An Evening


The sun had just risen when Buttercup got out of bed. Butch's goodbye kiss woke her at the crack of dawn, and she pretended to be asleep as she watched him get ready for work. He tried to be quiet while pulling clothes from his dresser but she could tell exactly what he was wearing based on the rustling fabric. He came to her side of the bed to kiss her cheek, then she heard him walk to the foyer where he exchanged muted words with Vassago. Silence followed until the Demon servant let the trows out of their grotto and into the villa. Their obnoxious chittering prompted Buttercup to join him in the kitchen where he prepared breakfast.

She faltered at the threshold. Last night her perception of color had been thrown off by the green light cast by Butch's hellfire; Vassago's mauve skin was actually a vivid magenta color, and the hair she perceived as brown was deep violet like a currant. His eyes, at least, were still silver. "Mistress…" he greeted coolly, "are you an early riser?"

"I always rise with the sun."

"Ahh, to maximize your productivity." Buttercup nodded, then tilted her head. Most people didn't get that about Elves, their disdain for idleness. She sat at the table.

"What does Mistress want to drink?" asked a trow in its raspy, grating tone.

"Water will be fine," she answered.

"Bubbly water or still water?"

"Still."

"Would Mistress like lemon or cucumber?" Buttercup's lips turned down. "Master enjoys lemon or cucumber in his water."

"I am not your master," she said. "Still water, nothing more."

The trow gave her a prolonged stare before blinking its double set of eyelids. "With ice?"

"Just water!" she yelled. The trow scuttled off as Vassago half-smiled.

"They are testing you." He took two venison and vegetable skewers off the grill and handed one to Buttercup, sitting across from her. "Trows are the most intelligent of the middle Demons. They live in large groups– the ones in our service are from a single family. They adapt and grow smarter by sharing knowledge gained from individual ventures. They will attempt to discern your weaknesses in order to subvert your authority."

Buttercup chewed thoughtfully. "Shall I slay one of them to assert my dominance?"

"If it comes to that," Vassago said with a shrug. They finished eating and he handed the skewers to an expectant trow, who nibbled at the stuck-on bits before washing them. "Now, would you care to try your hand at bow fishing, Mistress?"

Buttercup changed into a short, sheer swimming dress and reconvened with Vassago beneath a pergola where she studied Isla Sabas in its entirety. It was one league wide and two leagues long. A thriving coral reef encircled the island and acted as a natural deterrent to trespassers. Steep cliffs formed most of the shore but there was a section of sandy beach on the eastern side with an atoll beyond, the rest of Hael visible to the north. If Buttercup squinted she could see Wyntir Isle, the northernmost tip of her homeland, on the southern horizon. The vast ocean extended westward.

After explaining the basics of bow fishing, Vassago looked her up and down a few times while she waded into the water. "The Master would approve of your attire," he commented.

"His opinion on my clothing matters not." Buttercup was laser-focused on the scales flashing beneath the waves. Due to light refraction the fish were not where she believed them to be, so she had to aim carefully. She didn't want to waste arrows on small fries.

"You might take it into consideration," Vassago went on. "Aesthetics are important to the Master."

"Aesthetics…" Buttercup loosed her arrow, successfully shooting a fish. "…are trivial." His brow rose as she presented her catch.

"An azure marlin. You have a natural talent for this, Mistress."

She held her head a little higher. "Shall I catch another?"

"That will not be necessary– our food stores are quite full. To be honest, I am uncertain what to do with this prize."

Among the Elves it was practically sacrilegious to let food go to waste. "Do you have a smokehouse?" she inquired.

Vassago's visage brightened. "Yes! An excellent suggestion, Mistress." He headed for the villa, faltering. "I dare say neither myself nor the Master has ever eaten smoked marlin. Do your people prepare it in a special manner?"

"We enjoy it marinated in a mixture of ginger root, salt, garlic, cane syrup, and sanguine pepper powder." The Demon nodded and took his leave.

Buttercup spent a few hours honing her newest skill. After shooting two more large fish, a bass and a tuna, she swam all the way to the atoll where red striped sharks beached their prey before devouring them, making a bloody mess of the sand. One targeted her foot and found itself with an arrow shaft through the head. During her return to Isla Sabas, a hatchling kraken attracted to the scent of dead shark grabbed her ankle and yanked her down to the seafloor. Buttercup made quick work of the cephalopod by gouging out its four eyes.

