The Prince's Bride Ch. 02

"Oh. Right." He nodded. He had to think of another request. "Well... the Wildflower Kingdom is famous for its beautiful treasures. Present company included." He took a sip from his goblet. "So, um..."

"Would you like to see our vaults?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Felic's eyes widened. "Oh! I didn't—that would be too forward, I think. I wasn't even thinking—"

"Oh, no!" She shook her head hurriedly. "I wasn't—I didn't mean to imply you were—"

"No, it wouldn't do." Felic bit his lip. "I, um..." He trailed off uncertainly.

Jenne scooted up and stole a sip from his goblet even as he held it up. Her fingernails trailed over his fingers, and Felic felt his breath catching. "Well... I mean, I say, I've got more magic than just the visions. Would you like me to show you our most sacred treasures, my Prince?"

He smiled hesitantly. "I think that sounds lovely. If—if it wouldn't come across as me just, um..."

'Not at all." She pulled her hand back. "Now, you needn't look into my eyes for this one, my Prince. Just..." She spoke a word of power and wove her fingers together, almost like a magician preparing a sleight of hand.

She unsteepled her fingers, and a sparkling length of silk appeared in her hands. The sound of faint, tinkling chimes filled the room as she held up a scarf of shimmering colors, tiny silver beads jingling from it.

"The Singing Shawl," she said softly, draping herself playfully in it. "Woven from the silken beds of the fluttermaids who tend the prairie's wild gardens, with the chimes of the tinker belles won piece by piece, dance by dance. She batted her eyelashes coquettishly up at him, head framed within the shimmering rainbow lights.

Felic's mouth was dry. "Wow," he breathed. "I thought tinker belle fairies guarded their chimes closer than their own lives."

Jenne giggled, taking the scarf off. "They love to dance, and if you can out-dance them, they will gamble anything. But see, feel the silks." She boldly took his hand and ran it over the scarf, offering it to him. "It will hold heat for days if warmed, and keep you cool in the hottest desert."

Felic nodded, feeling the incredible smoothness, the fine threads. Despite the heat in the banquet hall, the scarf felt as cool as stone. He ducked his head, allowing Jenne to drape it over his neck. "How are you..."

"... making it feel so real?" She giggled. "Your wish is my command, my Prince! Illusion magic can do wonderful, wonderful things." She pulled back, leaving the scarf wrapped around him, and began weaving her fingers again. "And see... this." She un-steepled them to reveal a circlet of many woven copper chains, massive topaz gems hanging at the bottom. "The Circlet of Wealth."

"What does it do?" Felic reached out and took it from her gently. The gems were warm to the touch. He placed it on his head, and felt a strange sense of calm as it settled.

"It fills your dreams with all your desires," Jenne whispered. "At least, the real one. I've always wanted... well, I've always longed to try it. My dreams are rarely happy."

Felic looked at her uncertainly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Jenne leaned against him, steepling her fingers once more. "Why do you think I'm showing you these things? This is my dowry, my Prince."

"You mean—"

"All this is yours," she said happily, sliding shimmering silver and gold rings over his fingers. "They long for this alliance almost as much as I do, my Prince." She draped chains of lapis lazuli beads over his lap, and with every additional chain, Felic felt strangely more wakeful, more alert. His fingers tingled with static. "The Spider's Foot Rings. The Beads of Virility."

Felic nearly choked on his wine. "What?"

He met her gaze, feeling a strange surge of passion flowing through him. The beads hung heavy over his shoulders. Jenne was so close, he could smell her exotic scent—so many unusual perfumes, floral and almost cloying in their complex intensities...

Jenne burst out laughing, and snapped her fingers. The treasures vanished. "Oh, My Prince, they don't actually do anything. These are just illusions!"

Nonetheless, Felic felt a bit lighter as the beads vanished and the scarf faded away. They'd felt real enough. He wondered if Jenne knew the kind of effect they'd been having, though.

Or if she knew the effect she was having on him by being so very close up and... personal with him.

"Your magic is beautiful," he murmured, setting aside his empty goblet. He felt a bit light-headed.

"Aw." She giggled, and hiccupped. She scooted a bit closer, until they were practically sharing a chair. "My... my Prince is so sweet to me. So good to me." He realized she was leaning in, and he was leaning towards her. Her lips parted. Her eyes were as big as saucers. His heart started to pound.

"My Princess..." He bit his lip. This is indecorous. This is improper. "Please, um, show me more. Show me the creatures of the Wildflower Kingdom."

