Fairy Bride Ch21: An Open Hand (Patreon)

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As the Kept’s feet land in the grass, and his Keeper undoes the harness, Daphne can make out their features more clearly.  Alienor is decades ahead of him, her wrinkles and short hair submerged by the shadow of her black hat.  Benezetto’s neck and cheeks are layered in scars, and the suit does little to hide his musculature.  He lacks any of the glowing qualities that so often mark the fae.

But when he smiles at Daphne, she notes sharp fangs.

Alienor lifts a black-gloved hand in the air, and theatrically pulls on Benezetto’s leash before they approach with synchronised steps.  “Apologies for the sudden arrival.  Our hearts melted when we heard of your struggle, there was no time to waste.”  Alienor puts her other hand over her heart, speaking with a strangely thick French accent.  “In recompense, I’ll forgive the lack of rafraîchissements.”

Despite the lyricism of her words, her voice is utterly toneless.

“Struggles?  What struggles?”  Daphne turns to her husband, desperately trying to pull down her forced smile.  “Did you tell them about-”

“Yeah.”  Spencer says distantly.

Daphne fumes.  For somebody so paranoid about her spilling secrets, Spencer sure does mention them to every person he comes across.  “What on Earth have you gotten us into?”

The piercing blue of his eyes have glazed over.  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Harcourt!”  Alienor catches their attention, now only metres away.  She lifts her hand towards Spencer.  “I’m waiting.”

It takes him a moment to realise.  “Oh, sorry!  Welcome, welcome!”  Spencer leaps off the chair and kneels in the grass, kissing her fingers.  In his absence, Daphne and Zetti stare at each other in silence, never blinking.

Spencer awkwardly giggles.  “I hope the travel was-”

“She’s wearing blue.”  Alienor slides her hand away harshly.  “And her hat is yellow.”

Daphne pales.  Spencer does a double-take, looking up.  “Uh, heheh, the dress is white.  That’s what matters.”

“... I see.”  Alienor shoves the leash into Spencer’s hands, so forcefully that he nearly falls over.  “Hold onto Zetti while I inspect her.”

Daphne immediately springs up, backing away.  Unfortunately, the pool is right behind her, leaving her trapped at the edge.  Spencer starts to object, before he’s interrupted by a series of loud, sharp sniffs.  He slowly draws himself up to match ‘Zetti,’ but the Kept is easily a head taller.  “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Dry birch.  Moroccan jasmine.”  Zetti’s voice is low and smooth.  He sniffs again.  “Hints of vanilla and ambergris.  You’re wearing Aventus by Creed, aren’t you?”

Spencer awkwardly smiles.  “Sure?”

“It doesn’t hide your sweat.  Or your fear.”

Spencer’s face collapses.  Before Daphne can hear his reply, Alienor steps forward, fully shrouding her vision.  “Bonjour.  You must be Daphne.”

Daphne folds her hands together and opens her mouth to speak… but the Keeping stalls her voice.  Alienor watches her fluster bares what could be faintly considered a smile.  “So he mutes you, as well.”

The woman grabs Daphne’s arm, thumb pressing into the skin. Daphne flinches back, unable to object, but Alienor only hisses a breath.

“Harcourt!  Command the Kept to stop twitching.”

“Uh, I don’t think-”

Alienor turns and gives him a withering glance.

“Stop moving, Daphne!”  Spencer smiles apologetically, while Daphne’s muscles turn stiff and her eyes flash with terror.  Alienor continues prodding, ignoring Spencer’s anxious chuckle.  “Uh, heheh, is there a reason you need to-”

He sputters as Alienor sticks her fingers into Daphne’s mouth.

“-oh-okay, yeah.”  He pretends to nod casually.  “Perfectly necessary.”

If Daphne could move, she’s not sure she could have held back from biting.  Alienor rubs each tooth with her thumb, speaking with casual satisfaction.  “She’s in excellent condition.  You’d be surprised how many of these creatures forget basic hygiene.”

Spencer casts a nervous side-eye towards Zetti.  He tries to step away, but the Kept follows his movements, equidistant.

