WingsOfDesire-AriannaSkye (8 page)

“Interesting contraptions humans tie themselves to.” Maeve dangled the cell by its antenna.

“Unfortunately, they don’t work in Fey.” She flipped the phone shut.

Rhiannon grabbed the phone out of Maeve’s hands. “It’s rude to snoop through other people’s property.”

“It looked interesting.” Maeve smiled. “You know what they say, we faeries like shiny things.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “That’s odd. I’ve always thought faeries had a fetish for socks.”

“Socks?”

“My mom always told me the sock faerie stole our socks from the laundry when one came up missing.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Maeve wrinkled her nose. “Socks?”
Ridiculous?
Didn’t this woman realize how silly she looked and acted? Although Rhiannon

had to admit the flying trick was rather impressive. “Yes, socks. Probably just a story to keep us entertained.”

Maeve huffed. “I assure you there are better things to do than thieve a malodorous piece of human garb. That sounds more like a goblin’s or troll’s doing.”
Goblins, trolls, and ogres, oh my!
When was this insanity going to stop? She waited for some strange game show host to come out and announce, “Congratulations, Ms. Rhiannon Kinsley, you’ve won an all-expenses-paid trip down Psychedelic Lane!” Rhiannon broke out into loud guffaws. Fits of laughter racked through her body and then came the dreaded snorts, the uncontrollable
Revenge of the Nerds
snorts that put even the geekiest of geeks to shame. She doubled over, unable to control her laughter. Tears soon followed as she gasped for breath.

“Rhiannon?” Maeve asked, reaching out to her. “Are you all right?” She knelt down next to Rhiannon and took her in her arms.

“I’m fine. Haven’t you faeries ever had a good laugh?” Rhiannon wiped a tear from her cheek and shook her head. “Probably not. You’re too busy with your wings up your butt.”

“Cerne is here.” A huge grin lit Maeve’s face. Not more than two seconds later, a knock echoed through her door. “He’s early. You need to get dressed.” Rhiannon glanced down at her long billowing nightgown of violet silk ruffles and some other unknown see-through material. It felt as if she wore nothing at all.

“These clothes are light as air, yet they’re so exquisite and detailed.” She sighed. If she wasn’t so dedicated to Hobart and Johnson, she could definitely see herself skipping reality even for a little of this dream world.

“Onora,” Maeve called.

A young—wingless—woman appeared from the adjoining room. “Yes, Councilwoman Windsong?”

“Please make sure the princess is garbed appropriately to meet her future husband. Take her to the dressing room. I would like to speak to Lord Silverwing before presenting the princess.” Future husband? No way in hell—then again, did faeries even believe in hell—was she going to get married. She had more important things to worry about—like Hobart and Johnson and the fact that if she wasn’t tripping, she more than likely would be standing in the unemployment line. However, her crazy story would ensure she’d have no problem getting her wages. “I’m not marrying anyone.”

She crossed her arms in front of her and raised her chin. All she wanted to do was go home, finish her design proposal and get her promotion. The sooner she woke up from this twisted fairy tale, the sooner she’d be presenting her proofs to the CEO of HelioTropics sunless tanning lotion. And then the deal would be sealed.

Maeve sighed. “Cerne was right. You are a stubborn woman, but you aren’t tainted. I can feel it.”

Super. Her secret was out. Apparently she had a neon “VIRGIN” sign hanging from her neck flashing in big pink letters. She’d never even gone down on any guy before Cerne. It amazed her how much he enjoyed her giving him pleasure. Thank goodness for those instructional videos she ordered. She couldn’t wait to do it again. Remembering Cerne thrusting himself to the back of her throat while he spewed his semen caused her pussy to drip and the tiny thatch of hair along her labia to moisten.

“Princess Rhiannon?” Maeve’s voice broke her thoughts. She snapped her fingers in Rhiannon’s face. A wide, knowing grin swept across the faerie’s face.

Rhiannon shook her head and blushed. “Oh...umm...sorry. I was daydreaming.” Maeve winked. “I cannot blame you. Cerne is quite an extraordinary—” A tinge of rose flooded her cheeks. “Umm...man.”

Rhiannon raised an eyebrow in curious wonder. Maeve’s blush could only mean one thing.

She’d been intimate with Cerne in the past. “Have you and Cerne...” She bit her lip.

“Umm...slept together?”

She should be jealous of Maeve, but for some strange unknown reason, the idea of him pleasuring Maeve in similar fashion caused a wave of desire to wash through her. Maybe she could give Rhiannon a few pointers on his likes and dislikes.

