Sweeter than Silk

"That was my grandfather," he said hastily.

"Ah, yes, the family. That's you, though, isn't it Vale? Dedicated to family, to art, to your bakery. Surely, there was no other reason why you fawned over my designs. Surely, there was no ulterior motive to your acceptance of my invitation...?"

Her voice was cold, but he could see the very real hurt behind her eyes. She had truly believed that he, a humble baker, understood and knew that as a seamstress, each gown was her artistic masterpiece. She had truly believed that he was a fan of her work, and not his daydream of the princess. How could he have known? As far as he'd known, the princess sewed her own clothes. He was just a baker, he knew nothing of palatial life or its machinations.

"I love your dresses," he said, the earnestness burning in his throat and making his palms itch. She looked at him again in surprise.

"You are telling the truth," she murmured in her low, raspy voice.

"Yes." He forced himself to meet her black eyes.

She smiled again, and it was a true smile -- it warmed her sharp features. "Alright," she murmured. "Well then. You've seen this evening's dress. You'd better come up with something beautiful for the first day of the festival, or it's the gallows for you."

He started, then saw she had quiet mirth in her eyes.

"Was that your first joke?" he asked.

"It was my first try," she laughed. She shooed him out. "Go, go. Talk to Chef Poirot. Just tell him what you envision. He has enough cooks, they will make it work. Hurry, we only have a few hours before the guests begin to arrive!"

Vale rushed to the royal kitchens, where Poirot lambasted him for his lateness. Vale explained that he needed a cake as blue as the evening sky, as resplendent as spun sugar, as simply elegant as buttercream.

The chefs got to work. It took hours of careful baking. There was arranging and rearranging of many skilled hands. But when the cake was finished, it was a refined taste of the evening -- which was just what Vale had been assigned. The masterpiece was brought to the main ballroom, and displayed where all the guests could ooh and ahh over it. And they did.

Lords and Ladies arrived in their best fashions. Dukes and Duchesses from foreign lands, dignitaries with pompous smiles, Magicians and Barbarians and Bards and Clerics were all in attendance. Vale half-expected to see the Headmaster of the magical academy, or at least his brother Florence -- but no.

The princess was unveiled and the spotlight shone. She smiled softly and giggled silently as her father, the king, escorted her down the steps. Vale blinked in surprise as he clapped. She looked stunning. Luca had outdone herself. The dress was simply a work of art. Every way the princess moved, the gold appliques and the pink shimmering underneath complimented each other. Surely, Vale argued with himself, the princess couldn't be as horrible and nasty as she'd seemed in the dressing room earlier... Perhaps it had just been a bad first impression.

Then, Vale saw Luca. She followed behind the princess' courtiers in a simple green velvet gown with a cape to hide her owl's wings. The dress hugged her curves and seemed to slide over her skin. Despite himself, Vale was speechless. Luca caught his eye and grinned and then vanished into the crowd. The princess cut into the cake and discovered the pink angel food and strawberries inside. The dancing began, stilted and awkward at the onset of the party. The guests were still warming up, but they all seemed to agree that his cake was a masterpiece. He was tugged this way and that as strangers complimented his cake, shaking his hand in congratulations. He kept his eye on the edges of the crowd, looking for either the princess or for Luca -- he wasn't quite sure who.

As the night wound down, he retired to his room. The lavender was still on his windowsill, but he doubted that the seamstress would visit him. He collapsed onto his bed before he heard a flutter of wings and sat up straight.

"Luca," he managed, when he saw the owl watching him from the windowsill. "Luca, listen. Your dress was -- it was a work of art. It was -- "

In a flash she was human again, naked and glowing in the candlelight, pinning him to the bed, her black eyes wild with desire. She grinned at him.

"Yes, yes, Vale, we've established that you like my work," she murmured. "But what of it? What else do you like?"

"What else...?" he blinked at her. "Well... the princess... I mean, you made her look very nice."

"The princess?" Luca's eyebrows went up. "You really want to talk about the princess right now?... you really want to talk about her?"

"I just mean, it was a feat. I mean, she's not very nice in person. I mean, I always thought that her public image was what she would be like, you know, in private. But obviously it's not. And some people would be disappointed by that, you know. But I just -- "

With an angry huff of breath, Luca climbed off of Vale and went again to the windowsill to leave. "Wait," he begged again, and she whirled at him with a thunderstorm in her eyes.

"Why should I wait for you?" she asked. "I could take any knight of my choosing. I could bed any of the ladies in the court. I could have any of the magicians that come knocking on my door day and night."

"Then why are you here?" Vale asked dumbly. Her face eclipsed into fury, and then she was gone in a flutter of feathers, even as he called after her.

