Sun beat down. Twaintigre lowered silver lashes against the blazing light, pupils narrowed to slits. His wide-brimmed hat protected long, gray ears from the full fury of the midsummer sun, but did nothing to lessen the oppressive heat. Layers of loose black muslin offset flowing silver locks and silver eyes, a monochrome contrast to his gray skin, and trapped every last bit of sunlight that beamed down on him. To finish it all off, a high ermine collar, tight silver cuffs, and a cinched corset traced in silver made sure no heat escaped.
Sweat rolled down his back in thick drops, soaking the flimsy fabric. His ears twitched, wilting in the strong sun. Twaintigre grit his teeth and glared at the grand red-and-gold double doors. Come out here already! I'm melting!
A quiet but melodic chuckle rang out from beside him. "Poor drow, suffering in the sun. You can't even take this much? How dainty. You wouldn't last a minute in our forest."
Twaintigre shot a glare at the sun elf beside him. Tall and slender, a tight emerald gown revealed expanses of warm chocolate skin. Gold swirled on her arms, around her wrists and biceps, and glittered in the gap of her skirt where her thigh peeked through. She shook her head, and the golden ornaments coiled around her box braids gently clattered together, a complement to the melody of her voice. A slender golden band wound around her forehead, dangling a sun-shaped topaz brooch between her brows.
"You wouldn't last a minute in the northern wastes," he wanted to say, but bit it back at the last second. Instead, he cleared his throat. Changed by the potion, his voice sounded higher, sweeter. "We are moon elves, not drow."
"How does your brother fare? I hear he's off subduing darkfoe at the Barrier. I certainly hope he doesn't come to any harm."
Twaintigre's lips twisted, sour.
Seeing that she'd pressed a sore spot, the sun elf smiled. "Worried for him? Don't worry. I hear half the soldiers make it back, eventually, in some form or another."
His brows furrowed deeper. Dammit, Moss, what the hell are you up to?
On his other side, a preternaturally pale fae, skin the greenish-white of fresh fungi, shushed them gently, kaleidescopic eyes gazing at something in the far distance. Her dress shimmered in the wind, made of the same fabric as butterfly wings. Tiny pixies, barely larger than butterflies themselves, flitted around her shoulders. Clasping strands of shimmering crystal hair, they darted to and fro around her, never still. She nodded at the doors. "His Imperial Majesty arrives."
The doors flew open. The dozen or so girls lined up along the grand entrance straightened their backs and bowed deeply.
A half-dozen attendants rushed out and bowed. Trumpets sounded. The doors gaped wide, but no one emerged.
Hoofbeats. From the road that led to the city, a mounted man approached.
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Barely twenty years old, his gold-brown hair shone in the sunlight, framing a face that still hinted at childish pudge. Handsome enough for a human, Twaintigre supposed, though he fell short of the average elf, moon or sun. Bright bronze eyes peered out from under a low fringe, quietly taking in the view. Despite the splendor and beauty displayed before him, his eyes passed over the crowd of princesses as though they were merely scenery. A thickly-embroidered coat, laden in gold braid, accentuated broad shoulders, which were themselves draped in red velvet. Below him, a white horse—
Twaintigre's eyes widened. That's not a horse, that's a unicorn!
Sunlight dazzled off its pure-white flanks, paler than fresh-fallen snow. The beast flicked its lion-like tail and looked down on them through thick white lashes, disdaining each and every one of the beauties lined up before it.
"I thought unicorns only allowed pure maidens to ride them," the sun elf whispered, startled.
"Maybe His Majesty is a pure maiden," the stout dwarf to her other side chuckled, stroking her thick red beard.
"Purity aside, he's no maiden. It must be a mark of his mastery of all elements, that even such a powerful celestial beast bows before his might," the sun elf muttered.
The dwarf snorted.
The Emperor rode slowly past, taking his time to look over each and every princess gathered before him. Some bowed deeper, or murmured words of supplication. Twaintigre cast them an aside glance, anxiety building in his stomach with every beat of the unicorn's hooves. His fists clenched. One hand moved surreptitiously to the shortsword concealed in his skirts. Unicorns only like maidens. If it gets too close for me, I'll be revealed before I even make it into the palace!
The unicorn stopped before him. He bowed low, not daring to speak. Pinkish nostrils flared, and hot breath blasted over the back of his neck. Statuesque, he froze, waiting for the Emperor to move on, or to feel the sensation of his head leaving his body. Dammit, Moss. A month or two, my ass! More like the rest of my life!
Heavy, hot and wet, a tongue dragged across his back. It took him a few moments to realize: the unicorn is licking me? Befuddled, he blinked at the cobbles and the Emperor's fancy gold shoes, dangling off the unicorn's flanks. Why?
Leather creaked as the Emperor shifted in his saddle. He cleared his throat. "Name?"
Did he speak to any of the other girls? Twaintigre's vision swam from the heat, memory equally wobbly. He couldn't be sure. After a beat, he realized the Emperor was waiting for an answer, and squeaked out the phrasing Dayander had beaten into his head until his ears bled and his brain went numb. "Moussaesa, eldest daughter of the King of the frozen north. I represent my homeland, Soanna, and the Moon Elf people."
A long moment passed. Twaintigre's back ached from bowing. His knees trembled from the pounding sun. Move on, please move on.
"Ah. The drow. I've heard much about your... people. Mouss—Moo... Mo... Mouse, my mount has taken a liking to you. He is yours."
Startled, Twaintigre straightened half an inch. He watched from the corners of his eyes as the Emperor dismounted and held out the reins to the unicorn to him. Too heat-dazed to think straight, he took them. Did... did I pass? Did the unicorn not realize I'm a man?
Leaving the dazed moon elf behind, the Emperor strode on, taking in the remaining women one at a time. The line stretched on, seemingly to infinity. Twaintigre stood from his bow and reached out to pat the unicorn's cheek, still not sure what had happened. He squinted after the Emperor. A blur of red and gold twisted in the heat, mixing with a mess of colors from the girls' skin and gem-colored dresses until he couldn't pick a single one from the swirl. How the hell did I get here?
The world spun. His knees gave out, and he collapsed into memory, an empty room, a carefully-folded note atop a lovely dress. Like the moon cutting through wispy clouds, clarity seared through the tunneling black as it closed off his vision.
Oh, that's right. It's all Moss's fault.