"Oh." She blinked, and nodded, pulling back. Her face was glowing in the candlelight—dim, but not so dim as to hide her furious blushing. "Yes. Yes, my Prince. Do you mean the animals? The monsters?"

"We have no monsters here." Felic bit his lip. "I would like to... like to see them."

She giggled. "Even the holstaurs?"

"... maybe not the holstaurs. I think I've seen enough of them."

"Oh, have you?" she teased. "You know, that maid was a bit small for a cowgirl."

Felic's mouth was dry.

"But..." She sprang to her feet. "Why don't I show you the flower girls, my Prince?"

"The..."

"The women of the prairies who are bound to the lovely blossoms," she explained, almost dancing around him to the other side of the table. "I say, there is nothing quite so lovely as the meadowmaidens. Nothing quite so breathtaking. I've never forgotten the sight—really once in a lifetime, you know?"

"I..."

Jenne was back into full motormouth territory. "Really, really, now, I can't imagine not seeing their sunrise and sunset celebrations. Really wild stuff. Really just, wow, an absolute knockout, pun unintended." She started to weave her fingers together. "Alright, let's take it slow, um, just one at a time. Any requests?"

"Oh, just..." Felic shrugged. He smiled at her, the unreserved smile of drunken fondness, which she returned. "You know best, Jenne."

She blinked. "Oh. My Prince, you... know just what to say."

She brought her fingers together above her head and parted them, tracing a symmetrical outline that was decidedly humanoid—and very feminine.

And a woman emerged from the flickering candlelight.

She was wreathed in lovely pink blossoms with plump, feathery petals, her form slender and her skin a pale bronze. Her dress was so brilliantly red it almost hurt to look at, impossibly vast and fluttery for such a slight wearer. She stepped delicately from Jenne's spell, blinking large, thick-lashed eyes at him. Long, fine fingers raised a crystal flask to her lips.

"The lady of the hibiscus," Jenne said warmly, running a hand over the woman's brilliant red hair—done up in an elegant bun, with three long pins holding it in place so just a few stray locks trickled down around her dusky eyes. "Rarely seen in the prairies after dark, but oh, their joy in the sunrise must be shared to be believed."

Felic stared up as the woman approached, her every motion like that of a china doll as she slowly sipped from the flask. "That... that flask..."

"Hibiscus nectar," Jenne said, dancing after the swishing flower maiden. She smiled proudly down at Felic as the illusion gave a soft, wordless coo, reaching down and running fingers curiously over his chest, fiddling with his buttons. "They're always a little bit drunk." She giggled. "So, um, she fits in here, doesn't she?"

Felic laughed, slightly nervous about the way the hibiscus woman was looking at him. "Um... hibiscus. A delicate beauty, in the flower language." He took the illusion's hand and eased it away from his shirt. It was warm, and she blinked down at him.

"Oh, my Prince," Jenne said, her eyes widening, "you never said you knew the prairie language!"

"I... dabble." He smiled nervously, suddenly realizing the meaning of Jenne's flower choice and feeling the blush creeping over his cheeks. Him, a delicate beauty. He felt like a proper prince would object to that, but the hibiscus maiden's fingers were playing between his own, slipping free to hold his hand tenderly.

He did feel a little delicate right now. A little vulnerable. Tired and tipsy. He cleared his throat. "So..."

Jenne was already working the next illusion, smiling brightly as her eyes glowed solid orange. "Yes, my Prince. Perhaps..."

Several woman stepped out of her outlines, shimmering wisps. The hibiscus maiden danced away as a woman who was about as short as Jenne—but with a much bigger bosom—sank into her unused chair beside him. Her eyes were wide, her hair long white curls, her lips painted gold. She delicately played her finger over his cheek.

"I—" Felic turned to her just in time for her fingers to tickle his lips. "I, um... honeysuckle." His eyes darted unwillingly to her massive chest, heaving against her white slip. "Generous... devoted affection." He breathed in her scent, impossibly sweet. His head spun a little.

Jenne clapped her hands happily. "My Prince has wonderful taste," she breathed. "And... her?"

Felic was blushing brilliantly, and he turned to say something—ask Jenne to move these illusions off him, maybe, and get the hibiscus maiden off the table—but now a third illusionary flower girl had spilled into the chair on his other side. She cooed and moaned wordlessly, her hair green with violet streaks, her form tall and willowy. He breathed in. "Ivy," he mumbled, reaching uncertainly for his wine goblet, needing something to stare into other than the ivy woman's pretty purple eyes. "Um... devotion. Marriage. Dependence."

