Dedication

To those who feel the fear and do it anyway.

A Glossary of Common Words in the Kingdom of Nightveil

Adame / a’DA’mei / Noun. 

An elven consort-for-hire whose kiss magically extends the longevity of their patrons.

Elys / el’LUS / Proper Noun.

An elven god, often associated with love. Usually referred to as the progenitor of blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned elves. His name may be used in exclamation (e.g., “Elys above, you startled me!”).

Kinsme / k’IN’s’mei / Noun.

Elves that prefer the romantic and/or sexual company of their own sex.

Luname / lu’NAA’mei / Noun.

Nocturnal elves said to have descended from the night sky, known for their gray-blue skin and dark hair. Sometimes called "moon elves."

I

He was ten years old, and he was afraid.

Hawk’s shadow trembled before him, and he could see nothing but the twiggy shape, like his body had been snapped off a tree and given life. His frail little arm stretched high in the air, straining against the weight of the hardwood spear that had passed down from his grandfather, to his father, to him. He moved deeper into the river, and the sun followed, mocking his shape and flashing light against the babbling water. Already his muscles ached from the effort of holding the weapon aloft, and he couldn’t see. He couldn’t see the fish.

“Hawk,” said his father from the bank. “Now. Do it now.”

He stabbed, blind to anything other than his own skewed shadow, and when the spear sank into the sand and mud below, Hawk grimaced. He’d failed. But then he tried to raise the spear again, and it was heavier than before, and it took Father shouting in joy for him to realize he’d done it.

He speared a fish. It thrashed, spraying water and blood across Hawk’s face, and he gasped. He held the spear with both hands now, stumbling back towards dry land, and all at once he felt pressure at the back of his tongue, in his throat, and within his gut.

Father snatched the spear from him and barked, “Don’t you dare throw up again.”

Hawk, relieved of the weight, fell onto his ass. The damp grasses soaked through his beige tunic, but the cool feeling of it was welcome. He pressed his palms against his eyes and gasped for air, settling his stomach and his nerves, until he could finally speak. “I’m sorry.”

Father didn’t reply at first, and when Hawk peeked between his hands, he saw why: he’d bashed the poor fish against a sharp rock at the river’s edge, stilling it, and he worked to wiggle the spear out from the flesh—careful to not do much damage. Father stood tall and threw the fish into his large and near-empty reeded basket and said, “No mind. You’re just a boy. You’ll grow to like all this in time.”

And then Father pinned him with a look that was more an inquiry than anything else. You will, won’t you? Hawk, old enough to know that some lies were safer than some truths, but still all too trusting of his parents, shook his head no. He stood, legs trembling like his arms, and he wiped the grass from his bare, pale, purple skin. “I don’t like fishing,” he said. “I don’t like killing the fish.”

His father sighed as he marched closer. He placed a hand beneath Hawk’s jaw, forcing him to look up and into narrowed blue eyes. “You may not fish, but you will do something for us one day. You will not be a burden to me. Or your mother.”

Hawk tried to nod, couldn’t, and instead said, “Yes. I can do something. I can—ah. Flowers.” He swallowed and said, “I’ll keep flowers.”

His father released his face and busied himself scooping up the basket to carry home. “That’s not a useful job, Hawk. Flower-keeping?”

“I’ll plant them,” said Hawk, following behind, trying to explain, hands wheeling in the air as he spoke. “I’ll grow them. I’ll sell them. And you and Mother can have the gold.”

“No one around here buys flowers,” his father said, voice gone light with the sound of laughter. 

“Really?” Hawk continued to jog behind him, and he watched the planes of his father’s back shift behind his thin white shirt. His brow furrowed in thought as he said, “Okay. I’ll find something useful to do, Father. I promise.”

His father glanced at him from over one shoulder. “But not fishing.”

“Please, not fishing,” said Hawk.

* * *

Later that night, in the wood-clad cabin his family called home, he heard his mother say, “He’s a lover, not a fighter. We can make use of his love. It’s a skill as much as any.”

“Surely you don’t propose he works as an adame.”

His mom released some kind of scoff. “Not exactly.” Hawk wracked his brain for the word. Adame. Wasn’t that an elf who married for money? “Look at him. He’s got the worst traits from you and me. No brothel will house his type. Half luname? Half Elys?”

Those words, he knew. Luname—a moon elf like his mom. Elys—the elven god associated with the blond-haired, blue-eyed type like his dad. Hawk hugged his knees to his chest, seated on the handwoven rug just outside the doorway to his parents’ room, blond hair obscuring his vision. Tears obscuring his vision. He swallowed them down and leveled his breathing, because he didn’t want to be caught. And he certainly didn’t want to be caught crying.

His mother added, “He’s pretty in his own unique way.” This sentiment quelled some of the tears; some of the heaviness within his chest.

His father said, “But as an adame—”

“That’s not what I suggest. The Spears Coterie has continued to shrink with every generation.”

His father sputtered his defense. “And so?”

His mom continued, tone gentle, “We’re nearly two hundred and fifty years from the war; our spears are used for hunting alone in these times. Not against humans.” 

That’s right, Hawk recalled from his days at the schooling house on the edge of his forest home—adame were elves married to humans. Or something similar to that. Humans were friendly to elves after many years of bloody war. 

Mother said, “Hawk is our chance to blend, I think, with the Eddys.” The Eddys weren’t humans, but a neighboring band of elves. Hawk heard his father make a happy, thoughtful sound, and his mom continued. “We’ll marry him to one of theirs. They’ve a boy his age. At twenty-two—we’ll make a promise to them.”

“I suppose this plan is fine. I doubt the boy being a boy will be a problem.”

“I doubt any of this will be a problem. Hawk is a good child. He’ll do what we wish.”

“He’s weak.”

His mother laughed. “He’s a lover, Artur. Let him be a lover. We’ll expand the Coterie. He and his husband can give our families at least one child.”

“Only if they truly love one another,” Father said, and Hawk caught himself nodding along. Elven babies were the result of true love, after all.

“That’s my point. Hawk can learn to point his affections at someone he’s told to. He’ll take the one we say he should take.”

Hawk scrambled away as he heard his father leave the bed, no doubt to prepare for the night’s rest. Hawk did not rest that night; he went over the conversation again and again. He understood. He knew what he had to do. He just had to love.

* * *

He was twenty-two years old, and he was burdened with terrible sadness.

Hawk’s mother had been wrong about him. He gazed into the impassive, pale face of his husband, and could see nothing there. There would be no children manifested from love. Hawk was no lover. Nor was he a fighter. He was, by his estimation, nothing at all.

* * *

March was two-hundred and twenty-six years old, and he was bored.

Meredith’s trembling voice danced through the emptiness. “Do you act as stone because you look like you’re carved from one, March?”

He may as well have been. He offered a smile. “Am I so cold?” March squeezed Mere’s thin, trembling hand within his own. “You liken me to a wet unfeeling rock?” 

“No, no.” Meredith’s blue eyes, milk-white with age, peered into his face. Her soft, wrinkled skin trembled into a frown. “You’re as stone in the most beautiful way. My Pretty March. Made from nature. And like a river rock, satisfying to stroke. Of all I leave behind in Abblesbet, I’ll miss you, and your beautiful stony skin, most of all.”

March put on his gentlest, most congenial laugh. “Mere, that cannot be true. You’ve children here. Surely they’re more important than some adame you had.” She did have him for a very long time—once weekly for sixty years—but his companionship had been paid. He didn't remark on it; talking about the financial exchange in his role as her adame would have been rude. He may have been like a stone, but he had manners.

Mere's papery eyelids closed as she said, “Yes. I forgot. My children. May the Moon Goddess strike me down. I forget many things these days, don’t I?”

March brought her hand to his lips and kissed her upon a knobby, spotted knuckle. “Worry not. I’ll remember enough for us both.”

And he would. Mere, as she aged in the countryside, would come to forget Sutaire Place, the brothel that kept March housed and employed both. He'd been there so long it'd become embedded into his very being; a part of his identity like his pointed ears or his black, waist-length hair. March and Mere sat in the parlor room, with mahogany-framed windows that looked down the hill at the bustling city below, watching still waters of Abblesbet Bay beyond. The marble floors, white and gleaming, were layered in soft red rugs, and the floral, embroidered furniture seemed cozy and well-worn, but had been meticulously styled and arranged so the beautiful view could be seen from any seat. Wood columns made of the same mahogany as the windows pressed against the off-white walls, with mounted green iron gas lamps pouring warm light—and warmth—around them.

The evening bloomed across the horizon, and for a place like Sutaire, the residents now stirred to start their day. March and Mere's conversation began in silence and was now punctuated with the quiet rumblings of the other elves that prepared themselves for work that night in the brothel.

Mere's focus drifted from the doorway, down the hall, before returning to March. “You will remember, won’t you? You’re still a young man.”

“I’m two hundred twenty six,” he said.

“As an elf!” She straightened her spine, bristling, and March could see her as she once was in her middle age, with thick dark brown hair instead of the fine silvery white that curled near her scalp, and a wicked grin that revealed one sharp, crooked tooth in the corner of her mouth. “You’re nearly a babe.”

March's accent thickened, vowels lilting like he was back home across the sea. “You didn’t say that when we first met.”

“Pah,” said Mere. Her spine curved over again, and she sank into the small frail form of her old age. “I was a babe then too.” The green flowery cushions hugged her little frame. She seemed so tiny then.

March stroked the back of her hand. “You’ve many years left to live.” Having kept an adame like March, Mere would enjoy several decades more of living, if she was careful and cared for. “You’ll love it out there, in your new home, I think. Fresh air. None of the noise of Abblesbet. This is no place for a human at your age. One hundred years old is a feat for your kin.” He looked out onto the city again, at the street car that raced down the hill, sparkling with ancient elven magic to keep it running without a conductor, at the many well-frocked couples walking down the brick lane, hand-in-hand for warmth and affection. 

Meredith’s thin white brows wrinkled in concern. “A hundred years? Am I so old?”

March smiled, and it warmed his chest this time. “You turn one hundred one next month, my darling. It will be our sixtieth anniversary, you know. You first came to me on your fortieth birthday.”

She exhaled. “Goodness.” She looked at where their hands were met and flashed a grin. “Yes, I think the countryside will suit me well at this age. Are you sure you cannot come?”

“You already asked,” he reminded her. “The fee to retire me from Sutaire is beyond your reach. And what’s more—” He chuckled and looked across the room to an old portly human man with an ample bald spot and an even more ample frown worn behind a thick white mustache. The man stood, arms crossed, near the second doorway at the far side of the room, as close to the exit as he could get. “Your husband doesn’t favor my company, I fear.”

Mere followed his gaze to her husband and she said, “Goddess be. He’s gotten fat.”

March didn’t smile as he squeezed her hand yet again. “He loves you, and you both will live in peace out of the city. I was assured he’d satisfy your every need.” Because he did care what happened to her. She was one of his first patrons. He'd seen her through sickness, success. They'd been intimate, too, at one time—before she decided she didn't need such a service from him. "I'll miss you, of course. But I'm happy for you, Mere." His smile was tight; subtle, not willing to tap the well of emotion threatening to spill within.

She shook her head once, like something scratched upon the surface of her brain, and when she opened her milk-glass eyes again, she gazed in silence at March. Several moments passed, and gentle music began to play from a recorder in another room, before she asked, “Do you act as stone because you look like you’re carved from one, March?”

March stood out of the settee, and helped Meredith do the same. Her husband approached, rolling his jaw in a poor attempt to mask his frustration. Frustration he levied at March, at his wife's failing mind, at the journey he was going to embark upon. He'd always seemed the surly sort. “Ready, Mere?”

She tugged at March’s arm once and he leaned in close enough for her to place a dry, sweet-smelling kiss against his cheek. “Thank you, March. Take care of yourself, please.”

Her husband made a noise between a groan and a sigh and reached out to remove her hand from March. “Give him the coin.”

Mere’s shaking hand fished into the front pocket of the apron-skirt she had tied in a bow at her waist. She pulled free a single token—a half-sun, half-bird wing carved on one side, and the number one carved on the other. March took it, bowing his head, and in turn, placed a small crystal vial in her hand. Her fingers closed around it and she exhaled, visibly comforted by the weight of it in her palm. 

March faced Mere’s husband as he said, “Have her drink it before you board the carriage; it’ll ease the ride for her.”

“I know what to do, elf,” said her husband. He then paused, puffed his chest, and said, “Sorry. I’ve been stressed. I appreciate your help.” And then, for the first time in sixty years, he offered his hand for March to shake.

March smiled at it. Instead of taking his hand, March instead offered a fist. “We elves tap the back of our hands like this.” He knocked the back of their hands together once. “It’s how we say hello and goodbye.”

“Goodbye, then.”

March watched them shuffle down the corridor, to the sweeping double door at the front of Sutaire, and out of his life forever more. Distantly, someone shouted for him. Yes, yes. Time for another night like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

* * *

Hawk was forty-four years old, and he was drunk.

He watched the coins bounce around the barkeeper’s hand, golden and sparkly in the tavern’s floating candlelight. The gold looked so pretty like this, against his pale human hand. This stranger had such a big palm, such long fingers, and they were adorned with rings, rings, rings. Including a wedding band.

Hawk’s vision spun. He shut his eyes for a moment, and when he reopened them, the rest of the bar came into swaying focus, all dark-paneled wood and mix-matched curtains. Two other drunkards—horn-bearers, with big black ram horns holding their hair away from their gray, aged faces—chatted idly at a two-top. They’d not given Hawk a single glance when he entered an hour or two ago. 

Hawk sighed, sinking back against his creaky, lopsided barstool. The barkeep snapped his lovely fingers and said, “Hey. I'm talking to you.” 

“What?” 

“Is this it? That's all the gold you have?” 

Hawk tried to look up from the shiny, oily wooden bartop, but his head was so heavy. The astringent scent of liquor burned his nose, and he moaned. “Yes. I'm drunk, I think.”

“Then you can consider your mission accomplished. Get out.”`

The barkeep’s tone and volume were enough to make Hawk sit up again. He tried to find those coins, simply to gaze upon them and that handsome hand, but they were already tucked safely away into the barkeep’s belt. “Wait,” said Hawk, reaching towards him. “Wait, I shouldn’t’ve… I need those. That was the last of my gold.”

“I beg your pardon? Kid, you’re lucky I’m not calling a copper to take you out of here. You didn’t have enough to cover the ale you’ve already had.”

Hawk’s mouth was dry, and his words were sticky as he said, “Not a kid. I’m forty. Four.” 

