Cliche Fae
It’s a Fae, Fae World
Chapter 1 Cliché Fae
The music in Yuraku’s Great Hall wasn’t just sound; it was the heartbeat of my entire world, and for five thousand years, my parents had danced together to its rhythm. I couldn’t imagine being with someone for so long. But as they stared longingly into each other’s eyes, their smiles wide and their hands entwined, I couldn’t envision them with anyone else. Darkened halls were illuminated by the glowing green mass of Ayanara stones hanging from the ceiling.
Generations of my family danced and drank together on this celebratory evening, and the faces of people I hadn’t seen in centuries were gathered. My great-great-great aunt Istra stood talking to my mother, her long, dark hair falling in waves past her bum, swishing from side to side as she swayed to the music. My Gods, it had been nearly five hundred years since I’d seen her.
‘Aunt Istra!’
Her luminous blue eyes searched the crowd. Upon seeing me, her face grew into a bright, beaming smile. Leaving my mother’s side, she strode in large steps, her tall, slender frame gliding through the flock. Her arms outstretched as she stood before me, I embraced her with love, flinging my arms around her, letting the steely scent of the euphoric Ixatrem flowers she’d consumed fill my nose.
Aunt Istra pulled back, her hands on my shoulders. ‘Lorenzo! You’ve grown since I last saw you. Still causing trouble, I hope?’
‘Only the best kind,’ I grinned, the familiar banter settling around us like a comfortable cloak. ‘How are the crystal caves? Still singing at midnight?’
‘Louder than ever,’ she laughed, a sound like wind chimes. ‘You should visit.’
Before I could respond, the music shifted, the rhythm deepening into something that vibrated in my bones. My father appeared at my side, his hand gentle on my shoulder.
‘Dance with your mother,’ he said, not a request but a tradition. ‘It’s time.’
I held out my hand as my mother walked towards me, her icy skin aglow under the lights. The illumination of her blue eyes, so like my own, shone with a pride and joy I hadn’t seen in many a year.
‘Okkasan, you look as beautiful as you did when I was little.’
Okkasan. The word felt warm and familiar on my tongue, one of the ancient endearments Izanagi had woven into our language when he created the first Fae. Not just ‘mother,’ but something deeper, a term that carried the weight of shared history, of laughter echoing through Yuraku’s halls, of hands that had held mine through centuries of growing. A word that meant the one who gave me life and taught me how to live it.
Four thousand years I’d lived, and by Fae standards, I was barely out of childhood. The thought both amused and unsettled me.
‘I’ve missed dancing with you,’ she spoke, her voice like a prayer given form.
After our dance, I found myself at the edge of the celebration, watching the swirl of colours and movement. The warmth of the Ixatrem I’d taken earlier had finally settled in my veins and become a pleasant hum. For a moment, I let myself be a Fae among Fae, surrounded by beautiful tradition. The music shifted again, this time to something older, a melody that predated even my parents’ union. It spoke of Yuraku’s first dawn, of Izanagi’s hands shaping our world from chaos and song.
Among the crowd of familial faces, I spotted the distinctive features of other species, a rare sight in Yuraku, as we Fae tended to revel in our own company rather than venture beyond our realm or grant entry to others outside our world.
Through the laughter, I heard my name, called by a voice I barely recognised over the ancient rhythm.
‘Enzo!’
My mouth fell open as my eyes lingered on her grown frame. ‘Estre?’
She was barely a tiny child last I saw of her, but now, as Estre stepped through the bustling herd, she’d grown into a young woman. Estre’s skin held the stunning blue-green of the Watatsumi Fae, shimmering with a subtle, watery light that seemed to shift with her every movement. Rarely did her kind leave the ocean, but for an occasion like this, all had ventured from their homes. As she drew closer, I saw her eyes, not the bright blue of my kind who lived on land, but a darker, deeper luminescence, like sunlight filtering through ocean depths, a rich sapphire glow that held the mystery of the sea within it.