“Hmmm…”  Alienor pulls down on Daphne’s lips, frowning as they spring back into a frozen smile.  “Did you order her to smile like this?”

“Oh, heh, we were just playing around!”  Spencer waves his hand.  “I wouldn’t-”

“I think it suits her marvellously.”  Alienor steps back, putting a hand on her chin.

“You do?”  Spencer’s face lights up.  He gestures triumphantly at his Kept, puffing out his chest.  “See, Daph?  Others agree!”

“Yes, it really accentuates her helplessness.”

And just like that, he deflates.

While Daphne struggles to think of some way to save her dignity, Alienor steps behind her.  There’s a tug at her hair, a rush of wind - and the Glamour falls.  Daphne feels scratches at her wings, with uncomfortably familiar, businesslike she’s grown to rapidly dislike.

“Dye,” Alienor comments, rubbing the residue on her glove.  “Did you have to make them so garish?”

Spencer gives her an exasperated look, holding up Zetti’s leash.  “If only we had your sense of taste.”

If Alienor catches the joke, she doesn’t show it.  “J'ai terminé.”

“You can move and talk now, Daphne!”

Daphne sighs in relief, surreptitiously trying to flex her mouth as far as she can.  The taste of the woman’s glove will not leave.

“Overall…”  Alienor nods.  “... I’m impressed.  You’ve Kept her well.  There are gaps, to be sure, but she appears quite tame.”

“Ah…”  Spencer blinks, uncertain.  “Thank you?”

Alienor bows her head and smiles.  “How often do you bed her?”

Without the Keeping to root her to the spot, Daphne flinches.  A flustered Spencer clears his throat.  “Um, I-I think that’s rather forward for our first meeting-”

He stops when Zetti sniffs right next to him.  “Judging by his nerves, mistress, not recently.”   The Kept smirks.

Spencer drops the leash, backing away.  “R-Right, thank you for such a non-invasive observation.  Madame Lousteau, does he always shame people like this?”

“What Zetti speaks of should not cause shame.”  Alienor walks towards her Kept, gladly accepting the embrace he offers.  “They’re animals, Spencer, beasts of the Wilds.  They’re more in touch with their carnal urges than we humans.  If we fail to sate them, we fail in our responsibility.”

Elegantly, Alienor drums her fingers down Zetti’s spine.  He leans down and kisses her with heated, vocal passion.  Spencer clears his throat again, looking away as he retreats towards his wife.  Daphne’s eyes are firmly on the ground.

“How about I go fix drinks?”  She mutters to Spencer.  She has no idea what the villa offers, but that just means she’d have a lot more time searching.

“No!”  Spencer grabs her jacket.  “You are not leaving me alone with these people.”

“You’re the one that - “

“You’re welcome to join us, you know,” Alienor interrupts.  Zetti gives them both a wolfish grin.

Spencer and Daphne pause, before stepping a safe distance away from each other.  “Oh, hahah!  While that’s certainly an… intriguing offer,” Spencer gulps.  “Daphne and I were feeling quite…”

He looks to her for help.  “Hungry,” she says flatly, avoiding anything approaching innuendo.

“Hungry!” he nods.  “Can’t ‘bed’ each other on an empty stomach!  Care to come?”

“No need.”  Alienor sinks into Zetti’s arms.  “I was already served an excellent breakfast.”

“Killed the goat with my bare hands this morning.”  Zetti smiles proudly.  “For humans, an excellent source of B12 when served raw.  My mistress does so love her skin.”

Alienor pulls him in by the leash, staring dreamily.  “That I do.”

Spencer fails to find a reply before they start kissing again, leaving Daphne hanging in the silence.  She blows out a slow breath.  “I’m, uh, planning to cook as well!  Uh… mushroom stew!”

That catches Zetti’s attention.  He studies her curiously.  “Really?  Are there good foraging grounds nearby?”

She shrugs.  “The supermarket?”

“Supermarket?”  Zetti laughs heartily.  “Mistress, is that how all Earth-born are?  She sounds domesticated!”

Alienor joins in his laughter, leaving Daphne to awkwardly stare at her boots.