The barkeep glanced him up and down and shrugged. “Sorry. You elves always look young.” The barkeep was, by Hawk’s guess, half his age. He used that lovely hand to point to the door. “Now, get. Seriously. I don’t want to make a guard manhandle you out of here.” He paused. “Elfhandle.”

“But I’ve got no coin to buy lodgings now.” 

The barkeeper had big soft brown human eyes, and he squeezed them shut, as if staving off a headache. “Can’t you go home?”

“No,” said Hawk. “I can’t go there.”

“Sure you can—” the barkeep started, but Hawk shook his head.

“I can’t. I can’t ever go back there. Because it’s his house now.” He swallowed, and the swaying image of the barkeep steadied. “I’m…” He hiccupped. “divorced.”

And he watched it happen: the subtle shifting of the barkeep’s expression from frustrated to pitying to…something Hawk could not identify through the drink and his own heavy heart. A few seconds ticked by, and those drunks at the back of the bar distantly laughed at some private joke. The barkeep began to speak again, but his voice lost its edge, and he leaned towards Hawk. “Alright. Look. There’s a bathhouse nearby. You can stay there for a penny; that’s all it costs for elven folk.”

“I’ve not got a penny.”

“I’ll lend you a penny,” he whispered, looking about as if someone would see him cave to his charitable impulse. And, to emphasize the point, he said, “Probably shouldn’t’ve used all your funds to get wasted.” 

“I know, but the cold wind—” Hawk stumbled over his words. He sighed, despondent, before he tried again. “It’s a bad portent, isn’t it? That I arrive in Abblesbet to start fresh and there’s cold winter winds to greet me?”

“It’s not so bad here,” said the barkeep, producing a penny from his stash. He placed it on the countertop in front of Hawk. “At least the people are nice.” 

Hawk closed a hand over the coin. “Thank you. I will repay you.”

“Well. We’ll see about that,” said the barkeep.

“I will. I’ll figure something out.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your plan?”

Hawk said, “I thought maybe I could garden.”

“Garden?” The barkeep tilted his head, considering Hawk silently for a beat, and asked, “You didn’t come to Abblesbet to work as an adame?”

Hawk squeezed the penny within his palm so tightly that it dug into his skin. “Elys be. No.”

“Then why here?” 

Hawk was too drunk to read into the implication. He said, “It was the most affordable train ticket.”

The barkeep laughed as he started puttering behind the bar again. While Hawk began to sway, he placed a cup of water on the bartop and said, “Drink this before you go.”

Hawk obeyed, sipping from the cup, and the barkeep disappeared from before him. Some time passed; he finished his glass of water and now needed to pee. As he rose out of his seat, the barkeep returned, and at his side: a copper. A city guard. Hawk jolted. “But you said you didn’t want to call the guard on me.”

The cop, a middle-aged human woman with wheat-colored hair, raised one hand to signal peace. “Worry not. I’m simply here to take you to the bathhouse.”

The barkeep said, “I didn’t expect someone new to the city would be able to find his way there. This is a friend of mine I knew would be on patrol.” He cleared his throat and gestured to the door. “Be careful out there.”

* * *

Clouds drifted overhead, fat and gray with snow.

“Please don’t,” he whispered to the sky. He had nowhere to go, but even worse: he had no one to turn to. His vision blurred, turning the park into hazy green and gray. 

“What was that?” said the guard. Her city guard coat looked warm—a red-brown wool treated to withstand the elements of the city’s winter. Hawk’s graying wool frock, gone thin at the elbows, wasn’t going to be able to withstand anything like this. The guard stopped short once she’d gotten a good view of Hawk’s face, and then she hissed through her teeth. “Well, you don’t need to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” said Hawk as one of the tears broke free of his lashes, slipping traitorously across his face. He wiped it away in a huff. “Sorry. I just—”

“Where’s your spouse?” Her eyes roamed across his shoulder-length blond hair—the length inaccurately identifying him as a married elf. They cut their hair at their wedding ceremonies, typically. Unattached elves kept their hair long, long, long. 

“No spouse,” said Hawk, tucking his choppy hair behind an ear. He supposed he was grateful the barkeep hadn’t gossiped about the disastrous state of his life, but now he had to say it again. “I’m here now because I’m…” He choked on the word divorce. “...no longer married.”

The guard stopped at the front of a building with several tall vine-laden columns at the front. The autumn-gold leaves rippled in the breeze, and several chimneys above puffed foggy clouds of smoke, beckoning him closer. The guard placed a hand on his shoulder, over the strap of his bag, and said, “Congratulations on your fresh start. And welcome to Abblesbet. Tell me you’ve got a plan for tomorrow.”

He pulled the barkeep’s penny from his coat, pinching it between his fingers and squeezing tight. “I’m going to try to look for garden work? Anywhere that will have me. I can plant things and tend to weeds, but I can also clean a dish. Anything will do.”

The guard hummed thoughtfully. “A garden, you say? You’ve heard of Sutaire Place?”

He looked up at her—she was almost a full head taller than him, and he wondered if she was part giantess. Then again, he was short for an elf. He tried not to shrink beneath her kind brown eyes. “I don’t believe so.”

“It’s a place for elves,” she said. “They’ll be sympathetic, no doubt. Stop by in the morning.” She pointed down the block, across several limestone buildings. “That street there? You’ll walk north. That way. And you won’t be able to miss the sign. Sutaire Place.”

Hawk, dazed from her kindness and his drink, nodded in understanding.

“I’d get there early if I were you; before the first bells.”

“Thank you,” he said. She dropped her hand, and his heart pinched. It’d been the first time he’d been touched kindly in a very long time. 

“Good luck, kid,” she said.

He didn’t correct her. As she took off, back towards the bar, Hawk realized he’d never asked for her name, nor the barkeep’s. But he meant to thank them both. He would do so. One day. 

Perhaps Abblesbet had been the right choice, and the cold winds weren’t an omen of disaster. As Hawk exchanged the penny for a key to the bathhouse, he thought: summer flowers grow from winter bulbs.

* * *

That next morning, Hawk figured out very quickly that Sutaire was a brothel, because as he approached the doors, there was already a line along the side of the building, and all the elves waiting were beautiful and prim and well-dressed. Well, that, and two of the ladies nearest to him gossiped excitedly about their future as adame. Today was the one day per month that Sutaire opened its doors to elves hoping to make a start as consorts-for-hire—the adame apprenticeship open call.

One of the chattering women caught Hawk staring and grinned. “You look a bit frightened. It’s alright. Worry not. Many have to reapply month after month. Even if you don’t make it this time, you may be chosen next.”

Hawk sputtered, choked, and settled on one firm nod. He was not there to be an adame, but how could he say such a thing without sounding as judgmental as he felt? He was not qualified—no, worse. He would be laughed out of the building. Eventually, he found his voice. “They do this every month?”

“Open calls? Yes.” The lady, with her rosy cheeks and blue eyes, scanned the line. “This group is a bit smaller than usual. The line can sometimes wrap around the whole block. Any elf is welcome to try to make it in.”

“That many?”

“Well, Sutaire Place is the best in all of Abblesbet. Which is saying something, since the city has dozens of brothels like this one.”

Her friend leaned forward as she interrupted. “She speaks true. But Sutaire isn’t only the best in Abblesbet. It’s the best in all of Nightveil.”

The two of them nodded, agreeing. Hawk hesitated before he nodded too. “I’d not heard of it.” He’d not heard of Abblesbet’s reputation, in fact. Dozens of brothels? It was a sizable city, to be sure, but this city’s adame practice seemed something of a cultural specialty.

The girls met eyes, smiled, and one said, “You must be from somewhere less…urban?”

Hawk’s gaze found his worn boots. “River District. I arrived here only yesterday.”

One of the girls clapped, excited for him in a way he couldn’t understand. “You got here just in time. Good for you, starting with the top.”

Hawk swallowed as he said, “No. Elys above, no. I’m not so bold—” He began to explain, but a bell rang out from the front door as it opened,  and the girls jolted to rapt attention as a severe-looking, white-haired, thin-faced elven man stepped out. 

He examined the line, nodded once, and said in a firm voice, “Alright. You’ll all do. With me.”

Hawk followed as everyone filed into Sutaire’s expansive foyer. His eyes adjusted to the dim, warm wallpapers, lit by stained glass lamps and candelabras that were nearly spent. Hawk realized, as he passed one candlestick with a small mountain of melted wax upon its base, that it must have been lit when business opened the previous day. Nine at night to now. While he had slept in the bare quarters of the bath house, the elves at Sutaire were all hard at work. Doing…well. Hawk could only guess. He hoped the flush on his purple skin was masked by the dim light. 

The elven man began to walk down the line, a pad of paper in his hand. He made a few quick notes as he walked, and as he got closer and closer, Hawk’s panic arrested his breath. He couldn’t get enough air; his mind swam. No. This was a mistake. He had to go. He took a step back, towards the front double doors. He was an unwanted, unkempt, untrained country bumpkin. He didn’t belong here, at whatever evaluation this was—

A middle-aged human woman with thick brown hair and round spectacles stepped out from a long carpeted corridor near Hawk’s side. Her presence stopped him short, and she offered the group a smile. “Good morning, ladies and gentle…man.” She said, realizing Hawk was the only fellow present. “Let’s take a look at you all.” She swept down to the front of the line, taking the pad from the severe elf as they crossed paths. He made one gesture, and the woman nodded, and they both began at the front of the line. She looked at what he wrote and began tapping shoulders. Tapped one girl, skipped the next. Tapped the one after that, then the next, and skipped again. She turned back around and made her way towards Hawk. Standing before him, her grin widened, and she held out a hand.

He blinked at it—elves greeted one another by tapping the back of their fists, but she had her hand outstretched like a human in an introduction. He hesitated before sliding his fingers atop hers, but before he could kiss the back of her hand like he might, she grabbed him and tugged him forward. She pointed with the notepad at an arched wooden door with a simple brass knob. “Through that door there, please.” She released him and faced the girls again. “If I tapped you, please follow me. If I did not, you’ll be following my associate, Reeves.”

And then she took off, fielding no questions, observing none of the startled or confused faces of the hopefuls. Reeves, the severe elf, swept a hand towards a different door for his picks.

Hawk stood before the room the woman indicated for him alone. He wasn’t certain if he should knock, or simply enter, so he opted to do both at once—knock, and turn the handle. Inside, the windowless room was the size of a small bedroom and were a few comfortable-looking lounge chairs, and a steaming kettle. Hawk stepped inside and looked at each seat—red velvet, with throw pillows, and no real differences—before choosing the one farthest from the door. 

He had been singled out. And he didn’t need to wonder why. He didn’t fit in with this group—

Everyone knew he didn’t belong here. But that was fine. Just fine. When someone came to speak with him, he’d explain it plainly: he wanted to water their flowers, pick their weeds, and harvest any of their crops. Did they even have a garden? They must.

As soon as Hawk sat in the room, tired from his long night and all his worrying, the door creaked open, and he jumped to his feet again, fists clenched. He opened his mouth to explain, right away, but his voice died before it ever left his throat.

A tall, black-haired, dark-skinned elf stood within the doorway. His complexion was a deep gray—a moon elf. Luname.  Hawk hadn’t ever actually met any other than himself and his mom. But this elf wasn’t half-luname like Hawk. His skin carried the rich hue of washed stone and his eyes had black scleras that emphasized the glowing white irises within. His smile was nearly startlingly white against his sharp-looking black lips. “Good morning.”

Hawk’s fingers moved at his sides, pulled towards the stranger like metal drawn to a magnet. This elf, tall and lean and so unique, carried a presence that would have been oppressive if it weren’t so fascinating. He was a storm on the horizon; a mountain breaking apart rays from the sun; a swelling river current that threatened to break across the dock. He was beautiful. He was frightening.

Hawk couldn’t speak. He did manage to keep his hands to himself, though, fastening them against his sides.

“Are you luname?” asked the man.

Hawk felt his nails dig into his palms. He had lost already, hadn’t he? He said, “I am. My mother was. I’m half. Is that…alright?”

The man’s smile waned, brows raised. “Of course it is. I asked because of the hair—such contrast. Such a unique set of features you have.” Hawk reached up before he thought better of it, and placed a hand around the choppy cut across his shoulders. His hair was golden blond and quite fine; typical of any Elys elf. His skin, however, was a pale shade of purple; no mistaking his moon elven ancestry there. His mother’s purplish gray complexion had blended with his father’s warm beige. Unique was the word most people used. The stranger continued, “I’m March. I’ll be conducting your intake, since I’m one of the three adame taking on apprentices for the next consort season.” March raised a pad of paper, bound on one side by leather ties. “If you don’t mind.”

Hawk barely heard him beyond the name. “March. You were a warrior?” He would place March around two-hundred years old and, depending on his birthplace, his name would indicate his family’s status as fighters for the crown. The Spears had been, too, many generations ago.

March said, “I never saw battle, no. I was born in peaceful times in the isles near Allbright. I suppose my mother hoped the name would help me grow strong like an elven soldier of the past.” He brandished a pen and asked, “And your name?”

Hawk bowed his head again. “I’m Hawk of the Spears Coterie. From the River District.” Whereas the name March pointed towards martial work, Hawk indicated his family’s pursuit of hunting or fishing.

March wrote the response. “I see. And you’ve come to Sutaire for work?”

Hawk tried not to grit his teeth at the question, at how blatantly he did not fit the role of adame. He already knew he was no fit for that work. But: “I’ll take any job Sutaire can give me; I would never presume…” Presume what? That someone would hire him as a consort? His face felt hot.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” said March, his smile continuing to glow. Hawk was struck, for a moment, at how symmetrical his features were. “Please, have a seat. We’ve much to discuss.”

Hawk sat back into the chair he picked before, and March chose the seat across from him. 

“For Sutaire’s protection and your own, I’d like to cast Truth.”

Hawk narrowed his eyes and said, “That’s not necessary. I’ll respond earnestly.” Did they already think him untrustworthy? 

March raised a hand like a flag between them. “It’s simply a technicality. Believe me, it does more good than harm for the both of us.”

“I see.” Hawk wanted to believe him; March kept his gaze steady upon his face, and the way he spoke seemed kind—reassuring. “Fine, then.”

“But if there’s any question you would prefer to not answer, you aren’t required to do so. And you’re welcome to leave at any time. That being said…” March reached into the sleeves of the oversized, satin-like black robe he wore, and pulled out a purple bag of coin. The color indicated twenty gold, if it was full, and it certainly sounded full between March’s fingers. “We’re offering you this sum of gold to complete the interview with Truth. And there will be another reward should you advance to the next step of the intake.”