"If that's what it means, who am I to argue?" Jenne's face was bright red, but she was smiling, leaning back and forth, hands clasped nervously behind her back. "I... it's rare to meet an ivy maid alone, you know. They travel in large groups. They're hungry. Needy."

"I noticed," Felic squeaked, as the ivy woman rubbed against him silently, her eyes full of desire, her hands running over his whole body. Behind him, he noticed the honeysuckle woman taking his hand holding the wine goblet, curiously sipping from it. He jerked it away and took a sip.

His eyes widened. "Guh! It's sweet!"

"Oh, yes." Jenne covered her laugh. "Um, yes, I'm sorry, that's what honeysuckle women do! They sweeten everything. You shouldn't have let her near it."

He shot the honeysuckle woman a sour look. She smiled sweetly at him and pushed her chest out. The ivy woman continued to cling, and the hibiscus woman hopped off the table and wove around toward him.

"Do you know what tulips mean, my prince?" Jenne sang, and he turned his attention back to her as the flower girls started to press in from all around.

Felic swallowed, and reluctantly took a sip from the sweetened wine to loosen his tongue. He felt the hibiscus woman's fingers tracing through his hair. "I..."

He really needed to end this here. This wasn't... quite indecorous yet, but it was dangerously close. But somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to object.

Because two more women were emerging from the shadows as the hibiscus, ivy and honeysuckle women faded into colorful, fragant mist. One had brilliant blonde hair, one had brilliant red hair, and both wore flowing white dresses that only accentuated their lovely curves.

They smiled at him, their lips painted brilliant colors matching their hair.

"I... I, um..."

Red tulip. 'I love you.' he watched as the red tulpid maid advanced, hips swinging, and sank down beside him. She gazed at him in liquid adoration.

"Please, my Prince," Jenne whispered. "Tell me what the prairie tongue means."

The golden-haired illusion sat down on his other side. The tulip women leaned in close, beaming brightly, lips pursed for twin kisses on his cheeks.

"The tulip women are awful flatterers," Jenne went on, giggling at his expression. "And very... indulgent. We see them only during the winter. But what do they mean?"

Yellow tulip, Felic thught, lips quivering, as they planted twin kisses on is cheek. His heart was fluttering. "Hopeless love," he whispered aloud. "Infatuation."

Jenne blinked. "Oh. If you say so." She giggled and waved a hand, and the visions dissolved into mist before his eyes. Jenne sat down beside him once more. "Of course," she said playfully, bouncing in her seat, "I wouldn't... wouldn't ever, um, be so forward. How could a royal daughter of the Wildflower Kingdom fall so helplessly in love with anyone? How could such a powerful sorceress be tamed by any soul, no matter how gentle, how... how sweet?" She leaned in slightly, biting her lip.

Felic let her rest her chin on his shoulder. Impulsively, he reached up and ran his hand over her long, straight, silky black hair. He swallowed. "My Princess," he said hoarsely, "I... I wish I could conjure a thousand flowers for you to say how I feel. But I can't. All I can say is... we should go to the mountains sometime. There are many tulips there. Red, yellow... broken tulips..."

He stared into her eyes. She stared back, her eyes wide, her lips half-parted.

'Broken tulips' were a rare kind of tulip that had unusual feathered patterns over their forms. In the flower language, they meant beautiful eyes. Eyes to break the heart in two.

The lingering scents of honeysuckle, ivy flowers, tulips and hibiscus hung around them like thick curtains, and as Jenne breathed in, he noticed her eyelids fluttering slightly. She reached forward and took his hand, and emptied the goblet down her own throat.

"I must... I want to show you more," she said, smiling dreamily at him. "If I may."

"Of couse," Felic said, nodding eagerly. As his head bobbed, though, he felt lethargy there—like his brain was stumbling, sloshing from the movement. "I... although I'm getting a bit... sleepy, I think."

Jenne giggled. She cupped his chin. "My Prince," she cooed, "your eyes are like broken tulips right now. I think I've kept you up long enough." She made to rise.

"No... no, my Princess, please. Please stay." He held onto her hand, even as he lay back against his chair. "I... I may be sleepy, but I want to... want to see more."

She bit her lip, but stopped rising. "I shouldn't keep you." She ran a hand over his head. "You look like you can barely keep your eyes open. All that wine, all that fragrant... love..."

He nodded sleepily. "Stay. I... command it."

The Prince's command carried all the weight and authority of a bowl of spilled milk, and Jenne giggled at its feebleness. But the powerful sorceress sat back down. "I can... help you, maybe," she murmured, fingers flitting over his eyelids. "Help you stay wake. But do you want that?"