Maeve took Rhiannon in her arms. “Cerne and I grew up together. We’ve shared a lot. But I’m permanently attached to Belenus. He’s my consort.” She shooed Rhiannon away. “Now off you go with Onora. We’ll continue our discussion later and then the lessons will begin.”
Lessons?
The way Maeve winked made her wonder exactly what sort of lessons she’d be receiving.

With a sigh, Rhiannon turned and allowed Onora her arm. “Lead the way, Onora.” Entering the dressing room, she turned for one last glimpse of Maeve who flashed Rhiannon a comforting smile, assuring her all would be well. But would it really?

Cerne prepared to knock harder, when the door swung open. With a welcoming smile, Maeve stood there wearing a gauzy azure blue gown.

“Come in.” Maeve motioned him inside. “Your princess is being dressed and will be out shortly.”

Cerne took in the luxurious chamber. The violet sheer draperies, the high-posted canopy bed, the expanse of alabaster white marble columns. Soon he and Rhiannon would share this room, among other things.

“Magnificent,” Cerne said, taking in the surroundings. But certainly not as much as he took in his future life-mate. How he wished Beltane was sooner. He could not wait to sink himself into her moist heat, pump his cock in her, hard and fast, and make her come all over him while she screamed his name in ecstasy. Gods’ blood, he thought, feeling himself pressing against his breeches.

“Cerne?” Maeve asked. “Is everything well?” She smirked, obviously noticing his raging erection.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “How long until I see my princess?”

“Have a seat.” Maeve pointed to the gold-trimmed chaise. She closed and reopened her hand, producing a glass of faerie red wine. Ah, no four dollar human swill tonight, he thought, taking the challis from Maeve. He’d only bestow the most exquisite faerie libations upon his Rhiannon. She would have no other choice but to believe.

He took a sip of wine, comparing the sweetness to the honey between Rhiannon’s thighs.

Nothing could compare to her musky release. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of the skimpy top she’d been wearing in the pool. He picked up the forest-green slip of fabric and brought it to his nose, drawing in her delicious scent and felt himself throb as he recalled the many naughty things he intended to do her.

“Ahem.” Maeve chuckled. “You’re acting like a unicorn in heat.” Cerne raised an eyebrow. “And, pray tell, how do you know how a unicorn in heat acts?” Maeve winked. “During Bel’s and my young and foolish days, we were busy in the meadow

when we noticed we weren’t alone. Those horns aren’t just for defense, by the way. We—”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” Cerne scrunched his nose.

Maeve threw back her head in laughter. “April Fools’!” Cerne raised an eyebrow. “Taken to following human customs, eh Maeve? She’s bewitched you too—”

“You? Bewitched?” Maeve grinned. “You’re in love. Wonderful!” Cerne spat out his wine. “I’m not in love. It’s purely physical.”

“That’s what you say now. We all say it. Even me.” Maeve winked. “Love isn’t as rare as you believe.”

“Whatever, Maeve. Not for a Silverwing—especially this Silverwing.” He set his goblet on the crystal table next to the chaise.

Maeve flitted her wings. “Please don’t bore me with any more talk of stale prophecies. I don’t think I can bear another minute of it.” She threw her hand to her chest and heaved a sigh.

“Prophecies are made for one reason only, to be proven wrong. And you, Cerne, are just the man to do it.”

~*~*~

“Your Highness, what are you doing?”

Rhiannon smiled at the maid. “It’s called eavesdropping.” Turning back to the golden door, she placed her ear on it. Fucking faeries, she thought. They certainly knew how to keep their rooms soundproof. Talk about the power of the subconscious. Even though it was just her imagination, it seemed so real. She didn’t think she’d be waking up any time soon, so she might as well take advantage of her dream. “I suppose I should get dressed, huh?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Onora replied.

“Rhiannon.” There was no way in hell she would play into this elaborate practical joke. “I’m not really a princess.”

Onora sighed. “I cannot call you by your given name. I would be disrespecting the royal family.”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “Oh, okay. Call me whatever you want. I don’t friggin’ care.”

“Why don’t you want to be a princess?” Bemusement filled Onora’s eyes, as if Rhiannon

were the crazy one.

“You’re all imaginary. You don’t really exist. You’re simply a creation of my overstressed mind.”