Hawk stared at the bag. Twenty gold. Simply for answering questions? He tried to keep his heart from thundering with excitement. “Yes. Of course.” Elys be, he hadn’t had twenty gold all at once in his entire adult life. His ex-husband handled all the money—even when Hawk had worked for a baker, then the newspaper, the money never even touched his hands. March then activated the spell with a hum. Hawk spoke out of surprise. “You’re a bard.”

March winked. “I’m an adame.” And then he exhaled, eyes growing distant, like he peered into his memories. “But I got my start as a bard in Abblesbet, when I moved here,  yes. Peaceful times and all; I didn’t need to learn the lance. So I learned the lute.”

Well, that confirmed Hawk’s suspicions, but it also opened up a great number of other questions. Was March part of management? Was March coming off a  shift overnight and having to conduct this intake, too?

Did he like his job?

March said, “How are you feeling?”

And Hawk would have said fine, thank you, but Truth had taken shape within their room, and he replied honestly. “I’m hungry.” The bathhouse had only tea.

“We’ll certainly serve you breakfast after this,” said March. “Sutaire has meals prepared every three hours without fail. You’ll be welcome to join us at nine for the next one.”

Twenty gold and food? The rumors were not only true that this was a premier workplace, the girls had undersold the brothel’s capabilities. Hawk tried not to let his mouth water. “Fine. That’d be fine.”

March marked a note on his pad and asked, “And why have you come to our open call this day?”

The spell didn’t make Hawk respond the way he did; he wanted them to know. He squared his shoulders, like it may make him seem more capable than he was. “I’ll take on any role that pays. I’ve got a number of skills—” he choked, nervous.

March chuckled. He crossed one leg over the other and said, “Well, our lowest paid adame doesn’t make as much as our highest paid cook, but our highest paid adame makes more money than is really necessary for even an elven lifetime.” He added, “But I suppose you may beat the record, should you take to the work really well.”

“Beat the record…” Hawk said slowly, “Of the highest paid cook?”

March blinked. “Of the highest paid adame.” He looked Hawk up and down and said, “It would depend on your patrons, of course, and the rapport you build.”

The rain storm broke; the mountain exploded into a volcano; the river swept Hawk away. He sputtered. “Patrons?”

“Anyone who hires you as a consort; we’ve a number of names they can be called. If you have sex with them—not a requirement, as I’m sure you know—you may even refer to them as ‘lovers.’”

Could Hawk actually earn money in exchange for sex? It had seemed so far-fetched as he walked up this morning, but there was no mistaking the way March considered him from head to toe. March was considering him for an apprenticeship. He choked again as he said, “I’m not qualified to be an adame.”

March wrote another note in his pad and said, “None are until the apprenticeship has completed. Worry not, Hawk. We—I—would never throw you to the wolves in such a way.” March tilted his head. “You do understand that not all adame conduct intimate favors for their patrons?”

Hawk was an ignorant country bumpkin, but he knew this much. “Yes, of course. A kiss completes the exchange. Or—if necessary, they may give blood instead.”

March said, “Indeed. Are you familiar with how the process works?”

Hawk almost said yes, because he’d heard of it in passing, the same as any other. Adame were commonplace in Nightveil; almost all nobility had at least one elf under their employ. However: “I don’t know the details.” The closest to a nobleman he’d ever encountered had been his own spouse, and that man was no prince.

March leaned back in his chair and gestured midair with his hands. “The god Elys has made it so any non-elven lover of an elf sustains a longer life. The magic works through exchange. You kiss someone with a mortal lifespan. In turn, they must give you something that belongs to them; gold, in our line of work. Culturally, many adame choose to perform sexually.” March’s eyes dropped down Hawk’s body in consideration for a second time, then back up to his face. “In these peaceful times, the lengths you go to are yours to decide.”

“But I’ve heard blood is common now.”

“Quite right; we’ve a painless spell that allows you to fill a small vial with your blood. You simply hand that to a patron and they hand you a coin. Once they drink it, it gives them longer life.” March grinned. “Not precisely the way Elys intended for his gift to humanity to work, but humans are nothing if not enterprising.”

Hawk couldn’t help his snort, but then straightened his spine; he didn’t want to seem dismissive. Because this was an opportunity he never saw for himself. “You really are considering me for this?”

March was unbothered by the question and continued on. “Of course. Are you willing to have sex with a patron?”

The Truth spell had him replying before he thought better of it. “Yes.”

“Have you had sex before?”

Hawk could feel the color darkening his face. “Yes, but with only one man.”

March’s eyes scanned his hair. “Would you prefer a position within the agency that doesn’t require sex? Many of those within Sutaire do not perform sexually.”

Hawk tucked his hair behind his ears, like he could hide his shame back there. “I’ll do whatever pays the most. The highest paid adames—they have sex, don’t they?”

“Our absolutely highest paid consort does not have sex, no.”

Hawk blinked a few times, mind tangled by the answer. “Really?” Yes, really—there was a Truth spell holding March’s every word. “I mean. What do they do?”

“I provide blood to a few well-paying patrons. I don’t even kiss anyone these days.”

“You…” Hawk put it together as March’s smile gleamed. “That’s you. You’re the highest-paid adame at Sutaire.”

“I am.”

“How…?” Hawk began to ask, and his face went hot again. 

Fortunately, March laughed at his bumbling, instead of growing offended, and he said, “I work for the Crown. My blood sustains our prince. I provide him with a vial daily; I never even need to leave Sutaire. It gets delivered from me, to him, without either of us having to meet.”

Hawk gaped for a moment before he said, “I’m amenable to that work.”

March laughed again, and Hawk found it hard to keep his own grin off his face. “Very well. A few more questions, then.” March continued to smile as he asked, “Are you kinsme?” Preferring the company of men.

“Yes.”

“Are you amenable to having sex with women?”

“No.” Hawk sucked in a gasp at that. “No, I mean—I.” He couldn’t push through; couldn’t lie; the spell stopped him short. 

“You needn’t worry,” said March, tucking his long black hair behind his tall, pointed ear. “This doesn’t disqualify you.”

Hawk released a sigh. 

“Are you divorced?”

“Yes,” said Hawk, gazing upon the carpet at his feet. 

“It seemed so. The travel bag, your hair.” March said. “And that isn’t one of the questions the agency asks; I was simply curious.” He continued, “Are you proficient with magic? Aside from your innate elven gift to extend the lives of a mortal folk, I mean.”

“No. I mean—I know a basic spell to light candles, and I can Prestidigitate a plate clean.” The basics of magic that all elves learned in childhood. He glanced up to gauge March’s reaction, and came up short. His face was smooth, lineless, eyes focused upon his notepad as he wrote.

“Do you have any skills you would like to highlight?”

Hawk’s fingers tightened together, knuckles turning white. “Do you mean skills that would benefit me as an adame?”

“Sure, yes. Or anything else.” March shrugged. 

Hawk slid his gaze to one side. “I’ve been told, more than once, that I am a good kisser. I can also hold my breath for three minutes. I’m flexible; I can do a split. Um. I’m good at gardening.”

March blinked a few times, his white eyes flashing like a light. “Gardening?”

Hawk idly ran a hand along his braid, glancing at March’s face and looking away again. “I grew up in a rural place; I learned to care for the wild things out there. I know many things about plants.”

“What’s your age?”

“Forty-four.”

March clicked his tongue. “Young. Why have you not sought out work as an adame before today?”

Hawk gestured to himself and then looked away.

March said, “My apologies; I didn’t catch that.”

“I…” Hawk shifted in the chair, finding it less comfortable now. “I’m not sure I’d find work as I am. My skin...” Purple was uncommon, even among luname. His hair was generally acceptable, but he had black eyes and not the standard blue or white of Elys or dark elves, and he was short for an elf. He was skinny, but that was mostly because he’d not had regular meals for the last year while going through his divorce, and he would become far less skin and bones if he got a job here. And, most of all— “I have pubic hair.” It came out in a shameful whisper. Many elves—most—were naturally hairless everywhere from the ears down.

His husband had hated Hawk’s body hair. Ex-husband, he reminded himself. 

March seemed utterly unmoved by the confession, which made Hawk feel all the more embarrassed about it; he was truly ignorant to the inner workings of elven consorts. Were other adame hairless, like he suspected? Or was that an assumption that now made him appear a fool? He continued to write.

“I’m also short? And my hair has not yet grown long again,” said Hawk. “It will be a few more months before it’s an appropriate length to indicate that I’m unwed.”

March continued to write, which allowed Hawk to stare uninterrupted. March was tall and muscular for an elf; the opposite of Hawk. He’d always thought adame to be lean, fair-skinned, blond-haired, and blue-eyed. March had none of those features, but he was also so handsome that it must’ve overridden any of the requirements before he joined Sutaire. His hair looked like it was made of silk, straight and airy and soft. So pitch black that it could have been a shade of blue.

Hawk didn’t think his own face was ugly—he’d the typical Elys-elven upturned nose and unmarked skin—but he also didn’t think that was all it took to succeed in the business of consorting. He wasn’t like March. He was purple. He had pubes.

His mind was reeling as March asked, “And why did you seek out Sutaire specifically?”

“I hoped you had a garden.” Hawk let the answer flow from him without much consideration; Truth made it simple. 

March blinked. Hawk blinked back. March hummed some thoughtful sound and said, “We do. Our garden is famous, in fact; some come to visit Abblesbet just to take a stroll through it.”

Hawk opened his mouth to reply, paused, and tried to temper his excitement. “If I get an apprenticeship here, will I get to enjoy the garden?”

“As much as you’d like.” March stood up, folding his notes with a satisfied nod, and then held the bag of coin for Hawk to take. “Thank you for answering all of that. Really, you’re doing quite well. I see the potential.”

Hawk rose out of his chair and took the bag. He hefted it into the pocket of his jacket and peered up at March, skeptical. “Is that it?” A few minutes, and a few odd questions, and now he had enough money to rent a room for a month. If not for the spell, Hawk would think March was pulling some manner of scam on him.

“For the first part of the intake, yes, we’re done. The second part requires more intimate surrounds. Please, come with me. Don’t worry; you’ll be perfectly safe.” March exited through the door while Hawk’s heart did a little nervous jitter across his ribs. Intimate? There was no other meaning than sex, right?

Was he going to have to have sex right now? Because he said he’d be open to it? What else could it mean?

Praise Elys that he had the wise thought to very thoroughly bathe before coming to Sutaire. He hadn’t thought, really, that he’d be having sex on this day—but the bathhouse had tastefully displayed supplies for men and women to prepare themselves. And he had done so, because when else would he have such an opportunity?

Elys, or some other elven god, had smiled upon him. Even if he didn’t deserve such blessings.

Hawk jogged to catch back up to March as he strode down a long corridor. Truth no longer lingered in the air, having been contained to that room, and Hawk found he missed the simplicity of it back there. It made it easy to trust March. But wherever they went next—

Could he trust that? 

* * *

“Good morning, Reeves. Lovey.” March swept into a room that seemed half-dining, half-office. Seated at a table was Lovey, the human woman from the foyer, and farther down, the elf named Reeves. “This is Hawk. I’d like to propose that we add him to our apprenticeship. He satisfies most every need we have.”

Hawk tried not to wilt behind March; he needed to hide his nerves. He’d not been warned they’d be entering a room with others from Sutaire, and he needed to convince them as much as he had to convince March, didn’t he?

Reeves eyed Hawk openly and said, “No prior experience, then.”

Hawk glanced at March, because he wasn’t sure Reeves was addressing him. When March said nothing, Hawk said, “With being an adame? No.” Of course not, he didn’t add. Look at me. 

“That’s great news,” said Lovey. She sat behind a dining table, a cup of tea steaming before her. “For you and us. You’ll get the best training in the world and we’ll get to keep you from bad habits that happen in this line of work if you enter it unprepared.”

Hawk’s heart danced against his ribs. “You truly think I may succeed in this work?”

Reeves and Lovey met eyes, and raised eyebrows, but March spoke first. “Almost anyone can be trained—the success of the training remains with you,” he said. He placed the pad of paper—filled with his notes—in front of Lovey. Reeves moved his chair closer, to peer at the stack as well.

After a brief pause, Reeves said, “Very well. You may proceed, March. Complete his intake and we’ll make arrangements, should he pass.”

March gave Hawk one of his dazzling smiles and swept a hand towards the exit on the far side of the room. “Then, for this next step, we’ll head out here.”

Hawk looked from Reeves and Lovey to March and back again. “That’s it? You needn’t interview me, too?”

Lovey said, “Not until after the next part. It’s rather an important step, and it’d be a waste of my time to talk to you before we know what role we’d train you for.”

Hawk fell in step behind March yet again, and as they passed through the doorway, he found himself in a large, warm loungeroom with windows high on every wall, a central iron fireplace suspended from the ceiling, and a number of patchwork floor cushions laid about. Atop those cushions: elves.

Dazzling elves. Hawk didn’t need to wonder if they were adame. Every person in the room was pristine in a way that could make his eyes hurt if he stared too directly at them. Their blonde hair, pale skin—though there was more variety than he may have expected. None were purple, of course, but he saw freckles and brown eyes and red hair and more.

A few eyes landed on him, taking him in, but mostly the other elves were chatting quietly amongst themselves. March stepped to Hawk’s side and said, “Grab a tea, or coffee, and go chat.”

Hawk turned a startled stare to March. “What?”

“Go socialize with some of those under Sutaire’s employ. Ask any questions. Get to know people. You know. Chat. You’ll be living here, should you choose to. And you may ask anyone questions about their craft. Some here are intimate with patrons, some are not. They can tell you what it’s like.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m fine,” said Hawk, throat tightening. 

March’s grin made an appearance. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I didn’t say I was nervous.” He was, but he didn’t say it. “I simply have no questions to ask.”

March placed a hand upon Hawk’s back. He was warm—his hand was large—and Hawk wanted to stay here with him instead. But March gave him a gentle push. “Go. Go on.”

Hawk’s fists tightened at his side. Fine. He took a step forward, nearly tripped upon the corner of one of the many rugs that lined the room, and found himself stumbling to the table of drinks. He steadied himself and looked at the options presented. Coffee. Or tea? What would make the right impression? Did it matter?

He snatched a black mug and poured hot water within. Squeezed a presliced lemon into it. And spun back around to face the room. One of the adame—a willowy young woman with ringlets in her blonde hair—began to play a harp. Another bard, then. Those were probably the most common of adame, he guessed. Performing in more than once capacity.