“Speaking of le monde fableaux,” Alienor turns towards Spencer.  “The Kept seems rather undecorated, does she not?  You mentioned a collection!”

Daphne’s muscles tighten, and she glances toward him, a hint of fury fighting with the terrified knot in her stomach.  Spencer starts sputtering a response, but Alienor continues, unperturbed.

“Don’t you think it rather unsporting to not provide us a taste?”

Spencer laughs nervously, stepping away from Daphne.  “Actually, Madame Lousteau, heh, the collection isn’t really for her.”

Alienor’s face shifts.  “What?”

“Daphne finds them restrictive.  As your Kept pointed out, she’s Annwyn-born.”  Spencer raises his hands defensively.  “So we’ve come to an… alternative arrangement.”

Now it’s Zetti‘s turn to look at them, perplexed.  “Then,” he starts.  “How are you disciplining her?  Why is she twitching like that?”

Daphne tries to clamp down on her muscles, even as she feels something twist.

“... Um…”  Spencer looks at Daphne desperately.  “I suppose sometimes we have timeouts-”

Zetti growls.  Alienor’s eyes flash.  “Harcourt, you know these creatures don’t respond to ‘timeouts.’”  She huffs.

“Well…”  Spencer swallows, gaze juddering left and right.  “A-Actually, a-and muh-maybe this is a little, heheheh, unorthodox to the nuh-norm-”

“Eyes on me, Harcourt,” Alienor hisses.  “You keep looking at your Kept for approval.”

Spencer snaps to attention, sweat dripping from his brow.  “We’ve sorta… opted out of… corporal… punishment.”

Their looks make her feel sick to her stomach.  Like they’re staring at a freak show.  Like Spencer is acting inconceivably wrong, but for all the wrong reasons.

Alienor points to Daphne.  “Spencer, was that jacket your idea?”\

Daphne’s eyes grow wide.  She knows exactly where this is going.  Spencer, don’t-

“Yuh-yes,” he nods quickly.  “Uh, she picked out, but I-”

Fuck.

Alienor’s brows furrow.  “Is she the one refusing your advances?”

Spencer pales.  He finally gets it, too.  “N-Now, wait a second, that’s an extremely complicated-”

“How often are you listening to her suggestions?”  Alienor asks sternly.

“... I’m trying.”  Spencer blinks.  “Shouldn’t I be?”

There’s a pause.  Zetti leans down.  “Mistress, if I may?”

“Speak your truth,” she nods.

“Monsieur Harcourt is a politician, and in my service to you, I’ve learned that such men excel at maintaining appearances.  He is likely hiding the full extent of their deviancy.”

“Duh-Deviancy?”  Spencer sputters.

“You have a kind heart, sir, and clearly care deeply for your Kept.  But the Groves are filled with stories of the consequences such kindness can bring.”  Zetti stands a little straighter.  “I believe the English phrase is ‘sparing the rod.’”

Alienor’s expression doesn’t change, but Daphne sees something wild kindle in her eyes.  She starts looking frantically around for escapes, as Spencer mutters uselessly in front of her.

“And how do the Groves deal with such troublemakers, beloved?”  Alienor asks.

“In Foresta Nera, they would be disciplined by the authorities.  But in their absence…”  He looks at her sternly.

Slowly, she nods.

“Wait!  Just… wait.”  Daphne walks forward, ignoring Spencer’s panicked glare.  If he’s not going to stop them, somebody has to.  “You think he’s treating me lightly!?”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Kept.”  Alienor retorts.

“And I didn’t ask for you to stick a finger in my mouth!”  Daphne snorts back.  “Spencer didn’t ask for your opinion, either! So-”

“Oh, but he did.  With a great many words.”  Alienor says, toneless.  “Harcourt, care to repeat them for her?”

Daphne’s heart freezes in place.  She looks at Spencer, but he shrivels back, cowering from her betrayed expression.  She’s made a massive mistake.  This is only going to end in disaster.  But if her husband’s that desperate, and Alienor actually gets into his mind…

No.  Not when she’s this close.

“Well, who’s to say you’ll help!?”

