Fairy Bride Ch27: The Second Waltz (Patreon)

<- previous 

The restaurant buzzes with light and sound.  Immaculately-dressed waiters weave past marble pillars, popping champagne bottles and lifting the lids off silver trays.  Spencer and his wife walk arm-in-arm, passing an orchestra to their right, and to their left, the rolling waters of the Mediterranean, open on the veranda, pale against the moon.  He wears a custom-tailored black suit, and she’s clad in the glittering jewellery of her people, with a new chiffon gown.

The waiter stops them at a linen-covered table, and Keeper guides Kept to her chair.  He can feel the soft warmth of her skin, the silky texture of her long, bouncing hair.  It stirs something in his heart; he doesn’t want to let go.  He wants to pull her in, bite her neck, show to all these haughty buffoons that he is hers and she is his.  But Spencer can’t, of course.  Not yet. So he pulls out her chair, helps her get seated, and pushes it back in.  Firmly, forcefully.  Like a Keeper should.

He tries to not hear the start in her breath.

“Bonne soirée, madame et monsieur.”  The waiter flashes a notepad.  “Dois-je commencer par des boissons ?”

“Auxerrois,” Spencer replies confidently.  “Apportez-moi la plus vieille bouteille que vous ayez.  It calms the nerves.”

He flashes a little smile to Daphne as the waiter jots it down.

“Et pour le mademoiselle?”

Daphne blinks, lost in thought.  When she notices the waiter, she starts flipping frantically through the menu, occasionally glancing up at the husband.  “Ah… je…”  She giggles awkwardly.  “Je suis désolé.  Je ne parle pas très bien français.”

The waiter lifts his brows. “O-oh, it’s no problem.  I-I can speak English-”

“Non, ce ne sera pas nécessaire.  I can speak for her.”  Spencer interrupts.  “Sherry, darling?”

The waiter seems confused, but Daphne cheerfully claps her hands.  “Oui, oui!  Sherry s'il vous plaît!”

The waiter walks off, a beat too quickly.  Daphne waits a moment before offering a shy smile.  It makes Spencer’s eyes sparkle.  It’s strange how much… prettier she seems.  Like losing all that anger softened her skin.  If it wasn’t for this… strange… tightening in his chest whenever he looked at her, he’d-

“Merci beaucoup, Spence.”

Spencer blinks, smiling back.  “De rien, Daph.”

Hunger, he decides.  That’s the issue.  Spencer must be hungry.

Daphne’s expression grows wistful.  “Sorry.  I should learn more French.  And fine dining and fancy wines.  You give me all this and I-I just embarrass you…”

“Darling…”  He chuckles.  Silly Daph’s coming out.  “You’re fine.  It’s an adjustment.”

Daphne looks at the table.  “Zetti says my… service… can’t be compromised by my shortcomings.  I have a responsibility to improve for you.”

“Zetti is a magical wolf from a magical forest, who’s been Kept longer than I’ve been alive.  You’re doing great, Daphle-doo.”

“You really think that?”  Daphne laughs mirthlessly.  “After all the traditions I ignored?  It’s been three years, and I…”  Her voice grows heavy.  “... I’ve just made one mistake after the next-”

“No, no, shhh, shhh.”  He reaches over and pets her cheek.  “I’m your Keeper.  If I say you’re doing good, you are.”

She nods shakily.  “Y-Yes.”

“You made mistakes, but you learned from them.  There’s no point going back.  Not when we should be focused on our future.”

“Right.”  Daphne squints.  “Thinking about…”

She clutches her belly.

“Our future…”

Suddenly, Daphne springs up.  “I had a request, Keeper.”

He nods.

Her eyes flit from side to side.  “I know we’re not following the Dryads one-to-one, but… how would you feel about… trying out some more Court etiquette?”

He laughs incredulously.  “Are you asking for more traditions?”

“Well…”  Daphne bites her lip.  “It feels like… if I could get closer to them, we could, um… you know…” She pushes forward, bending until he can clearly see her chest.  “... lean into it.”

