, but an air of danger seemed to hang about the man, and not just because he'd snuck into her party. Perhaps it was the cast of his shoulders or the way his hands looked holding the wineglass, but Elemiel had been saved too many times on the road by her instincts to discount them now.

Elemiel's elven libido gave a grudging pulse of approval, as if reluctant to find the man attractive. Alright, he's a hot, Elemiel thought, but he's still probably a thief, assassin, or worse, a freeloader looking for an open bar.

"It's quite the little get-together," the man allowed. His voice was low and deep, rough like whiskey and smooth as honey. Elemiel found herself wondering idly what his moans would sound like, especially with his face pressed up against the sweetness betwixt her thighs.

"Little get-together?" the elf repeated, irritation combining with arousal in a novel mixture of sensation. She looked pointedly around the opulent ballroom and crowds of milling, splendidly dressed guests.

The man gave a shrug of such studied insouciance that Elemiel felt her blood burn with annoyance, and the fact that she was annoyed just annoyed her more. The elf prided herself on her easy manner and calm countenance. Why was this man able to ruffle her feathers with a shrug and a flash of his grey eyes?

"It's a little crowded for my tastes," he said with a small smile, "but I'll admit you've got an excellent selection of wine," he swirled the golden liquid in his glass as if to illustrate the point, "and perhaps some of the company may be worth it." He looked directly at her as he spoke, as if challenging Elemiel to entertain him.

The elf decided to take a different approach. "If you like my wine, you should try my desserts," she said, dipping her finger into a dollop of icing covering a cake on a nearby table. "I've been told by many that they find the taste of my cream to be irresistible." She delivered the line with a perfectly straight face, and then sucked her finger clean of the icing with enough obscene relish to make a Tin Town whore blush.

The man's stormcloud eyes practically popped out of his head, and he choked on the sip of icewine he'd been in the process of drinking. There we go, the elf thought with satisfaction. Dashing, debonair, and shy as an elfmaid, it seemed.

"Oh heavens, are you alright?" Elemiel asked in a voice dripping with sugary-sweet concern. "It's important not to gulp down too much at a time," she said solicitously, "take it from someone who is very well versed in the art of swallowing."

The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to glare at the elf. Elemiel returned his scowl with a puckish grin.

"I've heard it said," the man replied when he'd recovered, "that fish swim, birds sing, and elves flirt."

Elemiel nodded. "I've heard that too, but I think the saying usually substitutes a different word that begins with 'F' to describe the favored activity of my people."

The man didn't reply but rather loosened his collar with a finger. "Adonis above," he muttered, "it's a little warm in here, isn't it?"

"That's why I'm dressed like this," Elemiel replied, sweeping her arm to indicate her clothing. "Well, one of the reasons," she amended with a coy smirk. "So," she said briskly, "what's your name?"

The man blinked at her, but he handled the sudden change of subject much better than he'd managed her flirting.

"My name is Asper Leocouer," he said with a small bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Elemiel."

"No need for such formality, Master Leocour," the elven woman replied demurely, although her eyes had turned predatory. "I'm not a Lady." At least not yet, she amended silently. Once the Duke arrived Elemiel planned to do something about that. Until he did, however, she planned on amusing herself by tormenting this Asper Leocouer fellow. If that's even his real name.

"Tell me, Asper, who are you with?" she asked with wide-eyed innocence. "I feel I'd recognize a dashing gentleman such as yourself, had I added you to the guest list."

The amused glint in Elemiel's lavender eyes indicated she was toying with him, but for his part, the man kept his cool with admirable aplomb. He bowed and took her hand, pressing his lips against the back of it with considerably more flair than General Tarly had earlier.

"I'm part of the delegation from the Engineerium," he said smoothly, and Elemiel scowled inwardly. It was a good answer; claiming membership of the engineering college meant that he had an excuse to be dressed well, but not too well, and the insular nature of that bunch could explain why the man's countenance would be unfamiliar to Elemiel and most of her guests.

Even though she regularly extended invitations to various members of the Engineerium, few took Elemiel- or any other high-society hostess for that matter- up on the offer. Like the wizards, they mostly seemed content to keep their noses in their books, and their fingers covered in the grease of their creations.

It was clever, the elf was forced to grudgingly admit. Asper's alibi might have even worked too, had Elemiel not witnessed herself the man scampering over her garden wall like a skullduggerous spider.

"An engineer," the elf cooed with mock excitement. "How delightful; you must tell me what you think of the recent developments of Edwin the Elucidated's research into the cogitative dissonance of defraying machines."

Elemiel was bullshitting, of course, but rather skillfully if she did say so herself. She'd snatched a name and a bunch of likely sounding words out of thin air to throw at Asper, and was eager to see how he'd respond. Would he claim ignorance and prolong the game, or would he spout some nonsense about the merits, or lack thereof, of 'Edwin the Elucidated's' imaginary research? If it was the latter, Elemiel was very much looking forward to the look on his irritatingly charming face when she called for her guards.

