Disclaimer: I own nothing.
AN: This was inspired by PieceOfCake by inkvine over on DeviantArt. You'll probably recognize it since it received a well-deserved DD back in 2010.
There are two kinds of light - the glow that illumines, and the glare that obscures.
A beam of light lances down from the window, shimmers over fairy wings, and catches in her eye. She blinks and for the first time today, perhaps the first time in many days, sees what is before her.
Goblins cavort at the edge of the dais. They fill the floor of the great throne room like a sea and move in waves of filthy, twisted bodies. They are pressed and crushed and thrown. They scream and cackle and fill the air with a cacophony that grates her bones.
She remembers goblins, remembers a maze and a swamp and a king.
Slowly slowly slowly she turns her head. It is difficult to move after so long kept still and the weight of her diadem - a garish thing; she remembers him placing it upon her, calling her his pagan goddess - presses heavy upon her.
He lounges in his throne, head thrown back in a vicious laugh as his subjects torment one another. Hair like starlight falls back from his brow to brush her bare arm. The sound of his melodic voice stirs her and she shifts, one arm rising to reach for those gleaming strands.
The laughter, rich and strong, dies in his throat and she feels his hand tighten on her ankle. She had not even noticed the warm leather wrapped around her flesh. It slides up her calf as he twists to face her. He bends in half, predator eyes looking up at her from beneath bangs grown long. She wants to push his hair away, slide her arms around him, and feel him pressed against her. She wants to run.
"My queen," he says. He kneads the flesh of her calf, up and down, each pass taking him higher and higher. A hot chill spreads beneath the spun gold of her gown.
"My king," she returns, the words falling from her lips out of habit.
His smile curves, sharpens. She looks down upon him but he is the warrior victorious. She can almost remember a battle; there was an ill-armed army, a knight, a child. And another battle, one for a heart and a mind and soul.
He takes her wrist as his other hand passes her knee. The heavy fabric of her gown slides away from her leg and that alone brings enough relief that she lets out a pleasured sigh. Her eyelids fall to half-mast as thoughts of war fade from her mind and he takes advantage of this minor lax. The predator lunges for her throat. His hand encircles her arm in a powerful grip before moving to take the slim breadth of her shoulders in the length of his arm. His other hand stops its teasing and in one swift motion reaches its destination. She gasps, whimpers, cries out so loud the stones shake.
There is no give in golden cloth and it serves to sooth her labored breaths as he retreats from her, a dark beast careful to leave its prey where it might find it again. He covers her leg once more - there is little modesty to be had in the dress but he will preserve it until he wishes otherwise - and places her hands around his in her lap before returning his focus to his subjects.
Euphoric bliss ebbs slowly into unanimated stupor. The bindings of her dress force her languid muscles to sit straight. Her flush recedes like flood waters, little by little with every wave of her breath. Her open eyes rest unseeing upon the far wall.
The fairies are returned to their gardens for the twilight. The goblins continue their games. In their midst sits their pale fae king, robed in darkness, and ever at his side his dark mortal lady, bound in gold.