“Hello,” said a voice from one side. Hawk jerked back, surprised, and spilled his lemon-water over his knuckles. 

“Shit,” he said, and then he realized such language probably wasn’t becoming of an adame, and cringed.

“Goodness,” said the voice. And then the person responsible for the voice stepped in front of him. A cherubic, round-faced young elf—probably close to Hawk’s age—with white-blond hair, and eyes so light blue that they nearly glowed. He smiled apologetically and said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m fine,” Hawk said, and he knew his cheeks had flooded pink. 

The elf giggled and said, leaning in close, “Yes, you are quite fine. You’re here for the Open Call, right?”

Hawk nearly snapped again—he hadn’t come here to work as an adame—but instead he took a deep breath. “I am.”

“My name’s Angel.” He held out a fist for Hawk to tap with his own.

“I’m Hawk.”

“What a strong name.” Angel tilted his head. “No wonder you’re our only recruit this month.”

Hawk said, “Mmhmm,” because he didn’t register what Angel meant. He sipped his water, paused, and said, “Wait. What?”

“Unless Lovey took her time with one of the girls?” Angel leaned back to peer at the door March and Hawk had entered before. “But I think you’re the only one that made it past intake.”

Hawk’s brow furrowed. “There were several others, though. In line with me. Much fairer than I.”

Angel laughed and it sounded pretty, which was absurd—he had a pretty face and a pretty laugh? “We’ve no shortage of fair elves.” He looked over at the other adame—half were women, yes, and four of those were tow-headed. Many of them were peering at Hawk more openly now, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was speaking to Angel, or because March had disappeared and taken some type of magic shield with him. 

“Well, that’s what’s in demand,” Hawk said. He sipped his drink.

Angel hummed and said, “That’s what’s expected. Do you want to have sex?”

Hawk choked on the warm water in his throat. He coughed and turned a wide-eyed, baffled look Angel’s way. “Excuse me? Certainly, I do not.”

Angel laughed again, the sound soothing. “I wasn’t offering. I meant—if you joined Sutaire as an adame, did you seek sex work, or were you hoping only to exchange kisses and blood?”

That made far more sense. Hawk’s face felt uncomfortably hot as he said, “I don’t really care either way.” Should he tell Angel he thought he’d be working in their garden? No, that was more embarrassing.

“Well, what’d you tell March?”

“Why do you want to know?” Hawk could feel his hackles rising, shoulders growing tight. “Does it matter?”

“Because,” Angel’s eyes narrowed in confusion; like he couldn’t possibly understand Hawk’s hesitation or anxiety. “You’ll get to have sex with someone if you said yes to the intimate roles.”

Get to? Hawk hid his own confusion behind the mug of water, sipping deeply. Exhaling, he answered, “I said I was amenable to sex work? I think I am? I’ve never done such a thing.”

Angel’s responding smile eased some of Hawk’s insecurity. “Then, what’s your type?”

“I’m sure that’s none of your business.” Hawk said, “What’s your type?”

Angel said, without hesitation, “March.” He sighed, wistful. “You should see him work. It’s masterful.”

“You watch one another have sex?”

Angel relaxed against the drink table. “Sometimes. It’s not a requirement or anything. But March has been here for a very long time. He used to regularly host our Winterend Brothel celebration—an open festival with masks. I got to see him work for the first time during one of those.” He sighed wistfully. “He stopped performing at them, though.”

“By work, you mean fuck,” Hawk clarified.

Angel’s smile looked less innocent as he said, “Fortunately, yes.”

“What if I don’t want anyone to see me…” Hawk’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Work?”

“I told you; it’s not a requirement.”

Hawk began to scan the room for March again. Still absent. “I guess March is into that.”

“What are you into, then?” Angel slid closer, and reached out with one finger, and placed it gently between the muscles on Hawk’s chest, exposed through the deep V of his tunic. “What’s your type?”

Hawk felt the answer stick in his throat, felt a fever of a kind warming his belly and chest. He was rescued, most fortunately, by March’s return. He entered the room with all his billowing robes and silk-looking hair, and greeted Hawk with a wave. 

“I see you’ve met our most troublesome adame,” said March.

Angel gasped, feigning offense. “Troublesome? I’m an angel. It’s in the name.” He shifted to hug Hawk’s arm and said, “I’m befriending our newest recruit. You should thank me. He seemed afraid to speak a single word to us before now.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” said Hawk. His lips pursed. “I’m simply more discerning than some.”

Angel gasped, truly offended this time. But the flash of anger within his eyes faded, nearly immediately, behind a laugh. “You’re also aptly named. So sharp!”

March reached a hand around Hawk’s shoulders—all these men were so handsy, and Hawk couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched so much, and so casually—and extradited him from Angel’s grasp. “Come this way, then.”

The other adame in the room were looking with rapt attention, now, as March guided Hawk towards a step elevated above the rest of the room. “The next part of intake involves intimacy, as I said. We need to confirm your ability to spend; and your comfortability in helping others reach an end. It’s not for everyone, and it will not mean your time with Sutaire will end, so please worry not.”

Hawk watched March as a means to ignore the many eyes now focused on him. “You need me to have sex with someone?”

March confirmed, nodding. “For your intake—you may choose any adame available.” He swept a hand out, gesturing to all present.

Hawk tightened his hands, both of them, around the mug. He squeezed. “You mean it, truly. I may join you here—” that gossiping elf said it was the most premier brothel in the entire kingdom. “After this step?”

March tilted his head one way, then the next, and said, “You’ll then apprentice with someone here. With me, or our two other available masters.” 

“And that pays…?”

The other adame in the room giggled. Hawk continued to ignore them, focused solely on March at his side. “Apprenticeships pay a medium rate. Plus room and board. Your own room, even—we don’t have dormitories here like some of the other houses in Abblesbet.”

And all he had to do was pick one of the beautiful adame seated across the lounge and get off. A small knot loosened within Hawk’s chest. It was replaced, instead, by a sense of awe.

Hawk swept eyes over the dozen elves before him. Half were girls—not a match. And of the men…

March took Hawk’s mug from his hands. “Go on. Pick any you’d like.” And he leaned in to add, in a whisper, “They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t interested in you; you needn’t worry about that.”

Hawk didn’t know what to do with his hands, or with the simmering, erotic tension in his belly. He stepped down and circled the room. The harpist had gone quiet in the corner, and she offered him a wink when he met her eyes. As he circled the room, he made his way back around. Angel stood, arms crossed behind his back. He beamed as Hawk approached. 

But Hawk walked by him instead and approached the step. March blinked curiously, tilting at the hips to look Hawk in the eye. “None, then?”

Hawk said, “I would like to choose you.” When the room sat in stunned silence for a beat too long, Hawk added, “You are an adame, are you not? You said any in the room.”

March peered down at himself, almost as if he hadn’t realized he was in the room. “Indeed I did.”

Hawk’s fists dug nails into his palms as he said, “Obviously you needn’t do it if you d—”

“No, no. Quite fine. Quite alright.” March held out the mug, and Angel strolled over to take it from him.

Angel said to March, grinning, “Well, you won’t have to teach him good taste, at least.” Get to, said Angel before. He’d get to have sex with one of them. 

As Hawk followed March from the room, he realized he was quite right.

II

He was forty-four years old, and he was afraid.

Truth had been activated around them; another reassurance of safety for Hawk and March both.

Hawk stood in the corner of the cozy green and gold wallpapered bedroom—sex room—while March turned down the bed, depositing frilly pillows into baskets on the floor, and folded the sheets over themselves. “You needn’t worry about the details; any form of completion is fine. You may simply masturbate while I watch, or I’d be pleased to assist. And you may choose how to bring me off in turn. Your hand is fine.” Hawk would have considered March’s ongoing explanation nervous, except—

The graceful, unbothered way he moved, and the gentle tone of his voice gave him an air of confidence that Hawk could never admit he was envious of.

“No need to overthink it. It’s simply a formality; a confirmation of your rudimentary ability. We’ll teach you everything you need to know for longer-term work. And again—you needn’t do any of this, if you’d like to work in blood alone.” March placed a pristine white candle upon a brass flower-shaped candlestick, on the dresser. “The only requirement, should we move forward, is that you complete this task before the candle goes out. We’ve roughly one hour.”

Hawk remained rooted. His focus upon the candle slowed his anxiety. The task was simple. But— “How much do I pay you?” Perhaps this was the scam. The bag of coin weighing down Hawk’s pocket could disappear, just like that, into Sutaire’s coffers.

“Nothing, of course. It’s part of the intake. You’ll be the one paid after this is done—another Purple.” Twenty more gold, presented in a purple pouch. March stood straight, satisfied with his arrangement of items on one side of the bed. Then March snapped his fingers, and a small dancing flame appeared above his hand. He lit the candle before sauntering over to Hawk, and he was sauntering. Hawk couldn’t help how his eyes dropped to the shape of March’s hips that shifted, barely visible through the thin texture of his black robe. March stopped a few bare inches from Hawk and said, “Do you have any other questions?”

Hawk couldn’t look at March as he asked, “Do you remember what I said before?” He had to put it out there—he’d no choice soon. There was no hiding it. No hiding himself. “I don’t know if I can do this with my body like it is, March.”

March’s warm, soft fingers found Hawk’s chin, and tilted his head up, so that he had to peer into March’s face despite himself. “Which part?”

“I’m not hairless,” Hawk said, speaking just above a whisper. “My body isn’t like other elves. And if it’s not—” Good enough. “It may prevent me from the apprenticeship you recommended. I don’t know that adame can look the way I do.” He was starved; skinny. He already knew, from the shape of March within his clothes, that he’d a healthy shape. Muscles. No visible bones. 

“Hm,” said March. He shifted his head just so, looking deeply into Hawk’s eyes. “You’ve had sex before; you said as much under Truth.”

“Yes…?”

“Did your lover leave you feeling as if your body was displeasing to the eye?”

Yes, of course he did. His husband—

Ex-husband.

“He didn’t like the way I looked,” Hawk said, words strangled, vision blurring. “We were married for twenty-two years. We had sex twice.” 

Hawk prepared for March to gasp in surprise. He prepared for the question: only twice? He prepared the explanation: that their marriage, like many elven marriages, had been arranged. And the first time they had sex, neither enjoyed it, and when they tried again weeks later, Hawk was asked to lay face-down so his husband wouldn’t have to look at him, and it hadn’t been enough.

But March instead asked, “Were you not attracted to your spouse?”

Hawk ripped his stare from the warm, worn floor, from the unraveling corner of the red area rug, and when his mind went to supply the memory of his ex-husband, his vision was filled instead with March’s pensive face. 

“Please don’t make yourself do anything you would not like to do. You needn’t touch me. You needn’t do any of this,” said March.

Hawk’s hands felt magnetic again, pulled to March’s body, and he gripped the front of March’s silky black robe. “Even if I want this,” he said, “What if no one wants me? I’m afraid you’ll see me and change your mind.” 

A silence lingered for a moment. “We may dim the lights in here.” March said, “But I can see in the dark.” Luname, right. One of their unique gifts: there was no darkness so true that they could be blinded by it. “Would you like to do this with your clothes on?”

Hawk was struck silent by that. And then he said, “Don’t you need to see me?”

March’s eyes softened into a smile. “I said already. We need only confirm that you’re capable of spending seed. And that you’re able to pull me off in turn.” He glanced down at Hawk’s lips—very briefly, but Hawk caught the look nonetheless. “However you would like to do so. You don’t need to undress.”

“But you…” Hawk trailed off, his mind losing its place in the conversation as he returned March’s glance. At his mouth. His lips were sharp—two points beneath the cupid’s bow that accentuated the narrow tip of his long nose. Dark gray—bluish in color, this close—and smiling around a set of straight white teeth.

Hawk couldn’t remember if he’d ever been attracted to his ex-husband, but he knew with every fiber of his being that he was attracted to March. March saved his racing mind with a laugh; a flash of his pink tongue. “I’m happy to follow your instruction. What would you like?”

Hawk said with a dawning realization, “I really get to come to bed with you?” His hands released March’s robe, fingers aching from how intensely Hawk had held his grasp.

“Well. The bed’s over there.”

“Can I suck you? Fuck you?”

“Of course,” said March, as if he replied to an inquiry about the weather.

“If I asked you to, would you fuck me?” Hawk gazed into March’s shining white eyes, knowing March would have to answer true. 

“Yes, Hawk,” said March, and his hand swept some of Hawk’s hair from his face.

“But do you want to?”

March’s fingers trailed down Hawk’s face, from his cheekbone to his jaw to his mouth, which March pressed his thumb against, gently, with the slightest pressure. “Yes.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” 

Hawk swallowed down his fears and asked, “May I kiss you?”

And March didn’t answer, at first. They were suspended in silence while March’s face remained as stone—hiding any clue of his inner thoughts from Hawk. Finally, he asked, whispering, “You want to kiss me?”

Hawk couldn’t even find it within himself to speak. He nodded, perhaps more earnestly than he should have, fingers wringing together. 

“I would like you to,” March replied, then.

Hawk pushed up on his toes and kissed him—a bare brush of their lips, then more deeply, like he needed to confirm that March was really there, and that he wasn’t going to recoil, or run from him. March didn’t run. He didn’t move any, at first, until Hawk wound his arms around his shoulders, and pulled them together, flush. March slid his hands from Hawk’s face and into his hair, gliding through the short strands. 

Hawk tilted his head to lick against the seam of March’s mouth—which he opened, easily, and Hawk wasted no time to chase his tongue with his own. March released a quiet exhale but it may as well have been an audience of fans cheering him on for the way Hawk’s heart swelled. He pushed forward, guiding March back. Toward the bed.

They kissed and licked and sighed against one another until March hit the edge of the mattress. He sat and gazed up at Hawk with a swollen mouth and blissful grin. “How’d you want to go about it, then?”

Hawk didn’t really know. He busied himself by tucking a long dark strand of March’s hair behind his ear, and then stroking his ear with a finger. March’s ears were taller—longer—than Hawk’s. Longer than most elves. That was a moon elf thing, too. 

March said, “If you ask me, I’ll help.”

Hawk nodded once, face flushing. 