"Edwin the Elucidated?" Asper said, stroking his chin in thought. "I can't say I have, alas. I'd love to learn more of course, but this is a party, is it not? Right now, I'm more interested in learning about our enchanting hostess. Tell me, is it true that you used to be a member of the Adventurer's Guild?"

The elf's eyes narrowed. He danced right out of that, she thought with grudging admiration. "It's true," Elemiel said, "but I've left that party of my life behind. Something about sleeping in the dirt with stones for a pillow and pine needles for a mattress didn't agree with me." She shrugged. "Then, of course, there was the assortment of monsters, brigands, and necromancers that always seemed to be trying to either murder me, bed me, or do both."

The man's half-smile slipped when she mentioned necromancers. He recovered quickly, but Elemiel caught the expression. Yet another mystery, she mused, swirling her wine. Her uninvited guest seemed to be racking them up at a prodigious rate.

"A far cry from dirt and stones," Asper said, gesturing to indicate the sumptuous ballroom. "I hear this house was once owned by the DeNallares themselves." He took another sip of wine, then leaned in a little closer, as if to confide something to Elemiel.

"But surely," he said, his eyes intense, "you miss it sometimes, do you not? The adventure, the excitement, the thrill of triumphing, in spite of all the odds, against things most people only read about in storybooks?"

Of course I do, the elf almost blurted out. I miss the danger and the wonder and the sight of the rode sloping away from me into the unknown distance.

Instead, she favored the party crasher with a slow grin. "Oh, I don't know about that," she replied. "I do plenty of exciting things to keep myself occupied, these days." She leaned in to match him, and their faces were close enough to see the flecks of blue in his granite eyes.

She didn't get a chance to hear his reaction to that, for at that moment a liveried servant appeared at Elemiel's elbow. "Forgive the interruption, madame," the woman said deferentially, "but the Duke's carriage has arrived."

Further thoughts of verbal sparring with Asper Leocouer fled the elf's mind. Her spine straightened and she took a breath as if readying herself for battle. Which in a way, she supposed she was.

As much as Elemiel enjoyed displaying both herself and the wealth she'd added to her dearly departed husband's fortunes, the true purpose of tonight's party was to provide her an opportunity to seduce the godsdamned knickers off of one Duke Nigel Ladsbury Ditherington.

Despite having the most drearily blue-blooded name Elemiel could imagine, Duke Ditherington also happened to be the most eligible bachelor in all of Yvlynes. Freshly returned from four years fighting monsters and gods knew what else beyond the mountain range called the Godswall that formed Divony's eastern border, the Duke was rich, handsome, and most importantly, apparently a distant relative of Queen Annabelle DeNallare herself.

Elemiel had been trying for quite some time now to snag herself a marriage into the nobility of Yvlynes, although her lack of success spoke more to her high standards than any failing on her part. Plenty of men, even those of the noble variety, were more than happy to throw themselves at her feet, and the beautiful, dark-haired elf had turned down more marriage proposals than there were fish in the Silverslip.

The elf certainly didn't lack for suitors, and Elemiel being Elemiel, she was more than happy to take a stableboy for a ride in the hay, let a nobleman rut her on silken bedsheets, or have a rough yet satisfying fling with a couple of handsy sailors behind a tavern by the docks. Sex was sex, and the pleasure was a gift from Solana that Elemiel rarely turned down.

But to pledge her heart to another in a bond like marriage? Well, that was another thing entirely, and Elemiel wasn't going to settle for just anyone. It had been more than fifty years since her dear Erik had passed, but the lifetime of an elf was long. She could afford to wait and be picky.

Immediately, Apser straightened, and whatever moment had been blooming between them passed. "Apparently your guest of honor has arrived," Asper said, and there was such a note of scornful disdain in his voice that Elemiel was startled from her reverie. She looked over at her erstwhile party-crasher with surprise. Nearly everyone else spoke of the Duke with borderline reverence or at least admiration, but Asper uttered his name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Not a fan?" she asked curiously.

"Of a puffed-up nobleman who hires mercenaries to do his dying for him, then takes the gold and glory? Oh sure, yeah, he's great." Asper shrugged, a bite of bitterness sharpening the man's tone. "I'd say be careful, but I imagine you know what you're doing," he said, sweeping a look of reluctant admiration across her body. "Still, somehow I doubt the parties at the Emerald Palace will be worth putting up with the Duke every day for the foreseeable future."

"You're damn right I know what I'm doing," Elemiel snapped, her temper flaring, "and have you ever been to a party at the Emerald Palace?"

"Yes," Asper admitted.

"Yeah, I bet you haven't," she snarled, not really paying attention to his answer. She was a little perplexed that this Asper fellow was able to get under her skin so easily, and all the more irritated because of it. "Otherwise you wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the Queen's favor. Besides, for your information, membership in the Divonian nobility unlocks more than just parties and dances. Queen Annabelle is remarkably progressive for a human monarch, but she's still got draconian policies around labor and tariffs and-" Elemiel trailed off, sculpted brows furrowing. "Wait. Did you say yes? As in you have been to a party at the Palace?"

Asper spread his arms, and gave her an infuriatingly smug smirk.