“Councilwoman Windsong told me you’d be stubborn.” Onora swished her light blonde hair behind her. She thrust a pink gauzy dress out toward Rhiannon.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose. “I’m not all that into pink. Got anything in...” What hideous color could she use? “...raw umber?”
Thank you, Crayola!

Onora raised her eyebrow. “I’m not familiar with human colors, Your Highness.” Of course she wouldn’t be. She was an
otherworldly
being.
Duh!
Rhiannon needed to wake up—like NOW. This was a story begging to be written. “It’s brown.” Onora gasped. “You want a brown gown?” She giggled, apparently noticing her silly rhyme.

“Fine. Lavender then.”

“A wonderful choice, Your Highness.” Onora shook the pink gossamer, transforming it to a light purple. “Here you are. Is this more acceptable?” With a slight huff, Rhiannon grabbed the gown. “A little privacy please?”

“I’m supposed to dress you, Your Highness.”

Goodness gracious
, would she ever get any privacy? “I’m a big girl, Onora. I can dress myself.”

Onora sighed and her lip quivered. “I...I...I’m sorry, Your Highness.” The poor maid looked like she was about to cry. She seemed so young—barely eighteen, if Rhiannon guessed right. “If it’s so important for you to dress me, I won’t stop you.” She gave Onora a comforting smile.

“Oh thank you, Your Highness.” Onora fluffed the gown. “I can’t believe Titania chose me to be your faerie-in-waiting. I’m very nervous.” She bit her lip.

“Don’t be nervous, Onora. I’m just plain ole Rhiannon, just as normal as you.” She contained the snigger that threatened to tumble from her mouth.
Normal? There’s nothing
normal about this place.

A big grin stretched across the petite faerie’s face. “Thank you, my princess. I’m looking forward to serving you.” She looked at the gown. “We better get you dressed for your prince-to-be.”

Rhiannon nodded and raised her arms, allowing Onora to dress her. If she thought the

nightgown was light, she now felt like she was floating on air. The lavender gauze flowed about her body. Gold sparkled magically about her. “Wow, it’s beautiful!” Rhiannon exclaimed, with the glee of a high school girl who had just found the perfect prom dress.

“Not as much as the one who wears it.” Onora motioned to the golden dresser and mirror.

Rhiannon was certain the wealth in this room alone would put even the richest of sultans to shame. “It’s now time for me to dress your hair.”

Rhiannon fluffed her shoulder-length curls. “Not much to dress here, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll manage. I’ve had to work with pixies before.” Onora giggled. “Why on Fey would a woman want to wear her hair so short is beyond me.” Rhiannon refused to comment. She, herself, had just made an appointment to get her hair chopped a few hours before her imagination went on overdrive. “Lots of women on Earth wear their hair short. It can be very stylish.”

“Not for us faeries, I’m afraid.” Onora wound a few flowers and glittery ribbons through Rhiannon’s hair. “Yes, your hair may be shorter than a typical faerie, but it becomes you.” She turned Rhiannon toward the looking glass. “There, all finished.” Rhiannon gasped. The gauzy lavender sparkled and danced about her. A radiance she never realized she possessed floated with her every mood. Beautiful lavender flowers and glittering ribbons bedecked her lush auburn curls. Her eyes seemed to sparkle a rich emerald green. “Holy shit! I’m gorgeous.” Rhiannon blushed, realizing just how arrogant she sounded.

“You’re only just noticing this?” Maeve stood in the doorway, her smile warm. She bowed.

“Your consort grows impatient.”

Rhiannon raised a curious brow. “What exactly is a consort? It sounds rather perverted.” Maeve chuckled. “Your consort...what you humans call a husband or spouse.”

“Oh, okay.” She wasn’t marrying some crazy imaginary being, even if he did give her explosive orgasms. “I don’t want to get married, and I certainly don’t want to live the rest of my days in la-la land.”

Maeve sighed and turned to Onora. “Could you inform Lord Silverwing we’ll be right out?” Onora bowed and took her leave.

Maeve turned back to Rhiannon, her expression serious. “I understand this is all so sudden for you, Your Highness, but the White Faerie Folk—your people—need you. Just grant us this one boon and you shall have whatever you want.”

“What if I want to go back to Earth and get my promotion?” Maeve sighed. “I cannot see why you would want to return, but if it’s your wish, it can be arranged.”

“So all I need to do is marry Cerne? Bring on the priest and let’s get it done.”

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. You cannot wed until Beltane.” She motioned to the settee in the corner. “Take a seat, Your Highness.”