“What does it mean?” Layla asked.
“It meansbeloved, in Brut Hathne.”
“The language of the Blood Dragons.” Layla blinked, understanding. “It’s what she used to call you, isn’t it? The woman in your memories.”
“Yes.” Taking a deep inhalation, Reginald set his brandy glass on the table. He paused, tapping his long fingers on a chair before turning and moving to his walk-in closet. Disappearing from view, he soon returned, holding a small box of sky-blue velvet like a jewelry case, tied with a cream silk bow.
Moving to Layla, he held it out. “This is for you.”
“What? What is it?” Layla set her brandy aside on the table. Having no idea what was happening now, her brows furrowed as she took the velvet case. Undoing the bow, she opened the top to see a stunning choker of saltwater pearls and diamonds nestled on a pad of blue velvet with a matching bracelet, plus diamond and pearl earrings. A note on the Hotel’s exquisite stationary was tucked in beside the jewelry and Layla lifted it out.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me.– R
“Reginald…”
Layla stared at the elegant angle of Reginald’s calligraphy on his apology note. Lifting out the note, she ran her thumb over it, then reached into the case and lifted out the pearl choker. The saltwater pearls were dove-grey like a misty ocean, in six long strands that spanned an inch tall, studded at intervals with diamonds. It was set with platinum-filigree clasps, each clasp encrusted with diamonds also. Reginald’s gift was tremendously elegant, beautiful like a bridal necklace; and something about it made Layla swallow hard. She glanced up but before she could say anything, Reginald lifted the choker from her fingers and stepped behind her, clasping it around her throat.
It was sensually tight upon her neck, and Layla felt herself flush with heat. It felt like Reginald’s hand had clasped around her throat with the pearls – as if he was choking her lightly, deliciously. As he set it in place, Layla heard the call of gulls in her mind and felt a slow movement of ocean surf in her veins. Leaning down, Reginald placed a soft kiss upon the side of her neck just above the choker’s band, then took out the earrings, affixing them in her ears as he slid out her gold hoops. Last was the bracelet, bound around her wrist.
“I’ve imbued these items with my magic,” he breathed as he finished affixing the bracelet. “To keep your gifts from exploding at random moments while you’re in public. It’s not as effective as your talisman once was, but it should keep your powers from being felt in the human world once Heathren’s charm wears off. The pearls and diamonds also carry a Siren-glamour. To humans, they will appear as inexpensive bangles. But Twilight folk will see them for what they are, and to them you will appear to have accepted theLouenou Virdii.”
“TheLouenou Virdii?” Layla breathed, touching the choker as she glanced up at him.
“It is an ancient tradition among my people,” Reginald smiled sadly as his fingers lifted to the choker also, touching the pearls as his fingertips caressed softly over Layla’s. “It is the gift of a Royal Siren to his First Concubine – to his chosen mate. The implication of the gift will keep most Twilight Lineages from bothering you, and the color signifies the North Sea Sirens, my clan. A powerful clan not to be crossed. I do not imply that you must be my mate, Layla. But this farce will keep you safe in the Twilight Realm, as far as anything can. The pearls also carry my signature, and I can trace their energy from afar and feel your whereabouts. Please wear them while you travel – for me.”
“Of course,” Layla breathed, the choker deliciously tight at her throat; the thoughtfulness of Reginald’s gift tightening her throat more. “But what is the note for? The apology?”
“Because I was wrong.” Reginald’s sea-grey eyes pierced hers, deep and honest. “I was wrong to take you immediately into my care to train as a Courtesan at Samhain. I was wrong to deny you access to your bound lovers this past month. I thought it would build your magic and make you stronger. And while it has done that, I now realize my overzealousness was cruel. You need your bound lovers; you need their love. To be with them as a trio brings you steadiness. I can help control your magic with an iron fist… but I can never give you what they provide. And it is wrong of me to deny you the love that I lack, in my deep and bitter jealousy. Forgive me.”
Layla’s heart clenched. Her eyes stung, feeling his honesty. Feeling his apology. And that he’d gotten this gift for her sometime prior to their conversation today proved that he was the person she felt beneath all his severity and disdain. “Reginald, I—”
Lifting his fingers to her lips, he stopped her words. And then leaned down, placing a kiss upon Layla’s lips.