"Ahem. Sorry to interrupt, but El, you know the Duke is on his way, right? Why are you dithering around here; I thought you wanted to be in the foyer to greet him?"

Elemiel turned to see Talina had joined them. Her friend wore a bemused expression on her face as she looked between the elf and Asper, clearly in the middle of an impassioned conversation.

"Damn it," Elemiel muttered. She shot a heated glare at Asper. "Right. I'll deal with you later. Talina, how do I look?"

Her friend pulled a hand mirror out of a pocket in her dress. Elemiel's suppressed a momentary flash of jealousy. Pockets would be handy, she mused, then took in her reflection in Talina's mirror.

A river of silken hair the color of a starless midnight sky flowed past her shoulders. Parted neatly down the center, Elemiel's hair ran the length of her back, its tip brushing against the curve of the elf's generous backside. The inky black of her tresses was softened by streaks of purple, which shone in subtle violet highlights when the light of the ornate glowstone chandeliers hanging overhead struck them just right.

The elf smiled, examining the heart-shaped beauty mark on her cheek, then turned her gaze to her body. Elemiel wasn't an elf given over to moderation, and neither was the full lushness of her figure.

Blessed with more curves than Lombardia Street which ran down Emerald Hill, Elemiel had poured her luxuriant figure into the shimmering silver dress she wore in order to show off, to full effect, the sweet swell of her hips, the generous peach of her bottom, and a pair of breasts so full and luscious that more than one lover had remarked they'd give the goddess herself a run for her money.

In short, she looked fit to capture the attention of Adonis himself.

"Yvlynes most eligible bachelor doesn't stand much of a chance," Talina remarked. Elemiel smiled at her friend, but couldn't resist arching her back and looking over her shoulder at Asper. When she saw that the man looked appropriately gobsmacked, her grin widened further.

"Hey," Talina said, snapping her fingers to regain the elf's attention. "Save those wiles for the Duke, alright?" Her friend leaned forward and said, in a conspiratorial whisper, "Is that him? The party-crasher, I mean."

When Elemiel nodded, Talina frowned. "Huh. He's cuter than I imagined."

At that moment, the heavy gilded double doors of the ballroom banged open, and the sonorous voice of the court herald Elemiel had hired expressly for this purpose rang out.

"Presenting his Excellency, Champion of the Golden Bough, Regent of the Eastern Watch, Warden of the Godswall, Duke Nigel Ladsbury Ditherington."

Peerage and Plebeians

Much to her supreme irritation, five minutes after meeting the redoubtable Duke, Elemiel was forced to admit that Asper might've had a point. As it turned out, Nigel Ladsbury Ditherington was a bit of a prat.

Oh, the good Duke was certainly handsome enough. He had a full head of tousled blonde hair that shone like spun gold, and his jaw was so straight and strong that if Elemiel had put a lit candle in his mouth, he would've made a more than passable lantern.

Alas, the man's personality was a mixture of cockiness and stupidity that Elemiel, despite her long years sashaying across the lands of elves and humans, found uniquely unappealing in her vagaried experience. Elemiel had indeed managed to capture his attention, and likely his limited imagination as well. But now that she had it, she found that she very much wanted to give it back.

"Are they as wobbly as they look?" the Duke asked, staring at the pointed tips of Elemiel's ears. Without asking for permission, he reached out and flicked a finger against her right ear. For the second time that night, the elf reached for a belt dagger that wasn't there.

"Motherfu-" Elemiel's snarled expletive was interrupted only by a sharp jab in the ribs from Talina, who, thank the gods above and the demons of the Pit below, had deigned to stay nearby. The human woman shot a look at Elemiel that was a mixture of equal parts sympathy and warning. The Duke had brought along plenty of heavily armed guards as part of his entourage, after all.

"GrrraaahiiiiiI'm just so happy you accepted my invitation, Duke Ditherington," Elemiel, said, managing to transform her angry growl into a coherent sentence only through a supreme act of willpower. Talina's elbow digging into her side also helped.

The Duke looked down his nose at her, his perfect golden brows knitted together in an expression of mild disapproval. "Indeed," he mused. "I had considered declining, of course, but I thought that it might prove to be a diverting amusement to, how to put this delicately, 'slum it,' a bit."

Solana's sodden cunt, Elemiel smiled through gritted teeth, I think I'd rather swap lines with the poet.

"What a pretty smile," the Duke said, downing his second glass of icewine as if it were water. "You know, miss elf, I think you should smile more. Anyway, is it true that you elvish lot rut with beasts, back in the forests of your homeland?"

Elemiel's violet eyes flashed towards a shade of dangerous carnelian, and Talina shoved an emergency glass of Synstrian red into her hand, the fingers of which were opening and closing reflexively as if anticipating the feeling of the Duke's throat collapsing in her palm.

It didn't help matters that out of the corner of her eye, Elemiel caught glimpses of Asper's self-satisfied smirk. The man was sipping her wine with an expression which indicated that at the moment, there was no other place he'd rather be than in her ballroom, watching Elemiel squirm.