Spencer can feel his heart thumping.  Picturing it in his mind.  Him, coming home from work.  Her, book in hand, a mask pressed against her lips.  The evening doesn’t start with shouts or startled attempts to hide; no, when that door opens, she’s overjoyed, plodding right to him.  Those adorable little eyes looking up, relying on him to pull the bronze back and kiss her with passion.

And… and she’s going to like it, she-

“Spence?”

He hurdles back to a world of clinking cutlery.  Her cheeks are glowing.  Probably his, too.

“Heh.  Sorry, darling, just… heheheh, yes.  Let’s do it.  It’s a wonderful idea.”  He nods.

Daphne smiles and plays with her ring.  “Spence, is it okay if I speak freely for a bit?”

He laughs again.  “Do you need permission?”

She looks down.  “I-I’m not supposed to-”

“Yes, yes, ‘my responsibility’ this, ‘not my responsibility’ that.  I must say, darling, you’ve got the robot voice down pat.”

Daphne smirks.  “Well, it’s not my responsibility to-”

“Okay, okay!”  Spencer waves his hands.  “We’re at dinner.  Do you think I want to talk to my wife, or my subordinate?  Chat away, little Daph-bot!”

Daphne tilts her face and bends her arms at sharp angles.  “Beep boop.  Rrrrrr-”

Spencer erupts into giggles before cutting himself short.  He’s pretty sure this is fine.  The protocols just get so excessive.  A-and he’s not turning a ‘Daphne’ switch on, so much as he’s turning the Kept switch ‘off.’

Yeah!  Yeah.  That’s fine.

Daphne gestures around.  “This is a lovely restaurant. In a really lovely place.  Everything you’ve suggested has all been spot-on.  Thank you for this.  Truly. ”

“Most of it was Mallory, but I’ll gladly take credit,” he grins.  Spencer leans in for a kiss, and Daphne reciprocates.  But for once, it’s his ruse.  With her distracted, he swipes her menu out underhand.  Skimming the text, he can’t help but sympathise with the little nymph.  They don’t even have English on the bottom.

“Ah!  Spence!”  She reaches for it.

He pulls it further back.  “Since you needed help with translations…”

She springs up, snatching the menu back and flipping through it on her own.  “I-I can handle this,” she says quickly, her cheeks bright red.  “There’s enough similar words-”

“You’re holding it upside down, darling.”

She wasn’t, but Daphne flips it anyway.  Spencer pushes out his chair.  “Come on, up!  You’re not going to make me shout over the table, are you?”

“Up?  But where?”  Her eyes follow his hand as Spencer gently pats his lap.  She stammers.  “Yuh… You’re bluffing.  In front of everyone?  A Keeper is r-responsible for his Kept’s reputation.  H-he wouldn’t embarrass her in public-”

“Then I suppose this isn’t embarrassing!”

In truth, Spencer was bluffing.  He’s prepared to end the joke right there.  But before he can manage, a flustered Daphne rises from her seat, eyes shut, and tucks herself against the lap.  Clutching the table for balance.  Spencer’s expression goes blank.

“Does this…”  She shudders.  “... please my Keeper?”

He knots his brow.  Well, shit, if she’s playing…

“Very, very much.”  He kisses her cheek.  “Now, hors-d'œuvre, fun fact, means ‘appetiser.’  So…”

Spencer stops, looks back up.  Daphne’s skin has grown pale.  With her grip on the table, the glassware is rattling, a petal from their customary vase of roses falling to the cloth.

“Darling?”

“Keep going.”  She offers a small smile.  “Just c-cold.”

“... Okay.”  Spencer blinks a few times before returning to the menu.  “Soupe du jour…”

Reading all these foods.  That must be why he’s feeling so hungry.

While the waiter pours their wine, Spencer’s attention never leaves his wife.  She’s back in her seat, watching a young boy get his tray, the boy clapping and laughing when the lobster he picked out is cracked open for him.  Spencer’s wife folds her arms over her stomach, looking away from the boisterous display.  They had seen that lobster, vibrant and alive, only thirty minutes before.