Vassago's jaw dropped when she clambered into the smokehouse with the shark in her arms and the diminutive kraken slung about her shoulders. "Mistress…" he spoke in awe, "you are perhaps too skilled a huntress."

She frowned. "I merely defended myself from these creatures. If we cannot eat them, what shall we do with them?"

"Give them to me– I will take them to market. Please, clean yourself up and relax in the villa. I will return with your profit shortly."

"My profit?" she repeated.

"Of course! Your kill, your carats. Is that not the rule in Fairweather?"

Buttercup looked at the ground. In her homeland, hunters shared their kills. What they didn't need for themselves they passed on to another hunter or trader, then they gave away the leftovers, and so on. This practice came about after the plague to ensure no Elves starved, but the Demons didn't want or need hand-me-down meals. Buttercup supposed earning money from her kills was better than letting them rot or feeding them to the trows. She had to keep in mind that there were only three mouths to feed now, not an entire populace.

But she wasn't going to change overnight; she was a highly skilled hunter who also got bored easily. As soon as Vassago left on a small boat, she took a net from the shed and dove off the western cliffs. There she found a veritable buffet of fruits of the sea. Mussels, scallops, clams, crab, lobster, urchins, shrimp… Her net was stuffed when she climbed back onto land. Some of the critters she prepared and stored, the rest she divided up into two neat bundles. "Come here, trow." It sidled over to her, eyeing the burlap sacks. "Deliver one of these to Princess Bubbles and the other to Princess Blossom. Do this for me and your family may have fish guts for dinner."

The trow licked its crocodilian lips. "Mistress promises?" She nodded and it snatched both bags, scurrying to the terminus. Now she could cleanse herself and relax.

After a soak in the hot spring, she first put on a simple blouse and pants before exchanging them for a more revealing skirt and wrap top. Dressing for her husband didn't really inconvenience her, and the climate permitted it anyway. Buttercup then spent the twilight hours going through her belongings, unpacking functional weapons that had lined the halls of Fairweather Fortress. She found no reason why they shouldn't also hang in the corridors of the villa.

Butch arrived home after sundown, freezing at the sight he beheld. The vestibule now hosted an armory, stands and wall mounts featuring armaments that shimmered in the torchlight. It was the second-most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, the first being his bride during their union ceremony. Just picturing her in Moonshadow brought goosebumps to his skin, and he wore a goofy grin on his way to the kitchen. "Hey, Vass," he greeted.

"Welcome home, Master."

Butch sniffed the air. "What's that yummy smell?"

Buttercup came in from outside to answer. "We are smoking the fish I caught today."

He momentarily froze at the sight of her, too. His wife was goddamn gorgeous. "Oh, you went bow fishing! How was it?"

She considered it. "Stimulating."

"Great!" Butch crossed the room to embrace her, turning it into a jerky, uncertain motion when her brow knit. Much to his surprise, she returned the embrace albeit briefly. "I like what you did with the place. It looks way classier now, like we're rich." Vassago scoffed.

"Are you not wealthy?" Buttercup asked. "You are the prince of a royal family."

"I'm… well-off." The manservant cleared his throat and Butch sighed. "Okay, I'm very well-off. But it's because I work hard and am good at my job, not because I'm spoiled."

"The Mistress earned her first purse today," Vassago piped up.

"She did?! You did?" Butch's eyes sparkled. "What for? How much?"

"Vassago sold a red striped shark and a hatchling kraken I shot," Buttercup explained. "I made half a pinch."

"H-half a… in one day…" he breathed. "Goddamn. I make a quarter pinch per moon as the royal treasurer! You really are the breadwinner now." She preened a little, seating herself as dinner was served.

Butch took a bath while Buttercup hung a few charms and totems from the canopy railings. Since they were comprised of shells and bleached bones, she thought they matched the aesthetic of their bedroom quite well. She couldn't stop smiling at how Butch had regarded her, like her achievements were worthy of praise even if she considered them menial. "Those are pretty," came his voice. Buttercup glanced at him over her shoulder, her gaze immediately drawn to his bare torso. The candlelight on the periphery hit him in such a way that his skin shifted like the facets of an alexandrite. Butch stood beside her with a towel wrapped around his hips. "What are these things?"

"Amulets to ward off unpleasant dreams."

