Heart's Desire

And a city. And a challenge. Liri laughed, it was a fluting sound. As lovely as her pipes, as fickle as the wind, and as slippery as water. "I believe it is time we paid he Emperor a visit," she said, tucking her pipes away and stroking he copper back of her cunning, rusting messenger.

        So, it happened on that very evening, the Emperor was a grand affair. Masquerade and sumptuous feasting, in honor of his twenty-fifth nameday. All the lords and ladies of the realm had been invited. Particularly the single ladies, as the sovereign was yet, unwed.

        In fact, the Emperor cared very little for balls, less for dancing, and young unwed ladies had been the bane of his existence for the past seven years. His advisors had been insistent about the even, though. His Eminence must find a suitable wife! His Eminence absolutely must provide an Heir! After all, the Leonis Dynasty had been unbroken for over two thousand years. How could His Eminence fail to see the importance of begetting a child?

        The king was a romantic. It was not a terribly desirable quality for a man who must eventually marry for the good of the empire, but such was fact. He hated the clamoring, petty, simpering nobles, who thrust their likewise clamoring, petty, and simpering daughters on him. How was it that reality fell so short of the ballads he had known and loved all his life? If only...

        But no. He thrust his heart's desire down beneath the blanket of responsibility.

        He had given in at last because the advisors were getting o be even worse a nuisance than the women. So it was that the reluctant Emperor found himself drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne, the evening of the masquerade. while his subjects whirled past him on the dance floor in inebriated delight. Swans, unicorns, dragons, and cats. The masks filled the hall with feathered and furred gaiety. Thus far he had managed o slight one buck-toothed dove, at least three rather plump felines, and a very chatty but petulant dragonfly as each found her advances were ignored. He did not care. The night would be horribly endless as it was.

        Just as he was about to gesture to his steward for more wine to ease the passage of time, a sixth sense beckoned his gaze, and he looked up to the entrance way.

        An ethereal specter stood at the top of the staircase. She wore a russet mask of a fox's face, to match the color of the copper mane that flowed down her back. Her gown was of silk so gossamer it looked like shimmering cobwebs. As he watched she walked - no, drifted down the steps. He could not tear his eyes away from that terrifyingly beautiful figure. To his amazement, she headed to the foot of his throne, and curtsied so low, her skirts were a silver puddle at her feet. He found himself on his feet. More than one envious female gaze was upon the strikingly beautiful woman. Surroundings melted away, and all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. All he could see was the shimmering mirage of copper, pearl, and flesh before him.

        He descended the dais to stand level with her, and offered his hand to raise her from the obeisance. She rose with a smile. "My Lady," he said through dry lips and a parched throat. "What may I have the honor of calling you?"

        The smile never left her face.