Page 113 of Consort's Glory
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Margot settled into the sitting room beside Theodore’s enormous study. It was more like a small library than a living room, with walls covered in enormous, custom-built shelves. The Tower had an Art Nouveau aesthetic on the outside, but within it was a curious mix of natural woods and streamlined, modern furniture.
She sat on an angular gray sofa that didn’t look particularly comfortable, but proved to be as plush as any heavily padded couch she knew. The rug under her feet was thick and well-made, the furnishings scattered around the room all dark wood polished to a high finish. The chrome and finely-wrought glass light fixtures were unnecessary on such a bright day, especially with the wall of windows that, somehow, every room in the Tower managed to boast. The room was, like everything else, a mix of the new and the old that struck her as distinctly elvish.
Settling into her seat, Margot tried to ignore the door to her left, the one tucked between two towering bookshelves that connected the sitting room with Theodore’s study. Someone had laid out a spread of fruit, bread, and cheeses on the low table by the sofa. Probably Andy, who had remained discreetly out of sight but whose touch Margot could see in the vase of white roses and the faint scent of soft perfume in the air.
Margot was hungry, certainly. Their afternoon activities left her ravenous, but… She glanced at the door reflexively. I want to eat with him.
But that was silly. He had extremely important business to attend to — business she could hear coming his way, as a man’s low, angry voice carried down the hall — and it wasn’t like there was anything he would enjoy on the table anyway.
It’s normal. Theodore’s inner voice was a stroke in the back of her mind, a loving touch that soothed a tension she didn’t even know she carried. The pull makes separation difficult, darling. Don’t worry about it. We’ll be back together soon enough.
Margot shook her head to clear it and stood up from the sofa to pace the room, scanning the shelves without really seeing them. Despite Theodore taking the time to explain what she was going through, what the elvish half of her kept trying to tell her, Margot struggled to reconcile the urges with the rational, human part of herself.
It just feels weird to miss you this much when we’ve only been separated for a minute.She ran her fingertips along the glass encasing a row of leatherbound books, walking aimlessly. I’m not a particularly clingy person, usually.
I like you clingy,he replied. I hope that never changes.
Margot didn’t fight the besotted smile that stole across her mouth. It didn’t surprise her to find that she’d wandered toward the door. Stopping to lean her forehead against the edge of a shelf, Margot imagined him standing on the other side. Her stomach fluttered.
Sending a surge of pure affection through the bond, she answered, I don’t mind it. It’s just different. But you’ll have to tell me more about how the pull—
A sharp knock cut her off.
Straightening, Margot grasped the edge of the bookcase and leaned toward the door, terribly curious about what the heir to the du Soleil family would have to say to Theodore. Although she’d never met them, they were the only elvish family she was truly familiar with — mainly through old business records that she spent one long, stifling summer organizing as a teenager.
At one point, the du Soleil family and the Goodes had several lucrative business deals between them; mainly property investments and joint ventures in m-tech, including the development of the first ID chips. Elves were legendary for trying to poach Coven talent for their m-tech R&D, just as the Collective was coldly practical about keeping that talent in-house.
A joint venture where both parties benefited and no one gave up total rights to their intellectual property was rare, but they managed it beautifully for a decade before the du Soleils abruptly ended their contracts.
Theodore’s voice was coolly distant when he called out, “Come in, Laurence.”
Who’s Laurence?
The captain of my guard,he answered easily, the warmth of his inner voice in stark contrast to the chill he projected for his guest. Non-family guests have to be escorted onto the family floors and supervised by a guard at all times. Mr. du Soleil wants only the best, so he gets a captain.
The sound of the study door opening prompted her to lean a little closer to the door, her curiosity impossible to ignore.
A man’s voice, low and velvety, came through the small opening between the door and the jamb. “Mr. du Soleil, Sovereign. Would you like for me to stay?”
Theodore’s answer was immediate and blasé. “No, I’m sure we won’t need a chaperone. Thank you, Laurence.”
“Of course.” There was a small pause, the faintest sound of shoes on hardwood floors, before the door opened and closed again.
“What can I do for you, Olivi—”
“What fucking game are you playing?” Margot reared back, shocked by the pure vitriol in that cultured snarl. She could feel Theodore’s surprise through their bond, a small burst of emotion that set her teeth on edge.
In a mild voice, her husband replied, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate.”
Hackles raised, Margot pressed herself as close to the door as she dared. A hint of the man’s scent filtered through the gap in the door, carried by a draft of warm air from the vents above.
Being half-elvish had a few distinct benefits, and one of those was her sense of smell. She knew by scent alone that Olivier du Soleil was a man who liked expensive things. In his scent there was a thread of rich, amber cologne. Leather polish. Beeswax. The hint of musk particular to him alone.
That last thread, nearly hidden by all the rest, triggered an immediate physical reaction.
Cold sweat broke out across her chest and behind her bare knees. Her stomach knotted so tightly it felt like her insides were being squeezed in a vice. Her hands, steady since her bonding, began to shake once more.