"I see…" He poked at one before cupping her cheek with the same hand, looking like he really wanted to kiss her. Buttercup opened her mouth to grant him permission but then closed it on the grounds that he might just be gazing at her affectionately; she wasn't an expert on the nuances of physical contact. They stared at one another for a protracted moment until Butch grinned and pecked her on the other cheek. "Once again, I like what you did with the place. And I like you in this outfit."

Her face warmed beneath his palm. "I merely threw it on after hunting."

"Mm. Do you mind if I take it off now?" The way she blushed was too cute. "Since we're going to bed," he added.

"I… do not mind." Buttercup tried to keep her voice level and directed her eyes at his chest, holding her breath as he traced the waistband of her skirt. He unfastened all three buttons single-handedly. "You are rather dexterous," she observed.

"I've spent the better part of four years with currency in one hand and a quill in the other." Those dexterous digits slid up her waist and beneath the scant piece of fabric covering her breasts. They were on the petite side, proportionate to Buttercup's willowy build. She and Butch were about the same height, the tip of his nose just above hers. As soon as her top came off he nuzzled her bare shoulders, exuding a noise of want or appreciation. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

"I have an inkling," she said.

"Bullshit…" Butch let his towel fall to the wayside while guiding Buttercup backward onto the bed. Her pulse quickened as she searched his countenance for any indication of what would happen next. "You know exactly how hot you are."

One corner of her mouth turned up, coy. "I had no inclination that a Demon would find me attractive when I agreed to marry one." He shook his head in mock disbelief and buried his face in the crook of her neck, murmuring sweet nothings against her skin. Buttercup felt herself flushing wherever his lips went, and her lightheadedness made it difficult to focus.

He kissed every inch of her décolletage before propping himself up to look down at her. "Do you have an inclination now?" Butch received a nod and then flopped onto his back, exhaling a sigh of relief. There was nothing better than sinking into bed at the end of a long day, except doing so with a beautiful woman. He extended an arm to invite Buttercup to his side. She accepted, placing a tentative palm on his chest. His contented sounds encouraged her to caress his shoulders, arms, and midsection, but she didn't dare venture below his navel. Before Butch grew too relaxed, he waved a hand to put out the candles and bathe the room in darkness. Streaks of moonlight shone through the gossamer curtains as they wavered in a light breeze. "So, you're over two-hundred years old, right?" he spoke. "How long has it been since you were, y'know… intimate with anyone?"

Buttercup had to consider the math. "Thirty-five years."

"Damn," he blurted. "Sorry, I just… wow. I know Elves don't really do relationships like everyone else." He faced her. "You haven't lusted after another person in over three decades? Really?"

"I have not encountered anyone I felt strongly attracted to," she said, shrugging. Then her blush deepened even more. "And if I experienced any urges… I would be more than capable of alleviating them myself."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. Alone in the forest, comfortable and warm beneath your fur blankets, sounds of pleasure masked by the howling wind…"

Buttercup raised an eyebrow. "I have never been in a situation like that."

"I-it's just a dumb fantasy!" Butch stammered. All the erotic novellas he'd read as a horny teenager contained that exact scene, where the protagonists always managed to thaw the hearts of their Elven lovers with the power of hot, wild sex. His reality was much better than any fantasy concocted in a story; none of those characters got married to a princess. "I get that you're a strong, independent woman who hasn't required a man to do anything for her, but I'm your husband and it's my duty to ensure your needs are being met. So if you need anything, whatever it is… let me know, okay? I want to make you happy."

Buttercup was happy, just like this. She'd never flirted or snuggled before, but doing those things with Butch made her feel good. She couldn't bring herself to tell him that yet because there was a certain matter looming over their relationship, or rather a certain matter that would get between them in the form of a dagger. She waited until Butch's breathing slowed and grew heavy, on the verge of slumber. "My Prince, I must ask you something."

"Anything, my Princess," he said in kind.

"Did you ignite the mortar on your twenty-first birthday?"

Butch was too tired to notice her deadly calm tone. "Wasn't me," he muttered. "I was, uhh, about to get laid when it went off." He waited a beat. "Sorry."

"Your previous escapades matter not." Buttercup turned over to press a light kiss to his lips, earning a little rumble from his chest. "You are mine now, and I am yours. I too will do everything within my power to bring you happiness."

Although, murdering one of his brothers would probably put a damper on their pursuit of marital bliss.