Flora & Fauna

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I feel like one of the early flower buds on the trees draped over the entrance of the venue. Wrapped in blush-pink silk. Closed off. Encased in ice.

In my periphery, Claude watches me worriedly. The other wedding guests at the long table chat happily, so at least no one else has noticed my misery. An untouched plate of food sits in front of me between the silverware still sitting atop pristine cloth napkins. A tear suddenly spills down my cheek, jolting me like a static shock and making me flinch. The tear lands in my lap, darkening a spot of my gown. As subtly as I can, I scramble for my pearl-embellished clutch and snap it open, fishing around inside for a handkerchief. The purse falls from my lap and disappears under the table, loudly snapping shut wherever it lands. My faux-husband ducks under the lace-edged tablecloth and reappears with the bag, a handkerchief of his own covertly offered in the same hand. I take both and nod my thanks.

Claudius told me once that he isn't good with crying people. He wasn't exaggerating. Since we met at the bottom of the curved marble staircase of his estate earlier this evening, both of us already dressed to leave, he has struggled to hold eye contact with my blue expression. I quickly bow to hide my face and dab at the shiny streak on my cheek.

"If you don't like the fish, I'll tell the waiter to bring you something else," he whispers beside my ear. "They already don't like me."

I force myself to smile at him in genuine appreciation for the joke at his own expense. "No," I croak out with a shake of my head. "I don't think I can stomach anything."

It's obvious in his flickering expression that it's a struggle for him to continue engaging with my unhappiness, but he manages it. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head again. "I don't think I can stomach that either."

He fails to hide the relief that relaxes his shoulders at my answer. Without looking back at me, his hand carefully reaches into my line of sight, taking my right hand and holding tight. I squeeze back, the memory of the reverse during our wedding playing in my mind. It makes it a little bit easier, knowing that we're both pretending. Even if we can never let anyone else find out. With my free hand, I reach out for my glass of champagne.

"Oh!" the woman sitting beside me gasps and grabs my hand. "You changed your ring?"

The blood in my veins turns to ice as I see the gold around my finger. Claude's hand tightens painfully around mine as he notices my mistake as well. "Oh, um," I flounder for some sliver of my performance and try to smile at her. "I didn't get to pick my last one and, to be honest, it wasn't really my color. So, Claude took me shopping for a new one."

"Awww!" she drunkenly gushes. "That's so sweet!"

The volume draws the attention of several other people at the table, who look at my ring, then shift their attention to him. When she finally releases my hand, I drop it back to my lap with the other. I don't dare look up, not that it prevents me from seeing the emotions boiling in Claudius. His hand releases mine, flexing so tensely his knuckles go white as he pulls away. All I wanted a moment ago was to return to the estate, so that I could at least languish in private. Now I'm not sure I want to leave this reception any time soon.

.

The door slamming at my back after Claudius follows me into my bedroom makes me jump. I turn around to find him standing painfully straight, his expression contorting with the effort he's putting in to controlling his temper.

"Where the fuck is your ring?" he demands through grit teeth.

Shakily, I point to the squat nightstand beside the plush, white bed. He stalks by me, slamming the drawer open and then closed. When he returns to my line of sight, he's holding the velvet box that contains the platinum, gaudy thing.

"I guess I might as well take this with me," he snarks. "Since everyone thinks that is your ring now."

"I'm sorry," I sniffle. "I must've forgot-"

"I don't care about the first part and I assumed the second," he interrupts and turns to leave.

"I handled it."

"What?" He spins around to face me again.

"I said 'I handled it.'"

"If you hadn't fucked up in the first place there wouldn't have been anything to handle!"

"Once!" I yell back. "One time! I made one mistake in all of this!"

"You can't make a mistake! Ever! This is my life!"

"Yeah, well, I'm supposed to be having a life too, but here I am!"

"I don't have time for this," he growls as he dismissively waves a hand and storms out of my bedroom.

As soon as he's gone, I rip off the restrictive, corseted layers until I'm down to only the silk chemise and throw myself onto the bed. Grabbing the nearest edge of the fuzzy duvet, I roll over to pull it around myself and bury my face in the mountain of pillows. Quince grunts as she squeezes herself through whatever tiny gap she's using to sneak in. The weight of her landing beside me barely dents the fabric. She quietly speaks her nickname for me, but I can't find the energy to look up, much less respond. Her wings flutter into a comfortable position as she lays down across from me. The few times I get up throughout the night, the sprite is always watching over me from that spot.