“Excuse me?” Alienor’s expression doesn’t falter, but her eyes take on a new heat.

“I don’t know what he’s told you, and I don’t know how you two arrange things…”  Daphne suppresses another flinch at Zetti’s threatening stance.  “But I’m a person!  Not an animal, not a ‘Beast of the Wilds!’  And over here, we at least pretend that that matters!

Spencer gives her a frightened look.  “Daph…”

“No!  I might be stuck here, but it’s my life too!”  She points accusingly at an enraged Alienor.  “And if this woman thinks she can walk all over my Keeper, and throw all his plans overboard, then I-”

“Zetti,” Alienor’s voice doubles over.  “Minuet.”

Daphne is thrown half a dozen metres back, landing heavily in the grass.  She tries to climb to her feet and shake the dizzying sensations from her head, but something invisible presses on her back.  She can squirm her arms around, but never lift them; it’s like straining against a massive weight.  To her terror, a light violet aura has sprung to life around her body.

The same aura pulsing around Zetti’s arm.

Alienor raises a hand, fingers coiled for a snap.  They both watch her with the exact same expression - an almost disinterested contempt.

“Daph!”  Spencer rushes forward and tries to pull her up.  He finds just as little success.  “What the hell is this!?”

“Unlike yourself, Monsieur Harcourt, I will not tolerate such insolence.  Zetti?”  The Kept, his eyes still on Daphne, reaches around his back and hands Alienor a metal oblong.  With a flick of her wrist, it unfolds into a full-length baton.  Daphne’s eyes widen and she starts squirming far more frantically, all while Alienor sounds bored.  “Beloved, how many raps would I give you for such an infraction?”

“Ten, mistress,” he replies, almost with pride.

“Mmmm, she looks fragile.  I’ll make it five.”

Spencer rises to his feet, running between the Keeper and Daphne.  “Stop!  I haven’t approved this!”

“That’s the problem,” Alienor sneers.  “You’re just as compromised as her.  If you wanted her to avoid punishment, you should have had her properly trained.  Stand aside.”

“No.  I am not going to sit down and watch you-”

“Aube.”

Zetti crashes into Spencer, his massive form pinning him to the patio without breaking a sweat.

“You won’t have to.”  Alienor steps beside Daphne, using her heel to shove the writhing nymph onto her side. Daphne freezes as cold bronze presses against her skin.  “You have one chance to beg.  Quickly.”

“P-Please,” Daphne whispers, her voice shaky and terrified.  “I’m sorry, I w-won’t talk back - AAAAAHHH!”

The baton cracks against her forearm, leaving a sharp, stinging pain.  Only up close can Daphne see the diamond studs forming ridges down its length.  Alienor lands another blow, even harsher than the last.  Daphne screams as it swings again, and again, and again.

“STOP IT, YOU MANIAC!”  Spencer shouts.  “I-”

Zetti roars in his face, so loudly that it completely swallows Spencer’s own scream and rattles his teeth.   The Kept’s fangs have doubled in length.

Alienor finally stops, catching her breath.  She pulls the bow free from Daphne’s sun hat as she speaks.  “And in proper observance…”  She wraps the ribbon over Daphne’s eyes, submerging her world in darkness.  “You’ll wear this until you’ve calmed.”

Daphne doesn’t reply, instead curling herself into a little ball, struggling to hold back tears.

Alienor huffs. “Zetti, speak your truth.  How was my form?”

“You could have hit more harshly, mistress.”

“Mmm.”  Alienor sighs.  “Perhaps it was prudent to leave the Kept mute.”

A few seconds later, Daphne feels Spencer’s hands on her, swiping the ribbon away.  The aura dissipates as he pulls her up.  She winces when he touches the marks on her arms.  They’re certainly going to bruise.

“I came here expecting a crisis, but this far exceeds even my low estimations.”  Alienor slowly resets her baton to its original shape.  “Lacklustre discipline from you both, a complete breakdown of the order vital for a Keeping.  I might as well ask which of you is the real owner.”

Spencer’s breathing turns harsh, but he stays silent.