But that’s so… sad.  Spencer would rather occupy himself with pleasant thoughts.  The wine’s finally here, thank God, and a new prank enters his mind.  Just a small one, to get that signature Daphne fluster.  Something to make the night feel more…

… normal.

The waiter pulls out his notepad.  “Monsieur?”

“Je pensais au magret de canard, même si je dois l'admettre, le poulpe grillé a aussi l'air savoureux.  Je vais essayer les deux.”  Spencer hands over the menu.

The waiter.  “Et la mademoiselle?”

She moves her lips silently, going over the order in her head one more time.  “Je voudrais-”

“The lobster, right?”  Spencer smirks, expecting an angry glare.  He doesn’t get one.  Instead, she just stares at him blankly, then reopens the menu to the seafood section.  Spencer looks aghast.

“Um… ah…”  Daphne squints.  “The, uh, homard à la crème sounds pretty nice-”

“Darling!”  Spencer interrupts.  “I was joking!”

Daphne blinks a few times.  “Joke?”

“Y-yes!”  He gestures wildly.  “Go on, say your line!”

“Oh.  Ah… Je voudrais le carré d'agneau.  Le feriez-vous cuire à rosé?”

The waiter eyes Spencer suspiciously, so the Keeper gives an awkward laugh.  “S-sorry about that.  We get silly!”

“... Je vois.”  The waiter doesn’t seem amused.  Still, he writes it all down and walks away.  Spencer sighs, sinking into his hands.

Daphne holds out a white silk handkerchief, offering it to him.  “Keeper?  You’re sweating.”

He frowns.  “Daphne, what was that?  You were going to actually order lobster?  Do you think I’m that cruel?”

“Well, God, Spencer, how was I supposed to know!?”  There it is.  A flash of anger crosses her eyes.  “You’re always making me do stupid- “

Abruptly, it’s gone.  Daphne cuts herself off, looking at the ground.

“Sorry.  I-I’m sorry, Keeper.  I was being too emotional again.  I should have realised…”  Daphne giggles to herself and curls her hand into a fist, lightly rapping her head.  “Nymph moment!”

Her smile returns, magically growing across her face.  Spencer’s expression is frozen.  “Darling, I just wanted to get a rise out of you.  You know?  The pouty face and all that?”

“O-Oh…”  Daphne’s eyes flash again.  She furrows her brows and crosses her arms, scowling.  “You’re a menace, Mr. Harcourt.  W-worst person I’ve ever met!  ...does that help?”

The light fades from his eyes.  No.  No, that’s really not helping.

“WINE!”  Spencer practically jumps from his seat, swiping up his glass.  “We need a toast!”

And another bottle, probably.  Or two.  Or five!

Metal presses against his skin -  Daphne’s jewellery.  She’s holding his hand.

“What are you doing?” he asks, unsure.

“Oh, you know, it’s a human thing, right?”  She squeezes his fingers.  “I’m told humans do this.”

He laughs.  That's right.  She’s a nymph.  She doesn’t feel like humans do, and he shouldn’t feel bad - nay, it’s his duty - to admit that.  That’s why she didn’t get the prank; she’s confused, not scared.  And she’s probably going to forget it all, anyway!

It’s so easy to forget that she’s not human.

“S-Spence?”

He doesn’t see her grimace until he’s called out.  Spencer’s gripping her hand so fiercely that the knuckles shine white.  He releases immediately.  “Sorry!”

“No, it’s okay.  See?”  She lifts her palm up, his indents already fading.  “Just a little tight.”  Daphne takes the bottle and pours wine for both of them.  “What are we toasting to?”

“You pick.”

She purses her lips.  “When we first met, you told me you wanted to help spread my wings.  And here we are.  So how about that?”

Spencer smiles.  “To soaring.”

Clink.