.

Either Claudius or Carrie managed to sneak in during the night and place a prepared outfit over my bedspread. My eyes flick from the opulent gown to the fireplace. Quince notices the shift in my attention and her back goes rigid with worry. Instead, I ball the dress up in my fists and shove it into the back corner of my wardrobe. If I'm such a liability, he can handle tonight alone. Quince wrings her hands and begins saying many things, not getting through a full word of any of them. But I've already thrown myself back into the indent of my body that has formed in the bed since last night. Let him handle this one alone. If he never makes mistakes.

Only an hour or so later, I hear Claudius stomp into the room. I stay curled up in bed, not even blinking as I feel his anxiety sharpening in the air between us.

"Where's your dress?"

"I'm not going."

"What?"

With a deep, exhausted sigh, I stumble out of the bed to stand and face him. "I'm not going."

Claudius stares back at me, then turns around and begins rummaging through my wardrobe. When he pulls out the crumpled gown, he merely throws it off to the side and takes out something else. He throws the new dress toward the bed, and we both watch it land with the same blank expression. "Put it on."

"I said 'I'm not going.'"

"Yes, you are. Your entire reason for being here is that you're going."

"Why do you want me to go anyway? I'll just fuck everything up, right?"

"This is not a debate. You need to- Flora!"

While he's still speaking, I turn away and head for the bathroom. At least it's a room I can lock myself in. Quince walks along the edge of the bed, looking nervously from one of us to the other while her wings alternate between curling around her and spreading so wide that they shake. Claudius' hand suddenly wraps around my elbow, stopping me from escaping.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he grits out.

"No, you're not."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm not. Now get ready. I need you to do this."

The slow simmer of misery finally boils over, forcing me up on my tiptoes so I can snarl the words into his face. "Why don't you just lie to everyone? You're good at that, aren't you?"

His mouth falls open in one of the few expressions of shock I've ever seen on him. The grip on me loosens at the same time and I wrench my arm away. He doesn't stop me as I finish rushing into the bathroom and slam the door shut. My fingertips shake on the lock as I click it into place and turn around to put my back to the door.

After a silent moment, Claudius addresses me from the other side. "Stay in the house tonight. If anyone asks, you're not feeling well. Blame it on the fish."

.

Stay in the house. Fuck you. I think later in the night, when I'm certain that he's left the estate.

Most of the employees of the home have left for the evening as well. No one comes out to stop me as I slink out in the leather riding pants and billowy blouse I arrived in, buried under the winter coat that Ares gifted me.

The sun set hours ago, the streets are dark as I wander with my eyes aimed high and my fingers tucked into one pocket, feeling the curved metal of a small stack of coins therein. I had hoped to ask Quince, talking to her is so easy, but I was too lost in myself to ask earlier and she left with him.

Finally, a glow zips through the sky from one roof to another. I stop in my tracks and whistle. The glow reappears as the sprite peaks over the edge of an angled roof at me. I hold the coins high and tilt them so the street lantern flames will reflect along the round edges. I close my eyes as the sprite shoots for me, keeping them closed until they lower the light at my request. Even through my eyelids, it has left a blinking sunspot in my vision.

"Hi." I begin, finding my voice is hoarse and sore from crying. The sprite tilts their head at the sound but takes the coins all the same. "I have a request. I sent a letter within Leaven months ago. I need it back."

The sprite listens studiously as I give all the details they'll need to track it down in their archives, if it has even been saved this long. From what the sprite tells me, I'm right at the limit of how long they keep letters for, unless you pay a sorting and storage fee. I can't tolerate being in the estate any longer so, when the sprite asks me where I'll be for drop off, I point down the street to an art gallery that is open for the next few hours. With a quick nod, the sprite stuffs the coins into their bag and vanishes like a shooting star into the dark.

.

The painting I've been staring at is dark tones, but for one. The ivory wolf, all wild fangs and claws, is being surrounded by sterling waves, pulled from the safety of the gray sands into the sea. The froth at the edges of its maw matches the curved edges of the waves grasp.