“Normally, to resolve this, I’d prescribe weekly sexual interactions with your Kept. The dryads have long known they displace all these unproductive emotions in Shorn nymphs.  But, as it appears…”

She chuckles mirthlessly.

“You treat the proven methods with disregard.  So we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“The hard way?”  Spencer looks disgusted.  “Alienor, we’ve barely met, and you’ve beaten my wife.  The only way you’re going is the fuck out of my house!”

“I agree.  We’ll have more resources at my estate.”  Alienor lifts her hand. Up on the roof, her helicopter’s rotors start whirring.  “And it will provide a more proper environment for retraining.  Do not bother to argue.  Your opinions are no longer relevant. I am taking this matter into my own hands.”

The Harcourt’s both immediately start flustering.

“How long will we be gone!?”

“As long as it takes.”  The helicopter starts buzzing above them.

“Are we getting a chance to pack our things?”

“That won’t be necessary.”  The helicopter door slides open, and the rope ladder descends into Zetti’s waiting hand.  He flexes his shoulder muscles at the couple, making it extremely obvious what will happen if either tries to flee.

“No!  No, I think it fucking will.”  Spencer seethes.  “Alienor, neither of us are consenting to this!  This is a kidnapping!”

“It is an intervention!”  Alienor snaps.  She storms up to Spencer, jabbing a glove into his gut.  “You told me everything was falling apart, Harcourt!  You told me you needed to be fixed!  Has that stopped being true!?”

“How is terrifying her helping?”  He raises to his feet.  “I also told you what I’m after.  That I just want her to be fucking happy!”

“I’ve noticed.  It defines this entire atrocity.  But very well, let’s consider this your objective.”  Alienor turns to Daphne, gesturing.  “Kept, are you happy?”

Daphne looks at her, then at Spencer.  She briefly considers lying, until Alienor’s hand starts reaching for the baton.  “No,” she offers, incredulously.

Alienor raises her hands.  “There.  A perfect summary of your progress.  Your methods have failed, Harcourt.  So I implore you to try mine.”

She offers her hand.  Spencer studies it, before turning to Daphne.  The nymph brusquely shakes her head.  “What happens if I refuse?”

“Frankly?  Nothing.”  Alienor replies.  “And in that nothing, last night will become every night, until happiness becomes a foreign concept to both her and you.  Feel free to pretend you have options.  But you’re hurtling towards disaster, either way.”

Spencer sighs, hesitates for a second more, and grasps Alienor’s hand.  Daphne feels something quaver in her gut.

“Help us,” he says quietly.  “Please.”

“If you comply, I guarantee I will.”  Alienor sharply turns around, letting her Kept assist her up the ladder.  “To start, reapply the blindfold on your Kept. It might stop that… strange twitching.”

It will most definitely not stop that strange twitching.  The longer she thinks about this, the louder Daphne can hear the rain.  Alienor’s violence terrifies her nearly as much as her prescriptions.  Weekly bedding…

She’s silent as Spencer wraps the cloth over her eyes and lifts her to her feet.  She doesn’t reply when he leans towards her ears and whispers.  “Just stay calm.  We’re getting through this.  I promise.”

All she does is press her hand against her jean jacket, in a way that her husband can’t see.  Making sure that Mallory’s phone is still there as Spencer slowly guides her to the ladder.

If this becomes her new normal, she has a feeling she’ll need it.

Arreau, France

The Pyrenees, near Spain

The giant frame of the painting is made of the same wood as the floors and walls, which are interrupted only by a dark stone fireplace, bearskin carpet, and the mounted heads of chamois and deer.  Inside is a landscape of swirling colours, depicting a massive tower rising from desert sands.  The longer Daphne stares, the more gargantuan it feels; beyond the tower she can see dozens of little churches and homes, ships in port, tiny splotches meant to be people.  But all of them sink in the crushing majesty of the image, reaching up into the distance through smoggy clouds of grey.

Daphne shakes her head and turns towards the plaid-sewn couches.  Grey.  Of course.  Even in art, Alienor Lousteau is expressionless.

Spencer hovers over a plate of cheese and crackers, trying to ignore an estate that looks more like an American hunting lodge than anything they’d find on the Continent.  Daphne approaches him as he nibbles, flabbergasted.