March took the confirmation and undressed himself, shrugging out of the robe to reveal his shining, smooth abs, and the sharp masculine shape of his hipbones. And he pushed the robe and pants he had beneath off his legs, allowing them to pool on the floor at his and Hawk’s feet. His legs were long and smooth and his cock—

Hawk looked away, biting his lip, embarrassed he’d looked. Which, in turn, made him cringe. He was about to have sex with this man. He was an idiot, and making things worse, and—

March lifted one of Hawk’s hands and gently kissed his palm. It was so subtle a touch, and so unexpected, that it ripped Hawk from his thoughts, and back to March seated below. March kissed his wrist, then up his clothed arm, and pulled him forward to kiss the V where Hawk’s beige linen shirt met his chest. March didn’t make any move to pull off any of Hawk’s clothing. Instead, he guided Hawk forward, onto his lap, seated with knees on either side of March. When they were face to face again, March kissed him like before. But not like before, because his hands wandered down Hawk’s back, to his ass—a gentle squeeze—before sliding along the outside of his thighs. Simply touching him through his clothes while their tongues slid together, hot and wet.

Hawk began to breathe heavily beneath the kissing and touching. March whispered, against his lips, “Touch yourself for me.”

Hawk moved his hands from where he’d clung to March’s shoulders, and down to his own trousers. They were loose enough at the front that he could reach inside without issue, but he stopped short at the waistband, panting for air.

“Go on,” March said, pressing their foreheads together as they gazed down at the tented shape in Hawk’s pants. “I want to see how you handle your own hard cock before I do.”

Hawk involuntarily shuddered as he followed the instruction. He pulled his waistband down enough to free his erection—deep purple at the tip, glistening damp with his want. He fisted a hand over it and stroked himself once, twice, before he released a quiet wordless plea, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Good boy,” said March. 

Hawk’s plea was less quiet this time.

“You liked that?” asked March.

Hawk couldn’t lie—he tried to shake his head no, but Truth kept him trembling in place instead. He whispered, voice hoarse already, “Yeah.”

“You’d like me to tell you that you’re doing good?”

Hawk swallowed hard. Shook his head no this time, because he could. And then he said, peering through blond lashes at March’s handsome, sincere-looking face. “I liked…” He didn’t know how to say it, and he bit his lip, and breathed out in frustration.

March chuckled and closed a hand around Hawk’s on his cock. He guided him to continue stroking again. And once Hawk had a rhythm built up, March released his hand, and whispered against his ear, “It wasn’t the praise. It was me treating you like my own.”

Hawk’s responding moan was his loudest yet. 

“Aren’t you sweet?” March kissed the side of Hawk’s slack mouth. “When you asked if I’d fuck you, it wasn’t just simple curiosity. You want me to fuck you?”

Truth compelled him to answer sincerely, but it didn’t compel him to answer as sincerely as he did. Hawk said, “Please.”

“If you come for me, I’ll do it. Can you spend your cum for me? Go on, sweet boy. You’re close, aren’t you?”

Hawk managed a nod, and met March’s eyes. He leaned in for another kiss, which March gave. And when March licked the inside of his mouth, Hawk’s eyelids fell closed, and his mind fell out of his head, and he came, spilling wet and sticky over his own fingers. 

* * *

March let him keep his clothes on, as they discussed, but that meant Hawk sweated, overhot, against his tunic and pants, resting face-down on the now-damp mattress. He breathed out against the fabric of the sheets as March continued to stroke three fingers deep, in and out of his hole. He’d lost his mind; nothing but a wanting body, arching his back, hips working forward and back against the pleasant stretch. 

His only thought, as March mounted him from behind, was that he couldn’t be an adame after all. He couldn’t let himself be fucked like this every day, or else that would be all he ever did. He moaned as March slid home, and then kissed the back of his ear. “Are you comfortable?” asked March. 

“Hot,” whispered Hawk, sweat sliding from his hair, down his cheek. March leaned in to lick it from his face, and Hawk whimpered.

“I’ll fuck you fast, so you can cool off, and  bathe, and get breakfast.”

Hawk moaned and said, “But it feels so good.”

“Yeah?” March shifted back enough to snap his hips back, and forward, one short, hard thrust, and released a groan of his own. “You do feel good, my sweet boy.”

Hawk’s fingers tightened into the sheets, twisting them. He didn’t imagine a scenario where he would come again, but that didn’t matter—this heady, all-consuming pleasure carried him into a place he rarely got to go. “Please,” he begged, but he didn’t know what for.

March held onto his clothes as he began to fuck him. There was little preamble to it; he began to move fast, then harder, and the slap-slap of where their bodies met was punctuated by a clipped, wordless cry.

Hawk only realized it came from himself a moment later. “Ah, ah, ah—”

March covered Hawk’s back, hugging arms around him, with one hand that guided his head to turn. He whispered into his ear. “Hawk. Listen.”

“Mm…”

March’s thrusts slowed, punching deep and hard, and he exhaled a pleased breath with every one. “Listen to me, sweet boy.”

Hawk swallowed through a thick feeling in his throat, but he managed to contain his voice enough to listen.

“You can ask for more than they’ll offer.” His mind, bleary and fucked out, couldn’t follow. March knew that, so he slowed his fucking even more—grinding his hips instead, moving only slightly in place. “You’re valuable. You’re worth a high salary; higher than most apprentices at the start.”

“But…” gasped Hawk.

“No but. You’re rare. You’ve a rare combination of features, and you don’t even realize it. There are so many patrons that will want you—like this,” He ground harder, deeper, stroking a point within Hawk that had him seeing stars, “Or even as a companion. I am not meant to tell you such a thing; I work for Sutaire. But you should know. I want you to know. You’re special.”

Hawk bit his bottom lip and nodded once.

“The hair you hide around your pretty purple cock,” he added, his second hand sliding down Hawk’s body, and into his pants. His fingers stroked the wet curls surrounding Hawk’s shaft. “It’s desirable to many.”

Hawk’s brows pinched close. He panted as he said, “But it’s…not…”

“It’s desirable to me,” he emphasized. He combed his nails against the pubic bone beneath his hand, “Will you let me see?”

Hawk trembled before he said, “If you want to, then…” He managed one slight, shy nod yes.

“Yes, please.” The world was a dazzling blur; a kaleidoscope of color and shapes and textures that surrounded Hawk as he was turned around, back flat on the mattress as his pants were pulled from his hips. Both of March’s hands explored the soft blond curls that crowned his cock, which twitched in a concerted effort to participate. Hawk shivered, the cool air of the room drying his sweat-damp skin. “Such a pretty boy.”

Hawk had never imagined a time where he’d lay beneath someone and have them speak such things; he never imagined it would happen with Truth in the air around them. “March, please,” he whispered.

“Yes, I know. You want me again, yes?”

“Please,” he begged.

March folded him in half, holding the back of each knee, as he slid his cock inside again. Hawk’s eyes rolled shut as he was fucked again—fast and hard like before. They carried on, and on, until finally—“I’m going to come,” said March. “Alright?”

Hawk swallowed hard before he said, “Uh huh.” He squinted his eyes open, peering up at March pumping, now-sweaty; Hawk gazed through blurred vision at March’s deep concentration, his narrowed eyes, his kiss-swollen lips. Hawk asked, “Did I do alright?”

March moaned, eyes falling shut, and he shuddered as he came. Breathless, he gasped out, “Yeah, sweet boy. You did good.”

* * *

At some point, the candle had gone out, and neither knew when, because they were luname, and the difference in light from the candle had been negligible. The darkness of the blue-curtained room looked as bright as day. Especially when they’d been distracted with the best sex Hawk had ever had.

Hawk looked over at March’s smooth, hairless, gray-skinned body, subtly shining with sweat. March stepped out of the rumpled bed and examined the spent candlestick, silent, but his shoulders were tense, muscles tight.

“Does that mean I failed?” asked Hawk. He’d worn himself out so entirely that the idea of it didn’t bother him. Maybe he was only meant to have had sex with March and nothing more; perhaps some elven gods wanted him to pursue work elsewhere, and had divined for the candle to go out.

But then March said, “No.” He looked over his shoulder at Hawk. “I will pass you. That is—you’ve passed. But when we talk about this trial, this morning together…” He approached the bed again, and sat on the edge, body warm against Hawk’s thigh. “You will tell no one what we’ve done. Speak nothing of the candle. Speak nothing of the…” He paused, brows furrowing. He gathered himself and said, “Say as little as possible about it all. Alright?”

Hawk said, “Alright.” 

March ran a finger across Hawk’s jaw. “There’s a bath through that door. Hot water, fragrances; whatever you’d like. And then we can go have breakfast.”

* * *

After bathing in the attached bathroom, in a large clawfoot tub, Hawk dressed in a spare satin robe provided by Sutaire, and sat in the bed that March managed to tidy up in his brief absence. He stared down at the second bag of coin he was given. “March?”

“Hm?” March put away the boxes of things they hadn’t used—phalluses, cuffs, links, rope, an assortment of oils aside from lube—and spun around to face Hawk.

“You meant what you said. I can ask for a higher salary?” Truth meant he hadn’t lied, of course, but some small part of Hawk wondered if his mind had been broken by the fucking. Maybe he’d hallucinated it. All of it. Especially the part where March called him pretty and baby.

March blinked at him a few times. And then laughed, a rosy color pooling upon his gray skin, across each cheek. “Why, I don’t know what you mean. I said no such thing.” And then he swept forward, leaning across the mattress, and he kissed Hawk’s temple. He whispered, “Yes.”

Hawk turned to capture his lips before he could pull away. March startled, but then leaned into it, allowing Hawk to frame his face with both hands, and lick between his lips. Satisfied, Hawk pulled away, and shifted out of the bed. 

March blinked a few times before he said, “What was that for?”

Truth had already been dispelled; Hawk didn’t have to answer sincerely, and he wasn’t going to. I did it because I wanted to, because I like the way your mouth feels against mine. 

It wasn’t as if they were lovers. March was an adame; a master of the craft he may choose to teach Hawk.

“I don’t know. Nothing.” Hawk huffed, popping his back. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, of course.” March made his way to the door, but as Hawk began to pass him, he stopped him short. His brows were pulled low over his eyes, considering him closely, yet again. It must have been the twentieth time since they entered the room. But the weight of this look was different from the others.

Had March changed his mind on whether or not Hawk passed?

He’d said Hawk did good beneath the Truth spell, but his ability to get fucked certainly wasn’t the only consideration Sutaire had for its adame. Neither knew when the candle went out. Perhaps Hawk wasn’t worth the risk of lying about it— 

But then March kissed him. 

Held onto his chin, keeping Hawk still while March licked against his teeth, and breathed in the same air for a minute, then two. And just as Hawk’s knees went weak, March stopped. Stepped away. And wiped his mouth with one hand. Now it was Hawk’s turn to ask, “What was that for?”

March grinned his charming little grin and motioned for him to follow as he strode through the corridor to breakfast. “Nothing. Welcome to Sutaire, sweet Hawk.”

* * *

Hawk’s room had an unusual shape, situated in a corner overlooking the autumn-streaked garden courtyard at the center of Sutaire’s vine-covered limestone facade. The one window stood tall in the corner, opened to freshen the air before he moved in. As the sun set, the temperature dropped, and Hawk tried to close the panes, but found the winding mechanism—a small iron handle he was meant to spin—completely stuck.

Nevermind. He’d sleep with it open. This was his final night at this schedule, where he’d get to rest with the moon heavy above. Starting tomorrow, he’d begin a new routine that meant he’d go to bed no earlier than six in the morning. Most of Sutaire turned to rest closer to eleven.

But as he settled against the goosefeather bed, the chill grew more intense, and Hawk looked out the window to see fat shining snow flurries. It’d held off until he had a safe bed, this weather. But it had not yet waited for him to fix his window.

His breath came in small clouds. He huddled beneath his coat, beneath a blanket, for as long as he could stand. At midnight, hands and feet numb, he had to leave—to at least warm himself by one of the many fireplaces that filled Sutaire’s interior. He didn’t want to interrupt any business, so Hawk moved silently and quickly down the hall, heart racing like he was breaking a rule no one had told him about. He’d already broken one, most likely, with the candle and March. 

He peered inside an open doorway. Beyond it, the lounge room where he’d met Angel sat empty, and the fireplace clicked and snapped, flames beckoning him inside. He settled on a floor cushion before it and exhaled his relief. He rubbed his hands, and his feet, and a bone-deep exhaustion tugged at him. 

“Hawk?”

He gasped awake. Bleary, confused; Hawk had no recollection of falling asleep. He sniffed, rubbing at his face, as he looked up at March crouched at one side.

March tilted his head. “Why aren’t you in your room?”

Hawk trembled as his mind fished for the explanation. The broken window latch. The chill. The—the accidental sleep. All he managed to say was, “I’m sorry.”

March’s mouth twitched like he may smile, but he contained it, and stood up. “Come with me.”

Hawk scrambled to his feet, nearly falling over the cushion he’d slept upon, and matched March’s brisk pace down a corridor, up two flights of stairs, and to one of the towers that framed the Sutaire building. March pushed open a door and held it for Hawk to pass through.

Inside, Hawk found a bedroom with subtly gold embossed wallpaper and matching velvet drapes, and a big overstuffed bed with a number of blankets piled on top. A candle swung in a holder suspended from the ceiling above, scented like bergamot, and he could hear the wind howling outside as the winter storm settled over the city.

“Is this your room?” Hawk asked.

“It is. It’s been mine for a decade now. Please, come rest.” He put a hand upon the small of Hawk’s back, and pushed him to the bed.

“March, I couldn’t impose. I’m sorry—I’ll go b—”

March’s hand pushed him more insistently at the bed as he said, “Share my bed with me. Act as if it’s a trial; like I’m a patron that’s requested such a thing from you.”

Hawk sat, sinking into the cushions and the blankets, and he sighed at how relievingly warm the covers were—a charcoal bed warmer must’ve been placed within shortly before their arrival. 

March nodded, satisfied, before disappearing through another door at the far end of the room. A bathroom, also lit with golden candlelight. When he emerged, he wore only a pair of short thin pants, and Hawk busied himself by settling beneath the ample covers. The bed dipped as March slid in at his side.

“Isn’t it early for you to sleep?” asked Hawk. He hadn’t a watch, but the sun had yet to rise.

“We’ve a big day tomorrow,” said March. “May as well get some rest beforehand.”

A silence fell, followed by March snapping his fingers, magically snuffing the candle above. Plunged into darkness, Hawk stared at the wooden beams above, and he was struck with this odd, cold feeling. No, not cold. He was toasty warm. But—

He’d laid at his husband’s side like this for many, many years, and felt terribly alone. Perhaps this is how he was always meant to feel. Even with someone at his side, someone handsome and worthy and kind. Hawk didn’t deserve him, or this bed.