Someone sits on the bench beside me and I sigh in annoyance, expecting Claudius. But, when I turn my head, I see Marko looking down at me sympathetically. He gives my stunned expression a half-smile, then turns his attention to the painting. His blond hair is twisted up in a hasty bun, his shirt only partially tucked in, as if he came here in a rush. There's off-white powder from marble or clay dusted on his fingers, which has left fingerprints on his dark slacks and overcoat. Over his shoulder, I can see that the long hall is empty but for us.

"You like this one?" he asks easily, as if we've been sitting together this whole time.

"I like the texture of the wolf." I hastily clear my throat when my voice comes out still gruff. "The way it looks like a carving but alive. And the detail of the claw swipes through the sand."

He points down the aisle to a painting that is much more tranquil. It's all green vines and colorful peonies wrapped around a pillar of quartz. "That'd go with your room better."

"Did Claude sic you on me?"

"'Sic?'" he echoes. "Ouch."

"Sorry," I whisper, my vision blurring with tears as the guilt sinks in. None of this is his fault.

"It's okay."

Wings flutter in the cavernous space as the sprite I hired flies over and stands between us on the bench. They take a single piece of the paper from their bag and hand it to me. Some of the ink has seeped through the wrinkled paper since I last saw it. I shove it into my coat pocket without bothering to check that it's legible. I almost pray that it isn't. Already paid, the sprite flies out of the gallery.

"Do I want to know?" Marko asks.

"I think I fucked up," I admit, the words coming out shaky. "With And."

After a moment, Marko chuckles bitterly and runs a hand through his hair. The tie comes loose when he bumps it and his hair falls around his face. "Fuck. I don't know why he sent me in here. I am the worst person ever for this."

"Why?"

"Because I... I'm the one who almost fucked up everything. Many times."

"Frankly, I think we could both do better than him."

He smirks and looks down the opposite hall. The closest painting on that side features a woman prying an anchor from the open chest of a fox. "I love him," he quietly reiterates with a shrug.

"Why?"

"You know, the first time you said that, it really relieved me of all my worries about you trying to seduce him but now I'm just offended."

I huff an exasperated laugh. Even if Marko feels like he's the worst person for this, he's probably the only person who could talk to me right now and not make me feel worse. A sigh pulls my attention away from him, to my opposite side, and I turn to see Claudius sitting on another bench. I glare when he looks at me.

"Really?" Marko mutters. "You said you wanted me to talk to her alone."

"It's freezing outside," Claude whispers. "I got sick of waiting."

Without much else to say, I point to the painting in front of Marko and I. "Do you like this one?"

"No. I think it's pedestrian."

Marko snickers beside me, then reaches out for my hand. He tilts it in the light and watches the glint of my ring. "This is definitely more you than the other one."

"Yeah," I agree sadly.

"You couldn't have fucked up that badly, if you're still wearing the ring from him."

I don't know what to say to that, so I only shrug. The gallery can't possibly be open for much longer, so when they stand up to leave, I do the same. As we exit the pillar-lined front gate, Marko breaks away from us and walks away as if we're strangers who just happened to leave at the same time. Claudius leads me around the corner to a waiting carriage. I go tense with anxiety about what he'll say once we're alone in the velvet-decked interior. But he doesn't say anything. His silver gaze is aimed out the window as we make our way to the estate. With the way he incessantly gnaws at his lower lip the whole time, I'm surprised it's not bleeding by the time we reach his home.

On the top step of the marble staircase, the toe of my boot catches the edge of the rug and I stumble forward. Claudius spins toward me in an instant, grabbing my forearm with one hand and supporting the small of my back with the other to keep me from face-planting. During those few seconds, I get a closer look at the sore, red marks all over his lower lip. Some of them are new, some partially healed. Nothing is done or said to stop me as I follow him into his own bedroom.

"Claude, are you-"

"I'm tired. Can this wait until tomorrow? Or, more preferably, never?"

"Look at me." When he does the opposite and turns away, I look toward the vanity where Quince landed. She and I cast equally nervous glances at each other. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm stressed."

"You're always stressed. You usually aren't eating your own lip down to nothing."