He squeezed her hand. "Uh-huh."

Jenne patted his hand, holding it between hers like a baby bird. "As you wish, my Prince. As you wish."

He watched her finger gently twirl, and admired her elegant nails. He wanted to lean against her—his beloved, this powerful sorceress who had so easily charmed her innocent prince—but that, surely, would be going too far. This was flirtatious, but it wasn't... anything untoward. Yet.

A strange device was appearing out of thin air. Jenne smiled brightly, twirling her long, delicate fingers over the length of a sinuous pipe. It was... oh.

It was a hookah. A long, bejeweled hookah of precious silver and gold, glimmering with a glow all its own as fire glinted in its glossy blue belly. A curious blue silken pouch, like an air sac, was connected by a second pipe to the belly.

He blinked up at her, uncertain. "What's..."

"This," she declared, thrusting the hookah towards him, "is a one-of-a-kind, state-of-the-art buzzsmoke pipe. They're rare these days, you know, terribly rare. One of the more especial treasures of our vaults. Do you know what buzzsmoke is?"

Felic had no idea. "I—"

"A buzzsmoke pipe," Jenne went on, patting his hand for silence, "is designed specially to carry buzzsmoke, which comes of burning a special meadow honey created by the meadow bees kept by the Thriae. The honey burns hotter than oil, which is why... here, take a feel, see?" She took his hand and encouraged him to run it over the hookah's belly. It was warm. Very warm. He marveled at the heat of the glass.

"It's hot!" he said stupidly, and immediately blushed at the obviousness of his words.

But Jenne only nodded eagerly. "That's right, my Prince, hot as anything in the world. It takes a special kind of glass made from sand from our shores to hold that heat without melting—or burning the user! Luckily for you, we've got one of the genuine articles, I say, the genuine articles."

She snapped her fingers, and Felic almost jumped from the break in her rhythm. Jenne's voice was incredibly melodic and easy to listen to. The orb's glow increased slightly. "Go on," she said, "you mustn't take my word for it, my Prince. Go on, take a puff!"

Prince Felic blinked dumbly at the pipe offered to him. "But... I thought your illusions were, um..."

"Don't you want to stay awake?" Jenne prompted. "Go on, my Prince, just a puff. Just give it a try. You don't want to miss this opportunity to smell and taste the sweetness of buzzsmoke. I say, it's a really once-in-a-lifetime chance!"

"O... okay, I guess so." Prince Felic nodded and took the pipe. He felt like Jenne was contradicting herself—hadn't she said her illusions were entirely artificial?—but he was too tired to argue, and it was awfully easy to just go along with whatever his princess told him. Just a puff. Just a taste. Wake me up a little.

As he sucked in a shallow breath from the pipe, it vaguely occurred to him that Jenne hadn't actually explained how buzzsmoke was going to keep him awake.

Then smoke filled his head, puffy and sweet and musky and strong, and he gasped.

"That's it," Jenne encouraged, and he saw she was squeezing the sack with some kind of rhythm, and he felt more smoke enter him. "There you are. Isn't it just wonderful, my Prince? Isn't it everything you'd wished for?"

Felic's eyes were watering. Every time she pumped the bag, more smoke flowed into him, regardless of whether or not he was sucking. But it was... it was...

Amazing. Everything was sparkling, spinning, glowing. Especially Jenne. Jenne was radiant. He stared at her in shocked adoration as she giggled. "Oh, my Prince, you should see yourself right now. Aren't you glad you took my advice? I say, I didn't steer you wrong, did I?"

"Mha!" he managed, struggling to speak around the pipe. His head was... buzzing. He felt awake, incredibly awake. Like a fire had been lit inside him.

Jenne smiled and pulled the pipe away—he noticed with some surprise that she'd been holding it to his lips, helping him get a good dosage. She snuggled up against him. "Didn't I say?" she purred. "Aren't you more wakeful now? I say, aren't you glad you did as I said?"

"Y... yes, Princess Jenne," Felic said, giggling a little. He felt light-headed—but energetic, like he could run a marathon. His mouth was incredibly dry all of a sudden, rendering his voice a bit weak. "It's... it's not addictive, is it?"

Jenne giggled back, patting his head. "I would never give you anything you couldn't give up," she purred. "My Prince, it's no more addictive than a kiss!"

"I... yes. Good." Felic nodded limply. He couldn't stop smiling at her.

"Don't you feel better?" Jenne's chair was pressed against his now, so they were practically in the same seat. "Didn't I say?"