And as his mind spiraled into those thoughts, a hand found his beneath the covers. He jumped, surprised, and March chuckled. He tugged Hawk over, closer, until they were slotted against one another, and March kissed the top of Hawk’s head.

“Are you alright?” asked March.

Hawk’s heart raced and he wondered if March could feel it against his ribcage, where Hawk hugged him around the middle, head resting upon his chest. He whispered, “Am I not going to keep you awake, pressed up against you like this?”

March sighed a pleasant sound and mumbled against Hawk’s hair, “No. It’s quite nice. I don’t get to rest this early most nights.”

And as Hawk began to circle the idea that he was keeping March busy. Making him sleep early, making him spend their next day doing whatever it was they had to do—

He fell asleep, again, without meaning to.

* * *

They were both hard when they woke up the next morning, having shifted in their sleep so that March’s massive cock slotted perfectly against Hawk’s ass. Hawk wanted to push back against the feeling of it; lower his satin sleep shorts and invite March inside him again. They could spend the late morning awakening with a gentle, sweaty, spooning fuck.

But Hawk pulled himself away, out of March’s arms, and locked himself inside the bathroom to bathe—cleaning himself inside and out with fingers that maybe lingered longer than they should have. He controlled himself, and his thoughts, for the second time, and finished his routine by brushing his teeth with the second brush March had thoughtfully left for him.

He’d no clean clothes to wear and reluctantly cracked open the door to ask, “May I borrow something to don for this day?”

March, already dressed, opened the door with little concern of Hawk’s nudity. He glanced him up and down—not erotically. Well, at least Hawk didn’t think it was erotic, because March turned away to face his wardrobe and produced a purple tunic that was likely mid-thigh on him, but fell just past Hawk’s knees. A pair of tights and Hawk’s old worn boots were delivered to March’s bedroom door. Hawk eyed the shoes.

“Are we going somewhere?” He thought they had a whole busy day ahead.

“We are.”

“But…”

March stepped into his own unbuckled, thigh-high boots, and began to work on the fastenings. “It’s my day off.”

Hawk chewed a lip as he tied each bootlace. “I see.” Was he meant to spend the day on his own, then? Perhaps Lovey would run through some rules with him. Then again—she was asleep. Was she not? Hawk took a deep breath, prepared to spend his day alone.

“I thought we could go to the theatre.”

Hawk stood tall at March’s still-taller side, and blinked behind damp blond bangs. “What?”

“Worry not; Sutaire has box seats. It costs us nothing to go.”

Hawk loathed how pathetic he sounded as he asked, “You want to spend your day off with me?”

“Well, of course. You’re new to the city. You’re new to Sutaire.” March offered Hawk a hand to take. “You’re new to me. Let me show you all there is to appreciate.”

Oh, Hawk certainly appreciated him. His heart raced yet again, for the hundredth time since they met, but this time, it felt like bliss. “Okay.”

* * *

The show was a beautiful tale of a woman warrior saving her kingdom from an encroaching darkness. “I’ve never been to the theatre before,” he whispered, awed. “What they do with the lights—it’s amazing.” The stage had a storm raging on, magical strobes lighting the scene as if the actors faced true peril.

March leaned close and said, “You needn’t whisper. The box is muted; none can hear us but us.”

Hawk hummed in understanding. “That’s nice. To not interrupt anything happening on the stage while we talk.”

March slid a hand along the back of Hawk’s seat. “It’s not really talking that’s the issue.” Hawk turned a puzzled look to March and got a wry smile in response. A smile he didn’t understand. March’s white grin flashed like one of the strobes on the stage. “Some adame bring their patrons here. I suppose if you don’t know theatre, you wouldn’t know the tradition.”

He understood the implication and gasped. Hawk tried not to clutch at his chest in shock. He was meant to be one of them now; he couldn’t be scandalized by the idea of fucking someone. But: “In public?” March laughed, outright, head thrown back, the thick column of his throat bare for Hawk to gaze upon in simmering consideration. “Have you done that?”

“I have,” said March. “It’s been a great many years, but yes. I’ve sucked someone in that very seat you occupy.”

Hawk looked down at himself, at the floor-mounted chair with its lacquered wooden base. Easy for cleaning, he supposed. He said, “Did you bring me here to…”

March’s hand, still resting upon the back of Hawk’s chair, climbed onto the back of his neck. “Of course not. The theatre is an experience on its own.”

“Oh,” said Hawk, and he sounded disappointed—because he was. He could feel his face grow dark with a blush.

March’s fingers combed through the back of his hair and he said, “Hm? You needn’t worry about work, sweet boy; you’ve got no obligation to train. Just enjoy yourself.”

Hawk nodded, and turned his attention back to the stage, but he only made it through one more scene before he said, “I’ve never done that.” March made a puzzled noise and Hawk squared his shoulders and said, “Sucked someone.”

March’s fingers drummed on the chair. “That’s alright. It wouldn’t be required.”

“I’d like to,” said Hawk, and he dared a glance at March’s face—which appeared as impassive as ever. “I’ve—ah. I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”

A silence ticked by while the actors cried out in dramatics below. March asked, “Would you like to try now?”

Hawk felt a pulse of want rocketing through him like one of the bass drums from the band beneath the stage. He nodded, still watching March’s expression for a hint on whether or not this was an acceptable thing to say; an acceptable thing to want.

The corner of March’s mouth tilted up ever-so-slightly. “Then…”

Hawk fell to his knees in such haste that he may have felt shame, but March leaned forward, combing his hair behind his ears, all gentle, all encouraging. A swell of something filled Hawk’s chest—matching the crescendo of the music from the show—and he sat tall enough to reach March’s lips with his own. They kissed, soft, until their tongues met. Already Hawk’s knees ached against the hard floor, but it was the kind of pain that made him dizzy and pleased. Against March’s mouth, he said, “Will you tell me if I do it right or wrong? Please?”

March’s reply came in a smile. “I shall endeavor to train you to do well in such a task. Go on. Take out my cock; slide it from my pants like that. Yes.” He hissed in pleasure as Hawk handled him, half-hard and warm against his fingers. “If nothing else, your enthusiasm will take you quite far.”

If a candle had been lit, Hawk would have failed for a second time, because he kept March’s cock in his mouth until the play ended nearly an hour later. March let him experiment and taste and swallow and cough and try again and again. And at the end, as the epilogue swept the stage, Hawk gazed up at March, lips stretched and swollen around him.

“I can finish inside of your mouth,” March said, voice rough and pitched low. “Or I can come on your face.”

Hawk didn’t ask permission to take himself into his own fist, pumping hard as he sat back on his sore ankles. He and March never once broke their gaze, and Hawk didn’t need to explain. 

March came with a sigh of relief, spilling across Hawk’s face. And the hot wet feeling of him—that was enough. Hawk came, too, against his own palm, but he wasn’t quite as quiet.

They washed up in the restroom down the hall, inside the theatre—March standing in front of the door so that it may not open while Hawk dutifully rinsed cum off himself and down the drain. He stared at his reflection, at the fading dark circles beneath his eyes, at his shiny brown eyes. He looked different.

When he emerged, March offered him a hand to hold, and said, “Shall we go walk the Sutaire garden?”

* * *

Hawk’s first four days at Sutaire passed in a daze. The window in his room had been fixed at some point while he and March enjoyed an evening walk, but March had Hawk’s few personal items brought up to his tower, and Hawk took that as an invitation to stay as long as he wished.

Hawk had no real work yet aside from eating enough to get himself back into shape, and sleeping enough to clear the exhausted fog from his burnt-out mind. The rest of the time, he and March sampled wine at the cheese shop next door, took walks around the many parks in Abblesbet, and played games of cards. They didn’t have sex again—really, there wasn’t time, with March’s consorting schedule.

Part of the delay in Hawk’s training was that Sutaire had to evaluate the available masters for his apprenticeship. March wasn’t the only one who took on apprentices. There was a short, muscular, red-haired young elf named Bren that had been at it for even longer. Dansa, a female elf with short white hair—she’d married a year ago—was also an option. It wasn’t such a simple decision to make; they all three had different responsibilities. Client lists. Galas to attend, families to care for. And, of course, different methods by which they would teach Hawk.

He imagined March’s lessons would be much more hands-on than the other two. He couldn’t imagine being at Sutaire with anyone other than him. And he believed March agreed.

“Mar, it’s not up to you,” Reeves said one late afternoon, shortly after everyone woke up for the night. Hawk eavesdropped outside the closed office door, straining to hear. 

He heard the bass tone of March’s voice, but couldn’t make out the words.

Reeves’s reply was clear, however, as he said, “You’re being ridiculous. And that’s reason enough to not let you—”

“Ooh, is someone fighting again?” asked Angel, sidling up to Hawk. “Who is it? Is it Lovey and Wilhelm? They’ve been going in circles for months about this bedroom renovation.”

Hawk hissed for him to be quiet. But the conversation had already ended, then—damn. Hawk frowned. “It’s Reeves and March.”

“What were they talking about?” whispered Angel, craning his head like he could see through the closed door.

“I would know if you hadn’t stormed up like a big beast,” Hawk said, eyes throwing daggers at Angel’s innocent, rosy face.

“You probably shouldn’t be snooping anyway. It’s not too late for them to turn you loose. Come on.” Angel stood tall and offered his elbow for Hawk to take. “I heard word your new wardrobe is ready. You’ve got to show me everything you ordered. Not that you don’t look dashing in the hand-me-downs you’ve been in.”

Hawk huffed. He hesitated before depositing a hand in Angel’s arm, and allowed himself to be guided through the halls to the tailor’s room. He didn’t know where to go, anyway—this place was like a maze, taking up almost an entire city block on the hill. “It’s not much. I didn’t know what to request.” He sighed. “I mean, what, do I ask for underwear with holes in the back so patrons can bugger me more easily, or…”

Angel threw his head back, laughing, and Hawk found himself smiling along. “Some are into that, no doubt. There are quite a few people that are into fucking with clothes on, you know.”

His mind served him the damp, salty memory of his intake, gasping for air as March fingered him open, pants pulled down only enough for him to spread open his hole. “Quite weird,” Hawk mumbled.

“That’s not even on the list of weird. I have one woman who sees me a few times a year—she likes me to keep my clothes on. Like, all the way. We essentially dry hump the whole time we’re in bed.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow. “She pays for such a thing?”

“Certainly.”

The oddest part of working at Sutaire wasn’t the adjusted hours, or the building full of beauties, or even the often-overheard moans of satisfied patrons. It was the money. There were absurd amounts of it exchanged every day. “How do people come to have so much coin that they can spend it so flagrantly?”

Angel hummed thoughtfully. “I think she’s the wife to some baron.”

“She’s married?”

Angel looked surprised that Hawk was surprised. “I’d say the majority of our patrons are married, Hawk. Obviously.”

That wasn’t obvious, no, but Hawk bit his tongue—especially as they arrived at the open door of the tailor, a young human woman. She looked up, her curly brown hair climbing in every direction. “Ah, Hawk. Welcome. Your new set is there on the chair. Go ahead and try it on for me, if you will.”

Angel clapped excitedly as he skipped into the room and plopped onto the only available seat not covered in clothing or fabric scraps. Hawk sighed. At least he had undershorts on. Still, as he undressed from his robe, he faced away from Angel and the tailor, and made quick work of sliding into each outfit. They both oohed and ahhed at him in order, and Hawk’s cheeks were furiously warm by the time he was done. He’d procured loungewear, a suit, several trousers—short and long, and a half-dozen silk tops that tied at the neck, as was fashionable. Angel wore one presently. “Thank you,” said Hawk. He shifted for a moment, debating how to make such a request. “Could I get something for the week’s end? When my apprenticeship is announced at dinner that night?”

The tailor looked unbothered, stitching something on a piece of fabric. “Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

“The first day I came here.” He looked anywhere but at her, or Angel. “March had a very fine-looking jacket-robe. It fastened at the hips. It was thin? Silky?”

“Oh, yes. I can make you one.”

“Would black be alright?”

“You want it in black? With your coloring, pink might look nice.”

He shook his head. “If black’s possible…”

“Yeah, alright. You can pick it up in a day or two.”

“Thank you.”

Angel said nothing as they departed, but Hawk could feel his eyes following him as they joined the others for dinner. 

* * *

In the loungeroom with the iron fireplace, Hawk sat across from March on several cushions, and tried to stay awake. “Come now. It’s been five days,” said March. “Surely you can stay awake past two in the morning.”

Hawk shot him a glare, and meant to argue, but he yawned instead. March laughed, and patted the pillow at his side. “Then, rest here. I’ll wake you if anyone comes by.”

“I could just go back to, ah.” He blushed as he said, “Your room.” The room where he slept. It wasn’t his, but…

“Let us try, at least for a little while, to keep you awake, hm?” March gestured to his side, where Hawk could slot in nicely, comfortably.

 Hawk didn’t need much convincing and settled against March with a repeat of that tender, swelling affection blooming beneath his ribs. March was nearly as warm as the fireplace at Hawk’s side, and he would purr like a cat if he could as he relaxed between them both. It was unbelievable that he’d nearly slept without a roof less than a week before. It was unbelievable that he’d nearly spent his entire life without curling up at the side of a lover like this—

No. March wasn’t a lover. Hawk went stiff, teeth gritting against the thought. This was work.

Wasn’t it?

March idly stroked Hawk’s hair off his face, and then combed a thumb over one short, thin blond eyebrow. “You should socialize some more with the others. People who aren’t me.” Because they weren’t lovers. Hawk pushed away, only for March to grab at him, and pull him back down, and laugh. “Not now. Right now… Stay with me here.” He inhaled a breath of Hawk’s hair, and his hands began to wander, idle, as they often did in bed.

The fire crackled and Hawk stared into March’s face, because he could.

March eventually broke the silence as he said, “There’ll probably be a bidding war for your first patron.” Hawk scoffed and March tapped the tip of his small nose. “It’s true. You’ve not done this before; that’s a marketable trait. You’re untouched by a paying hand.”

“I was married. And I did it with you, didn’t I?” He chewed his lip for a moment before he said, “That counts.” Hawk stared at March’s mouth, to catch a glimpse of his pink tongue, and found his mouth filling with saliva as if he planned to eat a meal. “I have done things with you I’ve never done with anyone else.”

“Do you think we should save some of it, then? For someone else?” March tilted his head, debating his own question.

Hawk’s heart ached as he said, “Elys above, no. I need you to show me everything, I think.” It had to be him. 