“Sir Moonbeam is so desperate to prove himself at Lady Virinia’s tournament that he spends all night riding through the rain!  But, heh, it’s not the best decision.  They arrive in time to enter the lists, but Squire Sorrel finds that his master’s fallen ill!”

“Squire Sorrel should just smack him.”  Spencer lazily sips his wine.  He doesn’t know what glass he’s on, but Daphne’s not counting either. “Whole story, he’s been following this guy’s heels, and Moonbeam would still drop him for Virinia in a heartbeat.  Man’s a tosser.”

“But he’s in love, Spencer.  Sorrel knows this tournament’s the most important thing ever to him!”  Daphne leans over the table, speaking with a conspiratorial quiet.  “So he lets Sir Moonbeam rest…”

“Why are we whispering?”  Spencer asks.

“Hush!”  She bops his nose.  “He lets Sir Moonbeam rest, steals his armour-”

“Oh, darling, refill?”

She takes his glass.  “He steals the armour and enters the tourney in his name!”

“What!?”  Spencer gasps.  “But Sorrel can’t win!  He’s been getting his arse walloped since Chapter 3!”

“That’s what makes it so romantic!”  Daphne bounces.

“What’s romantic about dying?”  Spencer whines.  “You women…”

“See, Sorrel’s been training the whole book, and he’s so filled with passion-”

“Okay, so, this is a bodice-ripper, right?”  Spencer interrupts, sipping greedily.  “You keep talking about knights and tournaments, but where’s the sauce?  The steam?”

“Oh.”  Daphne smirks.  “There might be some steam.  One or two really memorable bits.”

Spencer waits.  “...such as…?”

Daphne folds her arms.  “You’ll have to read the story.”

“DAPHNE LOUISE HARCOURT!”  Spencer springs from his chair, pinching her cheeks.  “You’re the silliest nymph who’s ever NYMPHED!”

She lets out a scream that dissolves into giggles.

“Yeah, keep laughing, you little demon, then tell me the good parts!”

“Nympsh aren’t DEMONSH, Shpence!  Wrong…”  She lazily lifts her glass, laughing woozily.  “Wrong mythology.”

Still smirking, Daphne empties her glass.  Spencer leans back, satisfied.  It’s nice that she can still get loose like this.  See, he knew the wine would work!

“Well, it’s comforting to know you enjoyed a bit of male action before your transition.”  Spencer joins her drinking.  “With that dryad woman and all…”

“Were you worried that I was a lesbian?”  Daphne giggles, pouring another glass.  “Innit a bit late to check?”

“Ehhhhh…”  He bobs his head until the sting wears off.  “You might be surprised to hear, darling, but… I can get a little insecure.”

There’s a moment of silence, before they both burst into laughter.

“What was it like, actually?”  Spencer asks. “Before you transitioned?”

“Youuuuu wanna know?”  She squints.  “Feels a bit against your… ideal of me.”

“I’m not a prude,” he wobbles.  “Daphne, I went to an all-boys boarding school.  Do you think we were all straight arrows?”

“Ohhh.”  She tilts her head suggestively.  Or, rather, tries to.  “Well if my Keeper is asking… I honestly don’t know how to put it.  Different, definitely different, but not that much?”

“Well there was a fae woman inside you the whole time.  Did you ever… feel her?  Have a more… feminine spirit?”

“Well, people called me ‘delicate,’ but that was all-”  She stops when she hears Spencer’s giggles.  Scowls.  “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Spencer replies, smiling impishly.

She leans forward.  “Wanna share your little joke with the class?”

“I might, but I’m worried the subject might topple over,” he winks.  “And then she’ll smash into tiny bits!”

“Insufferable!”  Daphne tries to shout over his laughter.  “No!  You are not going to start pulling the same shit that Ian-”

There’s a pause.  She blinks.

Spencer lifts his brow.  “Who’s Ian?”

“Ian?  Shit, I haven’t thought about him in…”  Suddenly, Daphne jolts up.  Smiling coyly as she swipes her glass.  “Waaaaaait, nearly fell into that one!  I’m not sh’pposed to be talking about my old friends.”