‘Five hundred years change more than just memories,’ she said, her voice carrying the soft echo of distant tides.
‘That it does, cousin. You look more beautiful than Queen Athera.’
Her lips drew back in a spirited smile. ‘Still the flatterer, I see,’ a light chuckle escaped her.
Playfully, I placed a hand over my heart, ‘May Izanagi strike me dead if my charm eludes me.’
Our conversation flowed as if five hundred years were but a day, which, to Fae like us, it practically was. Then Estre’s gaze shifted over my shoulder, her sapphire eyes brightening. ‘Ah, there you are.’
I turned to see a petite Dwarven figure approaching. Dark curls framed a face tanned like sun-warmed stone. He moved with a confidence that seemed to part the crowd around him, his pale blue shirt clinging to a frame that spoke of disciplined strength rather than Fae exuberance. His smile, when it came, was radiant.
‘Estre, I’ve been looking for you,’ he said, his voice carrying a warmth that matched his appearance.
My eyes lingered on his form, the assertive set of his shoulders, the easy grace of his movement, lips finely sculpted as though by divine hands. It had been too long since I’d met another from outside Yuraku.
Estre turned toward me, one eyebrow arching. A knowing smile played at the corner of her mouth as her gaze flickered between her friend and me.
‘Kaelen, I’m so glad you could make it.’ Her long, slender arms reached down to embrace him.
‘I would not miss the chance to see a Fae soiree in full. You rarely allow outsiders to see inside your world,’ looking around, he smiled, ‘and you have not disappointed me.’ His amber eyes lingered on me, his lips curved into a charming smile. ‘And who might you be?’
‘Enzo, I’m Estre’s cousin. Pleasure to meet you,’ I extended my hand to greet him, which he took without hesitation.
His hand felt small compared to mine. Kaelen’s skin was soft and naturally warm. Our touch lingered, as our eyes met, I could feel the spark, the energy of our attraction, as we pulled away.
Our hands separated, I caressed the warmth of his touch lingering on my palm like a secret promise. Kaelen’s amber eyes held mine a moment longer than necessary, a spark of mutual interest passing between us.
‘Enzo,’ he repeated my name, tasting the syllables. ‘A pleasure indeed. Estre has spoken of you, though she failed to mention how... charming her cousin would be.’
Estre let out a musical laugh, the sound like water over smooth stones. ‘I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. Besides, Enzo’s charm speaks for itself, usually at great volume.’
‘Only when the occasion demands,’ I countered, my grin widening. ‘And a celebration of five thousand years certainly demands it.’
The melody shifted to a deeper, more insistent rhythm that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat. Kaelen’s gaze drifted toward the dance floor, then back to me.
‘Do Fae celebrations include dancing with outsiders?’ he asked, his tone light but his meaning clear.
‘For special guests,’ I replied, extending my hand.
Estre’s knowing smile deepened as Kaelen took my hand. ‘Don’t keep him out too late,’ she teased. ‘He has to return to his mountains eventually.’
‘Mountains can wait,’ Kaelen said, his eyes never leaving mine as I led him toward the dancers.
The crowd parted for us, a sea of luminous blue eyes and Fae smiles that held centuries of understanding. As we joined the dance, Kaelen moved with a Dwarven grace that was all grounded strength and precision, a contrast to the fluid, almost weightless movements of my people.
‘Your world is... more entrancing than I imagined,’ he said as we turned together, his voice close to my ear. ‘The stories don’t do it justice.’
‘They rarely do,’ I replied, my hand resting lightly on the small of his back. ‘But I’m glad you came to see for yourself.’
As our eyes held each other’s gaze, there was only the music, the movement, and the warmth of another being so different from myself. In that moment, surrounded by five thousand years of tradition, I felt both completely at home and thrillingly outside of it.
***
In a quieter alcove, the Ayanara stones cast soft green shadows. We found ourselves talking of mountains and oceans, of Dwarven forges and Fae revels, of the many similarities and differences of our worlds.