Vale knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. His frustration was, at this point, buzzing under his skin. He was desperate for a release that he knew he wouldn't be able to get.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid..." he muttered.

He slept for only a few hours before waking at dawn. He rushed to the dressing room to apologize, but Luca was not there. The princess was dressing with her courtiers buzzing around her.

"Oh. So sorry, your majesty. I just needed to get my... final looks... at the dress before I, uh, submit my designs to Chef Poirot." he said.

"It's fine," she said, not turning to look at him. "Get in your last looks, or whatever you called it. The cake was pretty last night."

"Oh. Thank you," he said -- and felt surprisingly hollow as he looked at her dress. It was the evening dress -- deep violet satin, draped in elegant waves that curved around the princess' body. Pink stars glittered amongst the fabric, poking through as if in a true night sky.

He made some off hand compliments then fled to the kitchen, but luckily the princess wasn't listening, obsessed with the way her curls bounced in the sunlight.

The chefs got to work. It took hours of careful baking. There was arranging and rearranging of many skilled hands. But when the cake was finished, it was a refined taste of the night -- which was just what Vale had been assigned. The masterpiece was brought to the main ballroom and displayed where all the guests could ooh and ahh over it. And the guests did.

As Vale sleepily watched the guests arrive, he could not dredge up an ounce of reverence. He felt drunk on exhaustion and desire.

And then he saw Luca. She was swathed in a dress made of layers upon layers of black lace, strategically posed to hide her wings. Vale's mouth dropped. She saw him and her mouth twisted in anger and then determination -- damned determination, either to get away or to get to him. He couldn't help but feel as though she'd done both.

She walked off purposefully through the crowd, avoiding him. Vale ran after her, but he was stopped by guests again congratulating him that his cake -- black forest cake, peppered with melting chunks of dyed pink white chocolate -- was again a masterpiece. He tried to be gracious, but he was determined to catch Luca, to tell her the truth -- that he wanted her, desperately, on any terms she would determine suitable -- although, hopefully in not such stiff terms --

"Baker!" the princess stopped him short. Her smile was sweet and soft -- it was everything he'd imagined in his daydreams. He swallowed hard.

"Yes," he said.

"I'm getting engaged tomorrow," she sighed.

"Oh. Yes."

"And I was wondering... well..."

She bit her lower lip and then laughed her famous soundless laugh.

"You need a cake for your wedding?" he asked quietly.

"Oh! Yes," she said slowly, "But... well, you see... I only have one more night as a free woman."

Heat rushed to Vale's cheeks as he realized what she was asking: that he would basically be her bachelorette party, her last chance at a riotous good time before she'd be properly married. It was so debased, so awful, that it didn't even matter to him that she was wrapping herself up in a pretty pink bow.

"That's how you see me?" he asked.

"Well, of course, baker," She said, finally looking directly at him. "How else would I see you?" she laughed again, swatted at his arm. She pulled him close. "You know," she added in a low voice, her breath smelling wretchedly of ham, "There aren't many people who get to see what's under this dress..."

"I must decline." The words were final, and he brushed her off as he walked away, stumbling back to his room. He'd ruined everything, he was sure of it. He would be hung for treason for denying the queen a good time. He had ruined things with Luca because of his stupid crush on the horrible princess. He had one more cake to go, and he was out of ideas.

He curled up on his bed, willing himself to fall asleep.

"Vale," came a soft whisper, as delicate as the brush of a feather pen stroke. He sat up straight in bed as there was the familiar flutter of wings, and then Luca was before him: resplendent, glowing, eyes full of bewildered tears. "Why did you say no to her?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Because I don't want to sleep with her," he said. Then, "I thought you'd never want to see me again, after I was so tremendously stupid last night."

"I am tired of playing owl-and-mouse games," she said, stepping towards him, putting a shaky hand onto his shoulder.

"I think you mean cat-and-mouse..." Vale began.

"Shut up," she said. "I like you. I happen to like you a lot. I thought you liked me too. Or, if you didn't, that you could... maybe... learn to like me. But I cannot wait for you to figure yourself out."

"Of course I like you," he said, the words spilling out of his mouth. "You're a genius with a pair of scissors and a skein of fabric. You're coy and clever. You're beautiful and... bewitching," he said, his voice finally stuttering off into silence.

She laughed. It was a hearty, full sound, light and delighted -- the opposite of the princess' silent giggles. And he knew in that moment that there was no comparison -- not really. All that he felt, he felt for Luca.

"You don't have to wait for me," he said, reaching for her pale shoulder ever so delicately. "Tell me where to go. I would never make you wait. Just tell me where to go, and I will meet you there."

"Hm." she murmured, sliding a hand down his front. He drew in a sharp breath as she helped him out of his shirt. "How about... here?" she kissed his neck gently.