March sat up, pulling away, and for a moment, Hawk thought he’d said the wrong thing; overstepped some boundary. But instead March turned the handle upon the fireplace, closing the flames off from air, and plunging them into darkness. 

He remained crouched before the hearth, unmoving, and Hawk nearly asked what thoughts passed through his mind. Was something wrong? Before he could gather his courage, March returned to him, to his side. And instead, the only question Hawk could ask was: “May I kiss you again?”

March held Hawk’s chin, and placed a thumb upon his lower lip, guiding him to open his mouth. When Hawk did, March slid his thumb inside, and stroked Hawk’s tongue. 

Hawk licked the smooth, soft feeling of the finger, and his heart skipped a beat within his chest before falling all the way down his ribs, into his belly, and between his legs. He closed his lips around March’s thumb and sucked, gently, and moaned at the taste and feeling and warmth of him.

March said, voice gone deep, “Good boy.”

Hawk whined in pleasure at the praise, eyes falling shut. 

March pulled his finger free. Hawk chased it, but only briefly, because when he sat up, he was nearer to March’s mouth. He kissed him, without preamble, without thought—and March breathed into it like it was a relief, like the sliding of their tongues did provide him with a longer life. Though he was no human, and no patron; Hawk’s kiss benefitted March nonetheless.

They continued to kiss, and kiss, and kiss, as Hawk laid down on the pillow again, with March’s hands against his hair, face, throat, chest. He stroked the bare purple skin revealed all the way down to Hawk’s belly button, but stopped short of groping the tent that formed beneath his robe. Hawk stroked the soft satin of March’s hair down his back. Squeezed his arms, feeling the weight of his muscles against him.

Hawk found himself drifting within the kiss. A simple, soft darkness pulled him under. He heard March chuckle quietly and say, “Are you asleep?”

To which Hawk moaned a quiet, “No, I’m awake,” in reply, but he didn’t move, or open his eyes, and the gentle dark pulled him into an even deeper embrace. He woke at dawn to find March pressed against his side, sipping tea and reading a newsprint. Hawk watched him for a time, knowing they needed to return to March’s tower for the day, but for now—he basked, sleepy and satisfied both.

* * *

He scooped the pile of leaves into the reeded basket. One leaf, a particularly bright red, caught his eye. Smiling, Hawk picked it from the mound and held it up to the evening sky—streaked orange and pink with the setting sun. 

“Goodness, Hawk, you needn’t be doing chores like this,” said a tow-headed elven woman—the harpist from his first day at Sutaire. Meadow. She carefully picked across the path Hawk had cleaned up, revealing damp stepping stones. “We’ve a whole team of gardeners that care for this place.”

“I know,” said Hawk. He placed the red leaf back upon the pile and continued to scoop the leaves into the awaiting bin. “I just felt like getting outside. Wakes me up.” He glanced at the sky, then back to Meadow. “You’re up early.”

She stopped next to a late-blooming rose and stroked at one pink petal. “I had to run an errand at the bay. We’re getting ready for the big party tomorrow.”

Hawk hummed in understanding. “There’s a party tomorrow?” He hadn’t yet been told.

Meadow giggled. “You’re so funny, Hawk. No wonder March felt you’d be a fit around here.” His cheeks warmed, and she carried on. “Do you know what you’re going to wear for the announcement?”

And understanding came to Hawk in a snap; an echo of the sound made by Meadow snapping the rose from the bush. The party was his. The announcement. He hid the trembling of his hands within the basket he knelt beside. “Oh. Yes. I had a special robe made.”

“How lovely. Aren’t you excited?” Meadow tiptoed closer, inhaling the center of the rose. She pulled the hair from Hawk’s face, away from his eyes, and tucked it behind his ear—with the flower. “What is it? You seem ill at ease.”

“They’re going to announce me, yes, but also the master of my apprenticeship.”

“Ah, right—you’re worried for March.”

“For him? No, I…” Hawk more firmly tucked the flower behind his ear and stood up, face-to-face with Meadow. Her ringlets swayed in the autumn wind, her cheeks flushed, and her smile sweet and unassuming. “Why would I worry for him?”

“Well, he’d taken quite the shine to you, I think. And he’s not likely to be your master, is he? He doesn’t perform intimately anymore. I think it’s pretty clear that Bren will be the one taking charge of your education here.” She gestured with one hand, oblivious to the sudden loud rush of adrenaline within Hawk. “He’s going to have to go back to being…well. Bored. I’m sure he’ll get a new disciple soon.” She caught Hawk’s harried stare and gasped. “No, I mean it—he’ll be fine, Hawk. I swear. We get new hopefuls every month.”

“It’s not that.” He swallowed. Pulled the flower from his hair. And stared at its fading petals, at its dried-out stem. “March isn’t the one who has taken a shine. It’s me, Meadow, I believe. I want him.”

“Bren will be a very good teacher,” Meadow said, squeezing Hawk’s arm. Everyone at Sutaire touched everyone else so easily. So warmly. Hawk could never give that up, now that he’d had it. 

Hawk could never give up March now that he had him. But those two ideas would never work together, would they?

He didn’t think about it too much as he rushed forward and into Meadow’s arms. He hugged her around the shoulders, squeezed, and said, “You must think me selfish.”

Meadow huffed and hugged him in return. “Not at all. March is a very good man. But you shouldn’t worry. You can learn to point your affections at someone—that’s the role of an adame. You’ll be happy with the one Sutaire gives you—Bren now, and a patron later. Will you not?”

Over her shoulder, Hawk looked at where his hands were clutched together. Looked at the rose picked from the garden he’d always wanted. 

Another breeze blew some of the flower’s petals away, leaving it sparse and fragile-looking within his grasp. What was he to do?

III

He was forty-four years old, and he was afraid.

Hawk paced back and forth in his room. The sun was setting, and the night was about to begin, and with it, the announcement of his apprenticeship. He’d donned the robe he requested from the seamstress, and it didn’t sit on him quite as favorably as it had on March. Of course. March was a marble god and Hawk was—well. Skinny.

He looked at his hair again, and ripped it from the short braid he’d done. He knew no other styles, but he couldn’t wear it down. It didn’t flow through the air like the other elves—it was limp. And not nearly as shiny.

Hawk’s feet took him to Angel’s door before he decided he better not. He knocked twice. A moment later, Angel answered, looking sleepy. Hawk gasped. “Sorry. So sorry, Angel. Did I wake you?”

“It’s alright; I should be up. Come in.” Angel stepped back. Hawk entered, less surprised by the interior this time. His first time to Angel’s room, he’d been startled by the sheer number of pillows. White ones. Humans believed angels slept on clouds, right? Angel’s room may have been the source of that belief.

Angel sat on his vanity chair and began to comb out his curly hair so it was straighter, shinier. Hawk bit his lip before he said, “Could you do that for me?”

Angel met his gaze in the mirror. “Do what?”

“My…my hair.”

Angel’s eyes fell down Hawk’s hair, then back to his face, and he smiled. “Yeah. Come here.”

Hawk walked over to Angel’s vanity, and Angel gestured for him to sit against the countertop. Angel stood up to brush his hair with his fingers at first. “What oils have you been using?”

“None. I have none.”

Angel met his gaze. “You can have any you want, you know. Sutaire will fetch them for you—we’ve plenty of runners for that stuff.” Hawk didn’t say I should be one of those runners, not one of you, but it must have been evident in his face, because Angel rolled his big blue eyes. “Elys above. You’re a mess.”

“Yes, I know. Please help,” said Hawk, and he meant it.

“You’re so riled up. Because of the announcement? You don’t need to be so nervous.” 

Hawk felt his stomach twist. “I’d just like to look a little like I belong. I don’t want him to regret seeing me there.”

“Who? March?”

Hawk’s face warmed and he avoided Angel’s gaze. He looked out over the fluffy white room instead. Did Angel nap just—anywhere? He could.

Angel scoffed. “Please. March would be happy to have you up there in a potato sack with lube-stained hair. I mean, if it weren’t for the rules for us to kiss, I’d think he’d take the first opportunity to kiss you in gratitude for bringing some excitement around here.”

Hawk snorted, then paused, then said, “What?”

“I mean, he’s been at this job for so long. Lounging about doing nothing can seem luxurious, but after a time…” Angel used a brush to gently part Hawk’s hair, and he put it into separate pieces at the front, then back. “Like I said, I bet he was bored. At least you’re something new.”

That wasn’t what Hawk meant. He stared at Angel for a time before he said, “There’s a rule about…kissing?”

Angel raised an eyebrow and began to comb through Hawk’s hair with purpose now, styling it with the side part. “We adame are not allowed to kiss one another. Surely March mentioned that.” Hawk’s eyes widened marginally. Angel giggled and leaned in to say, “I know; you’re terribly upset you’ll never get to taste my tongue.”

How was that possible? There was a rule against kissing?

They had kissed. He and March had kissed many times, again and again. 

Hawk pulled at the memory of their first time together, the same way he had for the last week. 

“May I kiss you?”

March’s stony expression. The gentle way he asked, “You want to kiss me?”

Hawk nodded yes. Please.

“I would like you to.”

March hadn’t said yes, because Truth wouldn’t allow him to. Because Hawk wasn’t permitted to kiss him. No, what March said meant—

That meant—he’d circumvented the rules just to let Hawk kiss him. He’d circumvented the rules to let Hawk join Sutaire. He’d spent the last week tending to Hawk knowing he’d never be chosen as March’s apprentice.

“There. Take a look,” said Angel, stepping back. He pointed to the mirror.

Hawk hopped off the vanity and turned to see himself. His hair looked thicker. Shiny. It swayed when he turned his head and he said, “How…”

“Oils, Hawk.” Angel hopped up, placed a hand upon his shoulder, and kissed his cheek.

Hawk gasped, slapping a hand over his skin. “You just said!”

“Please, that was a cheek kiss. It doesn’t count. And besides.” Angel’s eyes turned sharp; a darker blue. “You’ve learned to bend the rules a bit already, haven’t you?”

Hawk’s stomach swooped. He and March had kissed. That idiot had let Hawk kiss him—openly—in the lounge. The fire had been put out, but if someone happened to come by with a lantern? Someone like… Angel.

By Elys. Hawk was going to cost March his entire career. “How many know that we…”

Angel giggled and spun to his wardrobe, pulling out his outfit for the announcement at dinner. “March is lucky I favor him so; you’re lucky I find you so terribly cute. That’s all.” He dropped his sleeping robe—the smooth pale expanse of his ample backside flashing across Hawk’s eyes before he turned away, flushed. “There’s plenty of magic in this place to collect what people say.” Angel said, “I’ve interfered before. I probably shouldn’t do it again; interfere with what news Lovey gets sent to review. You know?” He shot a glance over his bare shoulder.

Hawk, understanding the suggestion, nodded once. And then he said, “Thank you, Angel.”

* * *

Hawk counted the coin he’d earned since arriving. Forty the first day, then twenty more had been deposited each day. He had one hundred and eighty—an absurd amount to have earned in so little time, and for so little work. He’d been paid to sleep on a luxurious, fluffy bed, in the arms of one of Sutaire’s most expensive consorts-for-hire. 

He’d been paid to kiss March until he fell asleep.

“Fuck. Shit.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was such good money, and it came so easily. A hundred and eighty coin could last him a full year if he was careful with it. He reached up to tug at his hair, but found his fingers sliding through it—the texture silken and soft. That made him all the more frustrated. He kicked at the vanity chair inside his room. It toppled with a quiet thump, and he didn’t feel any better.

He heard distant voices begin to chatter.

He had to hurry.

* * *

Hawk arrived at the tail end of dinner. Most of the other adame were still present—Angel sat in a corner, laughing with a few of the girls, and Lovey and Reeves sat together and jolted expectantly when Hawk arrived. Lovey hopped off her stool, grinning.

“Well, don’t you look nice?”

“Yes, I—yes, thank you,” said Hawk, turning his eyes down himself, at his fine new robe.

“You seem nervous. It’s quite alright—trust me when I say that it’s for the best.”

Hawk nearly choked on the words as he said, “I’m sure that’s true, but I need to speak with you on this matter first.”

“Can it wait?” She stood tall to look over the room. “We should make our announcements; it’s already getting late.” She flagged a hand, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. Hawk’s heart tightened in his chest as he looked over everyone. March was not there. Hawk spun in a circle, checking that he wasn’t at one of the smaller bistro-style tables in the back of the dining room. Lovey snapped her fingers with one hand and held a missive with the other and said, “Alright, my beauties, let’s start with the good news—Hawk, our newest recruit, is officially an apprentice of Bren. Give them your congratulations.”

Several of those present clapped, but Hawk could scarcely hear them; could barely feel his feet standing beneath him. “No,” he said.

Lovey hadn’t heard him, and continued on, reading from her note, “I’m also happy to say we’ve managed to find more of that delightful jasmine tea that disappeared from the city some time last year. You’re welcome to as much of it as you’d like. And, in less happy news—”

“No,” Hawk interrupted, more firmly—loud enough that he couldn’t be ignored.

Lovey blinked a few times behind her round glasses.

Reeves swept up behind Hawk and said, “Let’s discuss this in private.” He shot Lovey a narrow-eyed stare and said, “Told you.”

Lovey sighed, frowned, and said, “Fine, then.”

“I offer you my apology,” said Hawk, more firmly now. He looked between Reeves and Lovey and said, “I cannot go through with this.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Reeves, and the way he said it—utterly unsurprised. Could he read minds? Hawk suspected he’d a great skill with magic. He certainly had a wizard’s gait. “Come on.” He pushed at Hawk’s arm, out the doorway, to the corridor. The office was only one door down. 

Behind them, Hawk heard Lovey say to the dining room, “Two more weeks before another open call. If you know anyone interested, tell them now’s the time. Because the other announcement—the other sad announcem…” Her voice closed off behind the office door, and Hawk stood opposite Reeves in the narrow space.

Reeves sighed, and made his way to the desk chair, and motioned for Hawk to sit on the other side of the desk. He did so, heart thundering. “Reeves, I am sorry, but I have to quit. It’s not even that I want to, but I have to.” He felt feverish as he said, “I was never really suited for this from the beginning, I don’t think.”

Reeves sat back in his chair, his thin face even more severe-looking in the few dim candles lighting the room. He huffed a laugh, though, and began to spin a pen between his fingers. “In a way, Hawk, I think you may be too suited for this.”

He remained quiet—half out of confusion, and half because he really did worry Sutaire would try to ruin him for wasting the resources he’d used in the last week.