“No, go on.”  Spencer waves, noting her shock.  “If he had good jokes, I’ll need them for my repertoire.”

That, and this is the first time she’s ever mentioned a friend by name.

Daphne folds her arms.  “Well, anytime I was grumpy, he’d be like, ‘time o’ the month, innit?’  And laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world. It… it hit different when I was a guy, but…”  Daphne blinks, looking out to the waves.  “... he asked me out once, ya know?  Always meant to… take him up on that.”

Spencer grimaces.  That tightness is coming back.  He’s about to speak up when-

“Messeurs.”  Daphne’s eyes light up as the waiter returns, three plates in hand.  Spencer starts arranging his silverware while the waiter grabs their empty bottle.  “Another drink?”

“Yes, I…”  Spencer stops, scowling at his fork.  It’s light, ornately designed, but… the way it reflects in the light…

Daphne yelps.  Something small clatters onto the table.  Spencer turns just in time to see her shove her hand beneath the tablecloth, biting her lip.

“Darling?”

“It’s fine, Spence, I’m fine.  Just clumsy!”  She chuckles awkwardly.  “P-probably enough sherry…”

He presses the fork to his nose, and his eyes flare.

The waiter watches the interplay, confused.  “Monsieur?”

“Steel?”  Spencer springs up, getting in the waiter’s face.  “Care to explain why the forks are stainless steel!?”

The waiter blinks.  “I-I-”

“Three times, I called this place.  Three times, I explained.  Sterling silver.  Nothing less.  Because my wife is allergic to iron!”

“Spence!”  She gets up with him.  “It’s just a little-”

“Show me.”  He puts enough weight behind his words to make clear there will be no resistance.  Daphne lifts her hand to him, betraying the pink welt on her thumb.

“See?”  She pleads.  “Small.  It’s fine-”

“It’s not fine!”  Spencer drags her forward by the wrist, showing her hand to the waiter.  “See that?  That’s a result of your negligence.  You’re hurting her!”

The waiter’s eyes glaze over.  “Monsieur, I don’t know what to say.”

“You can start by saying-”

“Spencer!”

He stalls, feeling her wrist trembling in his hand.  She’s scared.  But her eyes are on him.  Something about her face wipes all the fury from his voice.  The restaurant has fallen silent.  Spencer releases her and breathes slowly, deeply, before turning back to the waiter.

“... be very glad my wife is more patient than I, monsieur, or this establishment would be in deep water.”  Spencer sits back down with a huff.  “Silver utensils.  If you can’t find any, buy some more.  We’ll speak about this later.”

“O-oui, monsieur.  Des couverts en argent, tout de suite.”

The waiter hurries off, and Spencer resumes his posture.  “It’s over, darling,” he whispers.  “I’m sorry if that upset you, but I need to keep you safe.”

“O-o-okay,” she nods vacantly, looking down.

“And now your meal will grow cold,” he sighs.  “Goddammit, on our last night.”

“H-hands.”  She fiddles with the napkin as her face bends in a knot.  “I-I could use my hands.”

“Not in that dress you’re-”  Spencer stops again when he sees the way she jolts. “I mean, thank you, Daphne, but I’ll take care of this.  Let’s keep the suggestions off right now?”

“O-Of course,” she nods again.

Spencer rests his chin on his hand.  What to do?  No telling when the waiter will be back, and using napkins will just make a mess.  Think, Spencer, think!  Daphne NEEDS you!

Suddenly, his eyes light up.  With a start, Spencer grabs her plate, and cuts the lamb into small, Daphne-sized bites.  She watches on, confused.  “Spence?”

“You can’t use iron,” he half-whispers.  His cutting quickens.  “You’re a nymph, and there’s just some things nymphs can’t do.  But that’s why you have me, your Keeper.  So when something stands in your way…”

He pierces a piece with his fork and lifts it towards her.  “... I can do it for you.  Slide your chair over, Daphne.  Let me feed you.”