"Mm. I can meet you there," he said, kissing her neck in the same spot.

"How about... here?" she asked, kissing his jaw, making his blood rush.

"I can... I can meet you there," he said as her hands found the hemline of his pants and slipped inside. He tried to focus and kissed her back, on her jaw, where she had kissed him.

"And how about -- "

"Anywhere you want," he breathed, grabbing her and kissing her hard on the mouth.

Her touch turned greedy as she straddled him, helping him out of his trousers. Her mouth was insistent as his hands roamed across her skin, drifting across her breasts -- she let out a gasp as he brushed against her nipples. She kissed him even more surely then, pressing him into the mattress. They became entangled and untangled as she repositioned him. She took him into her hands and he moaned, his hips jerking forward, his body begging for release.

His hands wound around her back and she let out a moan as he ran his hands through her soft feathers. Her wings fluttered behind her as she lifted herself over him, and then slowly lowered herself down. She was soaked and tight, and his head tipped back as she took him in fully. He had spent his whole life in front of ovens, and he had never felt this hot -- she was so wet and soft and immediate -- he let out a soft breath as she began to make gentle strokes with her hips, her wings fluttering ever so softly.

"Anywhere I want?" she asked.

"Yes," he breathed.

"Here," she said, pushing his hand between her legs.

"I can meet you there," he murmured, his thumb making tiny circles around her clit. She let out a soft cry as her pleasure began to mount. She was barely moving, but her wings flexed out as he felt her tighten, relax, tighten.

"I'm close," she whimpered, her strokes becoming more insistent as she rolled her hips back and forth. Her own pleasure took her by surprise as she crashed her hips down into him -- she tipped her head back and cried out his name moments before she tipped over the edge.

She caught her breath, but only for a moment before she dove down for another kiss.

Their mouths locked, and he squeezed her body to his and flipped her onto her back.

She shivered as he slipped out.

"Come back," she whined, "Fuck me, Vale."

Within an instant, she was gasping as he filled her to the hilt. His thrusts were steady; slow but hard. He kept eye contact with her as he kneaded her breasts, and squeezed her hips. The look in her eye went from naughty and mischievous to helpless and needy in only a few thrusts as he drove into her. She whimpered wordlessly, throwing her head back and clawing at the sheets.

He kept working his thumb across her as she came a second time, her wings flapping against the mattress desperately at the sensation, as if she wasn't sure if she could handle it.

"I've got you," he murmured, and her face twisted in pleasure as she let go, a wordless moan escaping her lips. He felt her body squeeze him hard and he went spiraling over the edge, seeing stars as he thrust frantically and then stilled. The sensation was overwhelming; he felt her body soak him up.

She collapsed under him, her body spent, peppering him with gentle kisses. "I've got you," he repeated, holding her tightly as she shook ever so slightly in his arms. She sighed softly. After a few long, glowing moments, she finally spoke.

"Vale," she murmured.

"Mm. Yes, Luca?" he asked.

"You'd... you'd meet me anywhere?" she asked.

"Mm. Yes."

"... I have an idea."

The next morning, a dress was prepared, and the chefs got to work. It took hours of careful baking. There was arranging and rearranging of many skilled hands. But when the cake was finished, it was a refined taste of the morning -- which was just what Vale had been assigned. The masterpiece was brought to the main ballroom, and displayed where all the guests could ooh and ahh over it. And the guests did. But Luca and Vale were not there to see it. The princess announced her engagement, and danced with her new fiancée in a hideously ugly baby pink dress. And Luca and Vale were across the country, packed to the brim with loaves of soft bread and croissants, delicious cakes and cookies, all crammed into a caravan.

"Where are we going, again?" Vale asked, looking at a map as Luca pointed her spyglass on the horizon.

"There," she said, pointing to the next mountain, where Havencroft lay.

"Oh! The magician's academy. My brother teaches there," Vale said, a bit absentmindedly.

"Oh, really?" asked Luca. "Think he could get me a job?"

"Maybe. We'll have to see. Think they need a baker-in-residence to fill their bellies with altogether too much chocolate?"

"Maybe. We'll have to see. They might not be cool with harboring treasonous outlaws."

"Oh, that's right! I always forget that part."

Luca laughed and nudged his shoulder. "Ready to make camp for the evening...?"

"You've got that look in your owl eyes -- it tells me you're not just about to make camp."

"You would be correct, baker. I have only lascivious plans and sexy schemes." she grinned.

"I would love to oblige you, seamstress." he said, taking off his cap and kissing her.

"Very well then. Wait, slow down. Vale, we have to at least put up a tent or something -- Vale -- Vale --!" she burst into laughter.

END.