“Really?”  She gestures at the plate. “We’re trapped, five hundred miles from home, and you’re sampling the snacks?  Aren’t you freaking out?”

“Uh, YES!  Yes I am!” Spencer nods quickly, springing up.  “And I’m trying to deal with this as best as I can!  We don’t all have your experience in kidnapping!”

Daphne glowers.  “Well, your best wasn’t great, if you want my professional opinion.”

“I’m afraid the diamond-studded baton got in the way of me asking!”  Spencer chuckles mirthlessly.  “Look.  Inviting her was a mistake, I’m sorry.  But right now, the best way out of this crisis is to just… play along and muddle through.”

“That’s easy for you to say.  No one’s beaten you yet.”  Daphne rubs gingerly at her arm.  “Hell, you must be loving it!  Finally, the Wilds experience of your dreams!”

Spencer closes his eyes, apparently too tired to fight back.  “Just for a few days, please.  And then everything will go back to normal.”

She gives him a look.  “Because normal was so much better.”

Spencer glares back, silently.

A door slams open behind them, and Spencer and Daphne both snap upright.  Alienor walks out with a small bronze mask, flicking the device as she walks to spin the gears.  Zetti follows behind, with L Morgan’s small plastic enclosure in his strong hands.  It’s still unnerving to see a man wear a collar so… casually.

“I’ve finished my appraisal.”  Alienor announces.  “While your collection is certainly missing some key pieces for larger infractions, it serves our purpose suitably.  She’ll start wearing them tomorrow.”

Daphne chokes back an objection, watching Alienor menacingly position her fingers for another snap.  Instead, the nymph stalks up to Zetti and carefully pulls her butterfly away, hurrying back with an injured glare.

Alienor never lowers her arm.  “This afternoon, Spencer, I’d like to review how to properly handle them.  The Kepts can run an errand for us outside.”

Spencer lifts a brow.  “Don’t you have staff for that?”

Behind Alienor, Zetti laughs.  “Why would she need them?”

“Uh…”  Spencer looks uncomfortably at his wife.  “I don’t exactly, heh, use Daph for chores - ”

“That ends tomorrow.”  Alienor interrupts. “Simple chores occupy a Kept’s mind and remind them of their place. But for now, improvisez!”

“... Sure!”  He claps his hands with fake enthusiasm.  “Okay, Daphy-Daph, how about some-”

“Stop.”  Spencer’s expression falters as he turns back to Alienor.  As usual, she’s unemotive.  “Refer to her by her title.”

“Is that really…”  Spencer sighs, knowing the answer.  “Would you enjoy some gelato, Kept?”

Daphne’s face wrinkles and she looks at Alienor.  There’s no reaction.  “I’d love to, Keeper.”  She says stiltedly.

“Splendid. Zetti, you’ll get gelato with the Kept as well,” Alienor orders.

“Of course.”  Zetti puts a fist over his chest, and bows.  He heads immediately for the front door.  Daphne moves to follow him, before she feels a hand pulling on her shoulder.

“Spencer…”

“Just being careful!”  Spencer kneels down, his eyes glowing.  “Don’t speak with any stranger not selling food.  Check your phone every fifteen minutes and reply to each of my-”

“What are you doing?”  Alienor’s contemptuous voice cuts him off.

“Um…”  Spencer blinks away bits of gold.  “...going through the rules for outside?”

“With commands?”  Alienor’s brows furrow and she looks at Daphne.  “Kept.  Are you familiar with your Keepers orders?”

“If it’s no trouble, I’d really prefer you use my name-”  Daphne forces out.

“Answer my question.”

“... Yes.”

Alienor smiles.  “Commands aren’t necessary.”

“Like hell they aren’t!”  Spencer scoffs.  “The second she’s out of eyesight, she’ll start - ”

“Is her disobedience a reflection of her discipline, or yours?”

Spencer’s face has gone a blotchy red.  Daphne can’t hide her slight smile.  “Oh, suh-so you think I’m wrong too?  Okay!  Fine!  Then you tell me, how do I know the rules are being followed?”