Daphne stares at him, waiting for him to stop joking, but Spencer is deathly serious.  “You want me to bite it off the fork you’re holding?”

“Carefully,” he nods.

“With my mouth?”

“That’s usually where food goes!”

“In front of everyone?”

He shrugs, and she offers a nervous grimace, but slides out anyhow.  She slowly manoeuvres her chair towards him, plopping herself back down.  He presses his legs against hers, keeping her locked and steady, then holds the fork carefully before her.  Her cheeks red, Daphne leans in and bites.  Once her teeth dig into the meat, Spencer cautiously slides the metal out.

“See?”  He takes a bite from his own plate.  “It works.”

Daphne nods, but she can’t stop looking around.

Their meal progresses like that for half an hour.  Alternating between her bite and his.  Hers and his.  She never stops taking it slow, he never stops paying attention.  And through their coordination, no mess is made.

When their plates are nearly empty, Spencer hangs the fork out expectantly.  But Daphne doesn’t reciprocate.  She’s looking down at her thumb.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.  “You’re shaking.”

“I’ve had worse.”  Her smile turns lopsided.  “Just sensitive tonight.  Like you said, we’re both adjusting.”

Adjusting, yeah.  What a great word.  Explains why he lost his temper.

“You know you can still come to me, right?”  Spencer smiles.  “If you’re ever hurt, or scared, I want to know.  I want you to feel safe.”

“Of course, Spence.  You’ve made that crystal clear.”

“I-I have,” he sputters.  “But…”

He looks back at his plate, frowning.  Despite the service, he can’t fault the food.  Both dishes have been devoured.

So why is he still hungry?

Why has it only gotten worse?

“Darling.  Can I… share something that’s been on my mind?”

“Mmm?”  She scooches closer.

Spencer doesn’t meet her eyes.  “Have I ever told you about my mother?”

It feels like the restaurant fades around them.  Daphne speaks carefully.  “You haven’t.”

“Heh, makes sense.”  His smile quavers.  “I don’t think I’ve told anyone.”

She takes his hand.  “... I’m here, Spencer.  I’ll listen.  If you want.”

“Okay.”  He feels his body start curling itself inward.  Doesn’t know how to stop it, so he just starts speaking.

“My father’s a calculating man.  That’s how he married, spent more time wooing Mother’s parents than actually courting her.  He learned golf.  Changed his politics.  Threw himself into the London estate just so he could show it off.  The ends always justify the means to him, even if he didn’t truly care for the ends.”

Daphne furrows her brows.  “He didn’t like her?”

“He liked her dowry.  He liked her estate.  He liked that she could bear children, but the woman herself?  Not worth exchanging a word.”

Daphne frowns.  “And how did she feel about him?”

“I don’t think anyone ever asked.  Publicly, that made her look all smiles about the marriage, but change comes slowly in Ashford.  It was forc…”

He notes the way Daphne’s eyes dim when he says it.

“... a different time.”  He says instead.  “A very different time.”

A few seconds pass before they awkwardly look away.

“Even then, it could have worked,” Spencer nods.  “With care, and commitment, and time.  All relationships have sacrifices, right?  Mother was willing to put her feelings aside.  But Father…relationships were too complicated for him.  Risky investments.  He prefers transactions instead.  Giving gifts, bartering favours.  It works in Parliament, why not at home?  But the only use he saw in Mother was her body.  Her love was just a distraction.”

Spencer reaches for his glass, wincing when he finds it empty.  Daphne pours the remnants of her sherry into his glass.  He lifts it in acknowledgement, but that only reveals how he’s shaking.

“How can someone live like that?  Cut off from the world, with a husband who thinks of you as an asset?  Mother started falling.  Fast.  Easier to do with our means.  Father only noticed when an overdose brought her to the hospital.  That, he couldn’t abide.  His image was at stake.”

Spencer plucks a rose from the vase and spins it between his thumb and forefinger.