“We all knew it from the moment you arrived—why, Lovey could barely contain herself. ‘He’s so different.’ Yes, yes, you’re quite fine, whatever.” Reeves flagged the pen back and forth as he spoke. “You stood out. You’ve continued to stand out. Bren will be disappointed, I’ve no doubt. But none of us will be surprised.”

Hawk tried not to take it personally, but the words felt like a knife in his side. “Because you expected me to fail.”

Reeves’s eyes widened in surprise. He leaned over his desk and said, “What? No. As I said; you’re uniquely suited for Sutaire. Unique and pretty and kind and untouched? By all accounts, we knew you’d do damn good work.”

“But you said you’re not surprised that I’m leaving. That I…” He reached up to rub at his face, and sighed. “I can’t go through with this. I’m falling in love with March, and I will not be able to stop, and if I cannot remain with him, in his bed, I’ll simply fall apart.”

“Obviously.” 

Hawk froze. It seemed like the world froze, in the moment, except for the flickering of the candle flames around the room. Then he said, voice a squeak, “Obviously?”

“March turned in his resignation earlier today, for the very same reason. You were together but a week and already he was lost to you.” Reeves sighed. “I expect this to happen in our line of business, and it does happen, but with March? He’s a consummate professional. I’d say it’s a shame, but he’d been with us for an age, and I want what’s best for him.” He pulled out a sheet of paper from a folder upon the desk, and presented it for Hawk to see. He placed the pen atop it and said, “And I want what’s best for you, too. Sign here. This releases you from any extended obligation. You may stay the night, of course.”

Hawk looked at the contract, but couldn’t read a word through his spinning mind. March retired. March retired. March was gone? And said Hawk was the reason why. “Why?”

Reeves’s gray brows furrowed. “Why may you stay? We’re not monsters. It’s nearly eight at night—it may be hard for you to find a place to go at this time.”

“No. Sorry. I…” Hawk lifted the pen. He scrawled a signature near the bottom. He shook his head, like it may clear his thoughts, but it was no use. His heart and mind both chanted in unison: find March. Find March. Find March. “Thank you, Reeves. I’ve got my things ready, and I’m—I’ll go.”

Reeves took the contract back and said, “As you wish. Thank you for calling upon us, Hawk. Perhaps I’ll see you again—the garden has never looked so pristine. Perhaps you may return to us in other capacities? We’ll see.”

Hawk agreed with a nod. His heart continued to race.

Find March.

* * *

He stepped out the front door of Sutaire, into the gas lantern-lit night, and the late autumn breeze made him shiver within his robe, even with his wool coat on top. He kept the robe—kept all his clothes—because it wasn’t as if there were many lanky little elves lurking about anyway. Better the clothes got used rather than disposed of.

He looked one way, then the next, and hadn’t a single clue where to start.

Where would March have gone?

Behind him, a familiar voice said, “You really weren’t going to say goodbye to me? Even though I’m probably your best source to find out where our beloved March has gone? Even though I helped you tame the mop you call hair?”

Hawk spun around to see Angel lounging in the doorway, examining his nails. His white gown for the evening pooled at his bare feet. If not for the pointed ear, Hawk really could have thought him to be a vision of the angels some mortals worshipped. “Angel. Angel, yes, you’re right—I should have come to you, I just.” He could think of nothing but March, March, March.

“Ask me quickly; our patrons are due to arrive at any moment.”

Hawk rushed forward and asked, “Where did he go?”

“He’s got a patron that owns a carriage house near the train station a few blocks away.” Hawk took off in the direction of the train without hesitation, but Angel barked a laugh and added, “Upstairs. He’s in the upstairs unit, sweet Hawk!”

Hawk spun on his heel but continued to walk backward, in the right direction, and he gave Angel a wave. “Thank you, Angel. Again.”

He waved in turn, and a tall woman approached Sutaire, bashful and afraid. Angel held out a hand in greeting to her and Hawk heard him say, “Don’t you look beautiful tonight?”

* * *

There were a number of carriage houses—seven, precisely—but Hawk was not above knocking on every single one. His bag of things, and gold, was quite heavy, though. He paced back and forth at the small green park before the train station, trying to find a safe place to stash his stuff while he made the rounds. He wouldn’t be long, but this was the finest collection of items he’d ever had, and he’d be devastated at their loss.

He leaned over to look beneath a bench. There was enough room—it could work. And just as Hawk began to shove the bag beneath—

“Hawk?”

He jolted straight, turned to the voice, and there stood a vision in black. March wore a black suit, fitted tightly at the ankles and wrists, squared at the shoulder, with a white cravat and tall hat from which his long black hair fell like a silk blanket around his square face. Hawk, with his robe fallen off one shoulder, hair askew from the effort of shoving this bag beneath the bench, felt himself grow hot. “Hi.”

March strode over and said, “It is you. What in the name of Elys are you doing—” he peered at the bag, a look of genuine concern across his face. “Is this how Bren has you start your first night?”

“No,” said Hawk. He quickly combed a hand through his hair, and tried to adjust the robe that had become loose in addition to askew. “No, this isn’t…” He cleared his throat and said, as boldly as he could muster, “I quit.”

March began to reach out with one gloved hand and stopped short. “Whatever do you mean?”

His heart and mind had spent so much time frantically chanting to find March, but they’d not once colluded to help him find the words to say to him once he was found. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. When March’s eyes went round in surprise, Hawk said, “I don’t know what to say.”

A misty wind swept through them and Hawk shivered. March held out a hand and said, “Come with me. Let’s go inside; it’ll snow again soon.”

Hawk took his offered hand. Stroked the thin white fabric of his glove with one thumb. “Okay.” He released March’s hand and fetched his bag again. He heaved it over one shoulder and March led the way to the correct carriage house—sixth one on the right side of the station. He unlocked the door and when they entered the dark space, March found a switch to activate the gas lantern overhead. It was a studio-style apartment with red wood floors and ceilings—a modest kitchen that opened to a living space containing a soft, well-worn couch, and an even more well-worn looking bed. There were two doors near the back—a washroom and second exit, no doubt. It was small, but cozy. And grew all the more cozy when March lit the gas fireplace at the front of the room. “Please, put your things on the table, there.”

Hawk did so. Then turned to face March, and inexplicably, his heart said again: find March.

He’s here, Hawk said to himself.

So go to him, his heart replied.

He did. He rushed across the room, and March looked surprised for a moment before he opened his arms, and they fell into a warm embrace. Hawk’s voice was muffled in March’s shoulder as he said, “I left. I didn’t know you’d quit, too. But I couldn’t stay. I wouldn’t be able to…” He laughed at himself; even now, he found it hard to describe the life of an adame. “I’d only ever think of you every time I had to touch someone else.”

March squeezed him in response. Hard enough that it nearly hurt, but only nearly. He whispered, “But it’s good work, and it’s such a shame for you.”

“I’ve had a dozen jobs in my life,” said Hawk. “I’ll have a dozen more. I don’t care about that. I care about—” He shifted away from March, enough to look at his beautiful white eyes, and stone skin, and said, “I care about you.”

March bit his lip, visibly pained.

Hawk reached up to place hands on either side of his face. “You’re the one losing out, March. You should go back. You should live in luxury. You had the best job in the world, I think. And you shouldn’t leave for me. They’ll understand you breaking the rules—it was one offense.”

“It wasn’t one offense.”

Hawk pouted. “Two.”

“It was more than that,” March said. “I threatened Bren.” Hawk didn’t reply except to blink. March peered off, guilt written plainly across his face. “And I meant it, too. When they were going to give you to him, and he said he’d be pleased to show you the ways you may use your mouth, I threatened to remove his most favored appendage.” He sighed.

“Three offenses isn’t so bad,” said Hawk. “I’ve gotten away with at least six in some jobs.”

March laughed as he said, “I don’t want to do that when you’re here, near me, with me. I don’t want to kiss a patron so he may live an additional week in his life. I want to kiss you. Every day. For my own sake.”

Hawk took in March’s face. And when his heart and mind chanted kiss March, kiss March, kiss March, he had to agree with the sentiment. He stood on his toes and closed the distance between them, and kissed March the way they both needed to be kissed.

* * *

March was two-hundred and twenty-six years old, and he was in love with Hawk.

March fucked him deep and slowly on the fur rug before the fireplace, moving with a determined purpose to make Hawk feel every inch of him. And it was working; he could see how Hawk’s black eyes rolled back at the feeling; could feel his thighs squeezing tight around March’s waist; could hear the tone in his voice that he was nearing the edge.

“See, sweet boy?” March was nearly out of breath. Notable, considering his usual stamina. He chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, and he didn’t miss the way Hawk shivered in pleasure at it. He drilled down harder, his thick dark cock sliding into Hawk’s impossibly tight heat. The oils they used spilled from him, dripping out of the place where their bodies met, wet and wanting. The moisture slid into the body hair Hawk had been so ashamed to have, and March’s mouth watered—literally watered—at the sight. He’d had plenty of sex in his life, but this was a sight he’d carry with him for the rest of time. “See?”

Hawk gasped out a sound of confusion.

“Seeing you like this. All of you—” his ribs and bony knees and his beautiful silken bush of hair between his legs. “Do you see how hard I am for you?”

Hawk bit his lip, trembling as he grew even more close.

Elys, March was grateful Hawk had left Sutaire. The idea of someone else having him in such a way—

March had never felt possessive like this before, and it would frighten him if not for Hawk’s reply. He reached both hands up, and pulled March to his lips again. Like he had to have a kiss. Like he needed to be wanted. March wanted to possess Hawk, but Hawk wanted to be possessed. 

They kissed, tongues glancing, teeth clattering, and then March began to fuck him in earnest; worked to fuck him so that he would come. He could see it written in Hawk’s eyes; he was nearly there. He could probably come untouched; it was a lesson March would gratefully give. Soon. This time, he closed a hand around Hawk’s cock and stroked.  “My sweet boy,” March whispered. “Will you come for me?”

Hawk did so, gasping.

March redoubled his efforts then; the white hot pressure building inside himself. He gripped one of Hawk’s thighs, pulling his legs farther apart, and Hawk moaned shamelessly at that and said, “Please, yes. Please. Please—”

March came, and the bliss of Hawk’s touch, of his sweet, pleading voice, left him awash for a minute or more. He returned to himself already open-mouth kissing Hawk, still buried inside. 

Hawk blinked, sleepy and pleased, and asked again, “Good?”

March exhaled a laugh and took to stroking back Hawk’s tawny, delicate hair. “Good enough that I may ask that we do it again, and again, and again, until I’ve no choice but to pay my patron to replace this rug.” He probably already had to; it was no doubt saturated with oil.

Hawk’s replying laugh chased after him pleasantly while he cleaned up. When he returned with a blanket and pillow a few minutes later, Hawk had already dozed off, curled into a ball before the fire. March settled behind him, spooning against Hawk’s back, and tucked the blanket around them both. As he fell asleep, March found himself certain:

He’d never again sleep with any other.

* * *

Hawk was forty-five years old, and he was on a mission to repay his debts.

He made a bouquet of flowers, thought about it, and ventured back out into Sutaire’s garden to harvest another batch of flowers for a second. He tied a penny with a ribbon onto one and left the other with a gleaming blue bow. The collection of pink and purple alstroemeria set in place with some baby’s breath, all perfectly pristine after a season of Hawk’s dedicated attention. He felt a little silly strolling through the warm spring cobblestone lanes of Abblesbet with two big flower bunches in either hand, but he’d felt a little silly the first day he arrived and wasted his every coin getting drunk at a bar.

He pushed open the door—it was early for service, but he hoped the barkeep would be there prepping for the night. And he was right. 

“Not open,” said the man. Hawk had been right, even if he’d been drunk at the time: the barkeep was a fine specimen. Not as fine as Hawk’s paramour, but he understood his drunken, wanting thoughts from half a year ago.

“I’ve come with a gift. And a penny.” Hawk said, approaching the bar. “One of these is for you. The other, for your copper friend. The, ah, city guard.”

The barkeeper looked bewildered. He said, “I’m married.”

Hawk laughed and said, “It’s not a proposition. Do you not remember me?” That wasn’t a problem he often encountered. Purple skin and all.

The barkeeper looked him over, snapped his fingers, and said, “Ah, the sad one! With the divorce!”

Hawk tried not to melt into the creaky wood floor. “Yes, right, that was me. Not me now, though.” He handed over the bouquet. The barkeep smiled at it and placed it into a clean pitcher already upon the bar. “Are you still friends with that one guard?” He held out the second bouquet.

“I am, yes. I’ll make sure she gets this.” He fished out another pitcher and placed the second bouquet inside. “Wow. You really did repay your debt. And then some. I suppose this means you found work as a gardener after all.”

“It took a little bit of time, but yes. I found my way there.” Hawk tucked his hair behind his ear and said, “Thank you for helping me when I was lost.” He gestured to the ribbon on the first bouquet. “Your penny is in there.”

“Good lad.” The barkeep gestured to a stool. “Care for a drink?”

Hawk fished out his pocket watch and shook his head at the hour—he’d spent far too long making those flower arrangements. “I’ve got to get home for dinner.”

The barkeep’s big dark eyes widened in surprise. “Home? You’ve even got yourself a home now. Another few months, and you’ll be remarried, too, I bet.”

Hawk waved as he made his departure and couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “That’s the plan.”

“That first night you were here—” the barkeep said, smiling at his bouquet. “You said you were forty-four and divorced. Now look at you. Forty-four and happy,” said the barkeep.

“I’m forty-five, now,” said Hawk as he stood in the threshold of the bar. He looked out to the street, to the pink sky, and the bustling lane of family and springtime ivy that grew lush over the cityscape. “Forty-five and I’m happy.”

* * *

If you enjoyed this story

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Acknowledgments

This story would not have been possible without my friends. I’m eternally grateful to everyone on my Discord server. Thank you all.

To Bibo, for editing and cheerleading me to this finish line. To Alice, for keeping me pragmatic and encouraging me to keep going after years of trying to publish a book. To Christina, for listening to me ramble and rant about anything and everything for the last 25 years. 

To everyone following along my publishing journey on TikTok, thank you for rooting for me and this little fantasy world I’ve made.

The tools that made this story possible: my prescription of Vyvanse, my MacBook Air, my iPad Air, and the apps Scrivener, Procreate, and Vellum.

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Copyright

Copyright © 2026 by Charlie Amen.

Story and art by Charlie Amen.

All rights reserved.

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The author does not give consent for any part of this work to be used in generative artificial intelligence (“gen AI”) training.