but none of them fit. But the pages of the book suddenly slipped out of my fingers and opened on the article “earrings”. The meanings were also numerous, but only one thing stressed me out. To pluck earrings from someone’s ears meant to take the place of a rival. In my dreams, someone’s glistening claws ripped the earrings out of Rose’s ears. Someone wants to take her place? Well, it’s free. You don’t have to take anything away from her.
“It is except your heart,” whispered a voice from the book. I’d forgotten that all the books in here can talk. If you get caught up in reading them, you can hear voices, and the bindings on the binding fold into the shape of talking lips.
“My heart is sort of sank,” I reminded myself of the night with the dryads. I felt a little uncomfortable remembering how much fun I’d had.
“Do you want to know the difference between giving your heart and giving your body?”
“I haven’t felt passion for anyone in hundreds of years, if we’re having this conversation,” though it was silly to talk about such things with a book. What does it know about me?
“And you’ve never been intimate with mortal beauties?”
“Of course it is not. I’ve never even been close to fairies.”
“You know how to start a fire with one breath, but you don’t know what passion is?” A little voice boomed out.
“Is it passion, like people have for each other?” I wiggled my golden eyebrows expressively. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t know.”
“And you didn’t enjoy last night with the sorceresses, didn’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“And you want to know the power of passion for human women and the pleasure of being with them.”
To forget Rose?
“I suppose I do.”
“Well, is there one way, shall I tell you?”
I nodded discreetly. The lips on the binding spoke to me, and I replied politely. What had loneliness brought me to? I had little faith in the voices from the pages before, but now I was suddenly indulging them. When the beady lips gave me another piece of advice, I decided to follow it.
To take communion in blood
To ignite a man’s passion, one need only drink from a marvelous cup. The bas-reliefs on it are hung in the form of human and winged bodies. This is what happens when two races come together: human and magical. At the bottom of the thicket, gems grew from the bottom like droplets. From them came a quiet whisper and a glow. Any elixir that you splash on them would immediately acquire one special quality from their influence. But I decided to be on the safe side. The infusion was made for me in the now-abandoned temple where I’d first met Noel. It was now in the middle of nowhere. Behind it, the heath was in full bloom. They say heather flowers symbolize loneliness. I was going to change the meaning of the symbol, so heather was added to wine, the wine mixed with blood and magic elixirs. I flew to the wasteland without spilling the cup, sat down and drank. The infusion didn’t taste bitter, but it wasn’t sweet either. It was a tart taste, a pleasant sensation, no warmth. Contrary to expectations, my throat didn’t burn.
Being with one woman was lonely, too. I needed many. Time to live the life I’d been meant to live all along.
It means many women, many lovers. Shouldn’t that be the order of things for an emperor with many treasures.
My father, however, behaved differently. But he’s an angel. Even fallen angels have their own traditions. One Rhiannon was enough for him. I was in a hurry to forget one Rose. That’s easy to do. If the society of fairies and dryads doesn’t do much for her, then all you have to do is go to the cities of mortals. There would probably be many more of these sorceresses who would comfort me from my breakup with Rose, and whose company would make my nights unforgettable.
I’ve always behaved too primly. I should have gone into debauchery at a young age. I can imagine how disgusted Princess Odile would have made me if she’d known I’d come straight from a brothel to meet her. Yes, and her father, Prince Wizard Rothbert, wouldn’t have been so eager to match me with her if he’d known I wasn’t so impeccable in my manners. It is one thing to shoot fire or cast handfuls of charms, and quite another to spend all your accumulated gold on minxes. I’ve never had a favorite until now. It’s time to find them. I knew from experience that if you give a lady a couple of compliments, she won’t be frightened when you turn into a dragon in front of her eyes. It is Queen Seraphina, for example. I was her protector for a long time.
My romance with the queen and her romance with the dragon didn’t last very long. Besides, we never really got serious. There were only words, fleeting embraces and kisses, and a circle of black spirits who settled at her throne and watched us with the zeal of spies. We never actually made it to the king’s bed. And then the magical flute player Nolan came to the kingdom. With his music he could hold back entire armies and make them throw themselves off cliffs or send storms to drown entire armadas. In short, he could move all of Seraphina’s enemies with music easier than I could with fire. Naturally, with such a servant, the queen no longer needed the dragon. And so we parted ways. Serafina made Nolan her new favorite, and I took flight. It’s a shame that even she, for all her capricious nature, managed to find her true love, and I never did. You just have to look harder! And the main thing is not to look at those who look like Serafina, Odile or Rose. Such capricious women are nothing but trouble. I want girls who are refined but balanced. They won’t shake their fists in jealousy and set magical traps to teach me fidelity.
It’s a shame I’ve always had to deal with sorceresses. It’s much easier to deal with delicate and defenseless girls who don’t practice any sorcery. They need a protector, which I could be. Percy hinted at paying attention to the dour girls. They tend to be grateful to anyone who looks after them. I suppose he’d drawn that conclusion from his own experience, but it wasn’t much to my taste. I had a preference for pretty girls.
“It is just like a Beauty Lover!”
Who said that? I turned around. No one! The street of Veon I’d flown into was completely empty. Not even the windows of some art gallery were glowing with evening lights.
Nevertheless, a question immediately popped into my mind: who was this Beauty Worshiper? A local patron of the arts who collects paintings? Then no wonder he was so nicknamed. In the gallery one could notice only portraits of beauties, and not only mortal women, but fairies as well.
“He collects them like you collect statues,” the voice whispered again, as if an annoying bug had landed on my collar and was buzzing in my ear.
The statues in my castle were all once live girls. And here they’re just portraits. Still, such a comparison would make a person uncomfortable, but I’m used to all kinds of magic. Nothing surprises me.
“There is something! Get inside!”
I finally noticed some sort of glowing insect on the extinguished lantern. It looked like a snail with an orange shell on its back. It glowed like a tiny flashlight. A curious beckoner! But I wasn’t drawn to the gallery. They’re just portraits, and I’m looking for living women. I don’t need drawings and ghosts.