“Observe.”  Alienor turns towards the door, her eyes sparking with familiar colours.  “Zetti, speak your truth.  Have you been following my directions to the letter?”

“Not entirely, mistress,” Zetti shakes his head.  “I haven’t kissed you on the cheek before I departed, as is our custom.”

Alienor nods.  “See?  You can simply ask.  Your Kept deserves your trust, Spencer.”

“That’s… I…”  Spencer blinks rapidly, slowly wrapping his arms around himself.  His voice suddenly grows harsh.  “If she wants my trust, has she considered following more than half of what I say?  She tried to have me killed once, did you know that.  Always leaves that part out of her little sob story!”

Oh, she can’t let that one slide.  “You tried to shoot me on our first date!  Forget about that?”

“See?  See what I have to deal with?”  Spencer waves an arm defensively.  “Three years later, and she’s still on about the Nymph Chase!”

“Stop.”  Alienor buries her face in her hand.  She sounds exhausted.  “Kept, it is not your place to choose responsibilities like… mushrooms from the market.  That means withholding your thoughts on your Keeper’s methods unless he specifically asks for it.  And you.”  Alienor points at Spencer.  “Has it occurred to you that she resists your instructions because she resents them?”

“Of course she bloody resents them!”  Spencer whines.  “She resents everything!”

“Resentment is earned.”  Alienor sighs. “Zetti, come here.  Have you ever ridden a horse, Spencer?”

Daphne rolls her eyes.  She doesn’t like how this speech is starting.

“Yes,” Spencer says, still pouting.

“What you command is her stirrup, what you forbid, her bridle.”  Alienor brings Zetti close, pulling at his jawline with her fingers.  “Pull too much on the reins, and the mare will only buck you.  Prod too many times-”  She slams her heel into his shin.  “- and the mare never learns to move on her own.  She gets kicked all the same.  You cannot teach loyalty through force.”

Spencer keeps shaking his head, mumbling to himself.  Daphne’s convinced he’s going to start panicking, but eventually he lifts his arms.  “Fine!  Whatever!  They can go, I don’t care!  Urgh, I can’t wait for this to all explode in my face next week!”

Zetti guides Daphne to the door, and behind him, she swears she sees Alienor smile.  “Make sure to enjoy yourselves, you two.”

“Always, mistress.”  Zetti calls out as he slams the door behind them.

Daphne exhales deeply, her hand gravitating to her pocket.  Finally, she feels like she can breathe.  The mountain air is cool and damp, and she could only imagine what scents her antennae would pick up if they-

She stops.  Zetti is uncomfortably close to her, sniffing down her neck.  “Um…hello?”  She turns around.  “Is there something -

Zetti stops sniffing.  “I can smell your scales beneath the Glamour. You desperately need to preen.  Other nymphs will take offence.”

“... Right.”  Daphne’s smile falters.  “I’ll, uh, I’ll get right on that.”

Zetti bows and walks ahead, sniffing through the treeline.  Daphne follows uncertainly, nervously clutching her purse.  “So, you’re from the Ebony Wilds, huh?  I’ve never been there.”

“And I’ve never met an Otherworlder,” Zetti confides.  “But silence, please.  We were ordered to get gelato.  I’m trying to track the scent.”

Daphne lifts a brow and scans past the road to the town, miles away, at the bottom of the hill.  “From here?”

“Until we find it,” Zetti nods.  “And then we will enjoy ourselves.”

He walks off the road and into the brush, snapping branches along the way.  Daphne hesitates, looking down at her new denim jacket.

“Cool.  You do that.”  She nods to herself, picking up the pace.  “I’ll use my cell phone.”

Howdy y’all!  It’s Lehanna!

It looks like Spencer’s double-date isn’t going exactly to plan.  What are your thoughts about Alienor and Zetti?  Are they crazy, unhinged?  Or is there perhaps a kernel of truth we can’t see beneath all their strangeness?  And what about Daphne’s plan with Mallory?  Can that still go off?

Find out more next week in Chapter 22: A Firmer Grip, coming to you Friday, December 8th. See ya then!