“But, again, my Father is a calculating man.  He realised he didn’t have to devote himself to his flower like every other miserable sod. She was so isolated at this point that all her nutrients came from him.  So instead of wasting time on daily waterings, he thought to dump buckets of water, all at once.  Twice as exciting. Thrice as fast.

“So once every month, Mother was trotted out from her little cage and paraded like a prize pet.  She shook hands with the Queen.  Held the best balls in Southern England.  Visited Grandpa’s colony every summer and the Continent each season. And every time, before she was locked back up, Father made sure she knew it all came from him. And…”

One of the petals crushes against his fingers.

“... heh, it’s the funniest thing.  The constant highs and lows, they didn’t make her angry.  She just grew… completely devoted.  Never lifted a finger against him, never refused his orders.  And God forbid if her kid started crying or wanted to talk if Father needed…”

Spencer stops himself, taking harsh breaths.  No, no, no.  This isn’t about him.

He sighs.  “It didn’t matter that she was still being torn apart.  Wilting away.  If she could just find some way to please Father, she had a solution.  So when I came, the son they’d always dreamed of, she thought Father would finally set her free.  And he did.  For a time.  Until her son started stuttering.”

Spencer tries to force a smile as the flower falls from his hand.

“You can figure out how that went.”

Daphne squeezes his hand.  Her eyes have misted over.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.  Been a long time,” he shrugs.  “There weren’t any balls after that.  Or holidays.  But I never understood why he just… left her to rot in our home.  Heh, you know?  Was he jealous over his prize, or dih-did he actually think that huh-huh-husk could be a-”

“Shhhh.  You're okay, Spence, you’re okay.”  Daphne leans forward, petting his arm.

Spencer sniffles.  “I just… I know this hasn’t been ideal.”

“Spencer…”

“And I know so much has happened, but darling, I’ll do anything-”

“You are not like him.”

Daphne’s voice is so heavy that it makes Spencer’s heart stop.  He looks into her eyes.

“You gave me this, and this, and this, and this.”  She points to her dress, her jewels, her glamour, her meal.  “You give me time, as much as you’re able.  And never because I’m an asset, but only because you love me.  Even this trip, just an excuse to get me outside and make some friends.  You saw I was lonely before I even did.  Would a bad husband see that?”

Spencer nervously swallows.  “I… I don’t-”

“Spencer, you’ve given me a life.”  Daphne cups his cheeks in her hands. “And yes, it’s been hard, but I’ve never known so strongly that somebody loves me.  I… I’m glad that person is my Keeper.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes.  “Thank you.  Thank you.  I-”

“Here.”  She rises to her feet and offers her hand.  “I have an idea.”

He giggles.  “Thought I told my Kept to turn off suggestions.”

“You also told her she can speak freely,” she smiles back.  “Come on.  Your little flower wants to enjoy the night air.  Together.”

Spencer leans on the balcony, the orchestra’s music in his ears and his eyes glued to the manager’s door.  Daphne went in a minute ago, alone.  Wants to keep her plan a secret, and for once, it doesn’t worry him.  So what if he can’t see her?

He knows she’ll come back.

The door opens, and the manager marches out first, a sultry-looking Daphne shortly after.  Spencer catches the man’s apologetic glance before speaking.  “Productive?”

“After a bunch of blustering ‘sorrys’, yes.”  Her heels clack as she nears him.

“Any chance I can squeeze your plan out of you?”

“Patience, Keeper.  Do you need me to count the seconds?”  She leans into his arm.

“Careful now.”  He pets her hair.  “Keepers gotta Keep.  If Daph-Daph gets too cheeky, she might need retribution.”

She smirks.  “As if you don’t like it.”

He’s about to reply when a rush of music pricks his ears.  A stirring, sauntering rhythm.  Spencer starts tapping his foot immediately, eyes wide.  “No.  You didn’t.”

“Shostakovich, Waltz No. 2!”  She grabs his hand.  “Hurry!  We can’t miss a beat!”

“I- DARLING!”  He shouts as she bounds across the floor, dragging him.  “Waaaaaait!”