He rubs his face and sits down on the hope chest at the end of his bed. I hesitate a moment before following and sitting beside him. "I... I can't have you messing up at this-"

"I said I was sorry-"

"Let me finish. I can't have you messing up at this because... I think I already did."

I feel my lips go pale as my stomach drops. In my periphery, Quince sits on my shoulder with no shock in her expression as she listens to us both. "What do you mean?"

"That work trip that I mentioned in the schedule, the one to Sirmont, my father was meeting with someone he potentially wanted to go into business with. It was, for lack of a better word, Marko's ex."

I gulp and turn to look at the sprite. Silent and staring down at nothing, she kicks her feet as if in a pool as I await the rest of the explanation.

"He's a bad person." Claude's hands tighten until his knuckles go white, then he seems to notice and tries to rub the tension out of them like a reflex. "I knew that already but, being in a room with him... Having to shake his hand and smile and pretend. It was worse than I thought it would be."

Other than what can be assumed based on his talents in a surprising amount of taboo categories, it hits me that I don't know much about Marko's past. Though those skills don't imply ease or coddling. "You're not actually going to do business with him, are you?"

"No, no. I steered my father away from the idea. It's the only real way to fuck with men like that anyway."

Holding up one hand to secure Quince as my shoulders shake, I chuckle at the thought of Claude delivering the satisfying news. "At least Marko will be happy to hear that."

"No," he immediately snaps. "Marko is never going to hear about this. Ever. I mean it, Flora."

"What? Why? If I had a rich fiancé who fucked over my horrible ex, I'd be ecstatic."

"You didn't know Marko back then. You never saw how much that... relationship," he sneers around the word, "affected him. It stuck with him for so long. It almost poisoned things between us so many times. But now, he hasn't mentioned Charles in years. I never want that man to infect his thoughts again."

"Okay, so, how is this a fuck up then? No one knows what really happened. Your dad isn't going to go into business with him. What's the problem?"

"I said some things to him that might have implied that I know Marko. I don't know. Maybe it's my own paranoia but it felt like I saw him recognize the words."

"For what it's worth, I doubt that."

"You're just saying that because you want me to calm down."

"Yes, that, and you know the old saying?"

Claudius pauses in flexing his knuckles long enough to look my way and tilt his head.

"The axe forgets, the tree remembers? Trust me, there are a lot of axes in our echelon and they rarely recall any of the fucked up shit they say, do they?"

"I assume you're referring to me with that."

I roll my eyes. "Now you're being paranoid. If you need it to be about someone specific then it'd be about your friend Leland."

"He's more my father's friend than mine, what's your problem with Leland?"

I scowl at the childhood memory, words spoken high over my head that I wasn't supposed to hear and never forgot. Beside my ear, Quince notices my expression and snarls in solidarity before I even recount the story. "When my mom lost a lot of weight and couldn't gain it back, I heard him talking about her at a ball. He was saying he didn't understand why my dad wasn't courting anyone new in preparation for the inevitable. And that my mother 'lost her marbles long before she lost her curves.'" I mimic his gesture, one pointed index finger circling near my temple.

The tiny points of the loyal sprite's claws stick into my skin as her pink puff of hair raises like the hackles on a wolf. "I'm going to bite him," she growls, her body trembling with every word.

Claudius doesn't admonish her, frozen with a look of disgust on his face. "Fuck. No wonder you tried to break his foot."

"Huh?"

"When I mentioned courting you, he was one of the men who tried to deter me from it. He said he tried to sweep you into a dance once and you stomped on his foot with the point of your heel."

I laugh in genuine, exuberant shock. "I don't remember that, but I believe you and I'm glad I did it."

Despite the continued exhaustion and sadness in his eyes, Claudius' chuckles as well. "So am I now. I guess you were the axe that night."

"So, everything on that trip is why you were resorting to cannibalism in the carriage?"

"That and... well, another incident that may only be my paranoia." He rubs his neck and his silver eyes scan the shifting colors trapped in the fireplace before he goes on. "Have you ever walked into a room and something in the conversation shifts? And you can't explain it but it just feels like everyone was talking about you?"

I tilt my head. "No?"

"Of course not," he scoffs. "Everyone likes you."