It was the most sensual kiss she’d ever felt. As if his lips held the full softness of an oceanic breeze and the cry of seagulls, Reginald’s kiss was the smooth allure of the oyster and the rocking of deep tidal waves. It held oceans of pain and pleasure, and depth, and Layla found herself kissing him back, tasting what sunlight felt like in the blue deeps. Opening his mouth, his tongue found hers, and its smoothness made Layla catch her breath. Or perhaps Reginald stole her breath as he pulled gently away, gazing down at her with a deep passion in his eyes – and pain.
“I don’t believe in gods or monsters, paradise or hell,” he murmured softly. “I believe life is what we make of it; that all we can do is become better – more impeccable – day by day. I had forgotten that, until you called meSivvirjust now. I had forgotten that I made a choice to become who I am, to develop the control over my magics that I have now. I am not the strongest Royal of my clan, but it is a truth I must someday face that I am not far from it. Like you, this Hotel is my sanctuary. But here you are, brave enough to risk disaster by venturing forth from these halls for the ones you love… while I rot here, too afraid to even show people who I really am underneath the wig and powder and rouge.”
Gazing up at Reginald, Layla was taken by his honesty and his passion. Reaching out, she stroked back his golden hair, feeling it soft as the finest silk beneath her fingers. “I believe you’ll find that courage. When the time is right. Maybe sooner than you know.”
“Maybe.” Reaching, up he clasped her hand, moving it to his lips. Kissing her knuckles, he gave a sad smile, all his storms spent now. Stepping to her side, he wound Layla’s hand around his quilted sleeve to escort her. “We should hurry. I believe a taxi is already waiting for you.”
“Are you escorting me downstairs?” She blinked at him. “In your dressing-gown?”
“Why not?” Reginald spoke with a glint in his pearl-grey gaze. “If the Hotel Owners don’t like it, they can fire me. Are you ready, Layla Price?”
“Ready, steady, go.” Layla spoke, wondering if he was really going to go down into the Hotel dressed in just his bedroom attire.
But Reginald only gave a slight smile, leading her out of his rooms and taking up the handle of Layla’s bag in his free hand as he passed. They stepped into the hall and he shut his doors, then led Layla to the stairs. Rather than take the elevator, he hefted her suitcase to his shoulder like it weighed nothing, then continued escorting Layla down.
As they arrived at the main level, people stared with incredulity at the Head Courtier’s attire, guests and employees alike gaping, astounded. Reginald breezed through it all like he was the best-dressed royalty among plebes with Layla on his arm. As they arrived at the main Concierge desk, Layla saw Dusk’s gaze fix on them, his eyes going two degrees wide and wider when he realized it was Reginald standing before him without wig and powder and dressed in silken sleepwear. Expertly dismissing a group he was talking to into the hands of Jenna and Lars, Dusk rounded the Concierge desk, stepping quickly to Reginald’s side.
“Aldo!” He spoke low, his sapphire eyes enormous as he took in Reginald’s sexy barely-dressed attire. “Have you gone mad?! What if the Madame sees you? Or the Owners?”
“Let them see.” Reginald spoke regally, turning and escorting Layla toward the place one could catch a taxi at the south side of the palace quadrangle, Layla’s bag still hefted effortlessly at his shoulder. “I am Head Courtier here. It’s time I began dressing as I please, rather than pleasing Hotel tradition. Most of the Hotels ceased dressing their Head Courtesans and Courtiers in Imperial garb a hundred years ago. With Sylvania gone now, it’s time we began doing the same.”
Layla blinked, realizing for the first time that Sylvania’s sheer outfits had been a kind of standard costume as much as Reginald’s 1700’s couture. In his grief, Reginald was no longer standing on any ceremony he didn’t care for, and Layla suddenly wondered how he might dress if allowed to do as he pleased.
But walking down the hall with Dusk beside them now, Reginald was imperious in his silk sleepwear, and somehow more comfortable than Layla had ever seen him. Whispers abounded; stares followed the Head Courtier. As Layla watched guests and employees all stop and gape, she realized the Siren held an overwhelming power over those around him. Even without using his magics, even with Layla’s luggage on his shoulder, there was something magnetic about Reginald. And now, moving down the hall with a bearing more regal than any king, his golden hair swept over one shoulder, his incredible dancer’s body bared by the quilted robe and his arrogantly beautiful features shining through, Layla saw the truth.