She rushes down the stairs, Spencer struggling behind her.  Laughing with abandon to the dance of their first date.

They reach the floor quickly, Daphne snapping them into place.  Spencer’s hand clutches the cuffs on her wrists.

“Alright!”  She shouts.  “Guide!”

“What?”

They’re already spinning.  “Teach me how to dance!”

Spencer blinks.  “We just thrashed around the first time,”

“I don’t want to thrash around,” Daphne beams.  “I want to do it right.”

Touching her like this, seeing her like this, it makes his heart burst.  Spencer chuckles, looking down at their feet.  “Okay, half-tempo.  Back, left, forward, right.”

She bites her tongue.  “Back, left, forward, right.”

“Good, good.  Again!  Back- no, darling, flow with the music!”  He watches her feet slow and grow stilted.  “You’re overthinking things, just like last time!”

“But there’s…”  Daphne’s eyes flit across the room.  “You should command me to dance better.  That way I’m not making a fool of myself-”

“Denied!”

“Why!?”

“Because that’s cheating!”  He smirks.  “Now step back, and to the side.”

She does her best, and he makes them turn, still barking out instructions.

“Back, left, forward, right, yes!  Back, left, forward, SPIN!”

Daphne bursts into laughter as she twirls, placed well enough that Spencer can keep posture with her.  They’re buzzing faster now, circling across the dance floor like a revolving world.  Daphne watches the swirling mess, a light forming in her eyes.  “Hey, it’s really working!  We’re going faster!”

“We are!”

“What now?”

“You release!”  He takes a step forward, forcing her to lean flexibly back.  Daphne gasps before she’s snapped back, but re-enters his arms with a thrilled smile.  She closes her eyes as they twirl, bobbing to the music.  He feels her loosen into his grip, trusting him to pull them around.  The more she relaxes, the more quickly her laughter comes, crashing over him like a wave.

It’s the most beautiful sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

When Daphne opens her eyes, there’s a new fire, matching the heat of the music’s crescendo.  She starts to pull whenever he pushes.  They take turns leading: him, her, him, her.  Not bound in battle, but like soldiers in lockstep, marching with discipline, moving with grace.

The more they spin, the more they leave the world behind them.  Form is lost beneath a mad dash for feeling.  Spencer laughs away the memories and douses the fears.  Bliss and joy surge with each step, hurdling them towards a higher plane.  As the music reaches its final, triumphant note, he finds the strength to hoist her by her sides.

He doesn’t feel tired.  He doesn’t feel strained.  He feels whole, and pure, and invincible.

Daphne blinks as the music ends.  Her heels are four feet from the ground.  And she’s postured like a bird taking off.  Outstretched wings.

Spencer smiles through grit teeth as he sets her down.  “Whew.  God, keeping up with you, I really did need cocaine.  My back’s gonna kill me-”

He’s cut off by her kiss, sudden and strong as she presses herself into him.  Spencer’s cheeks burst into red, but he still closes his eyes.  Uses the chance to push her body down, making it all the easier to devour her.

They hold for far longer than propriety allows, but Spencer would never let this moment end.  A moment without orders, or twitching.  It beckons to become everlasting.

And then, just like that, the pain in his chest is gone.  Spencer no longer feels hunger.

Daphne’s in his arms.  Willingly, happily, lovingly.  Just like she’ll always be.  A dream beyond his dreams.

Now just a nightmare away.

Howdy everyone!  Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

A big shout-out to Heart for the immense effort she provided for this chapter.  I was really struggling with these scenes during the rough draft phase, and she offered to take a workday for us to both crack it out.  You can see bits of her style in Daphne’s characterisation here!

And, for anyone curious, the ‘Sir Moonbeam’ story Daphne’s talking about is the saucy fantasy book Ian found in Chrysalis, Chapter 1.

The Tower has come.  The future awaits.  Tune in next Friday, January 19th, to see the end of Spencer and Daphne’s fairy tale in Chapter 28: The Fairy Bride.  I’ll see you then.