‘I was wondering where you’d vanished to,’ came a voice from the archway, light and amused. ‘You promised you’d introduce me to everyone, and instead you disappear with the first pretty face you find.’
A tall, amber-skinned, Elven, young woman leaned against the stone frame, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on her lips. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders in waves, streaked with colours I couldn’t quite name; they seemed to shift with the light. Her golden eyes were bright and sharp, taking in the scene with obvious delight.
Kaelen laughed, unrepentant. ‘Lyra, always accusing me of selfishness. I was merely scouting ahead.’
‘Scouting,’ she repeated, her smirk widening. ‘Is that what we’re calling it now?’ She pushed off the archway and strode toward us, her movements easy and unhurried, the confidence of someone who’d long ago stopped caring what others thought of her. ‘And here I thought you’d been kidnapped by some mysterious Fae lord.’
‘The night is still young,’ I offered, my grin sliding into place. ‘Kidnappings can be arranged if that’s the sort of introduction you prefer.’
Lyra’s gaze snapped to me, her eyebrows rising. For a heartbeat, she assessed me with that sharp, honey-coloured stare, and I felt myself being weighed on scales I couldn’t see.
‘Bold words from someone I’ve just met,’ she said, but there was no frost in her tone, only amusement. ‘You must be the infamous cousin.’
‘Enzo,’ I confirmed, inclining my head in a mock bow. ‘And you must be the friend Estre failed to warn me about.’
‘Failed to warn you?’ Lyra’s grin widened, and she glanced at Kaelen. ‘I’m wounded. I thought I was the memorable one.’
‘You’re certainly memorable,’ Kaelen said dryly, ‘but not always for the right reasons.’
‘Ignore him,’ she waved a dismissive hand at Kaelen before turning her full attention back to me. ‘He’s bitter because I beat him at cards three times in a row on the journey here.’
‘You cheated,’ Kaelen muttered, but there was no heat in it.
’I prefer to call it a strategic interpretation of the rules.′ Lyra settled onto a cushioned bench across from us, tucking her legs beneath her with a dancer’s grace. ‘So, Enzo of the Fae. Tell me everything. What do you do when you’re not stealing away Dwarven visitors from their social obligations?’
The question was light, but I caught the genuine curiosity beneath it. She was testing me, probing for the shape of my character.
‘Slightly exaggerate my importance,’ I leaned back with an easy shrug. ‘Greatly exaggerate my adventures. And occasionally attend family celebrations where my cousin accuses me of flattery, and I have to defend my honour.’
‘A difficult burden,’ Lyra quipped, her tone dry as summer dust.
‘I manage.’ I recognised a kindred spirit in the way she parried. ‘And you? What does a woman who accuses her friends of cheating at cards do when she’s not attending Fae soirees?’
‘Ah, now that’s a story.’ She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. ‘But I’m afraid it requires more Ixatrem to tell properly.’
‘Lucky for you,’ reaching for a decanter I’d spotted earlier, ‘this celebration is well-stocked.’
Kaelen groaned softly beside me. ‘Gods help us all.’
‘Hush,’ Lyra said, accepting the cup I poured for her. ‘The adults are conversing.’
As she raised the cup to her lips, her eyes met mine over the rim, and I felt the spark of a connection that was entirely different from what I’d felt with Kaelen. Where Kaelen had been warmth and comfort, Lyra was fire and challenge. A different kind of attraction, but no less compelling.
‘To new acquaintances,’ she said, lifting her cup in a toast.
‘And to the stories we’ll tell about them later,’ I replied.
Her laugh rang out, bright and unguarded, and beside me, Kaelen’s smile held a knowing warmth that suggested he’d seen this particular pattern before.
The night stretched ahead of us, full of possibility.
***
The celebration was beginning to wind down, the ancient melodies softening into something slower, more intimate. The Ayanara stones had dimmed to a gentle pulse, mirroring the collective sigh of generations beginning to yield to exhaustion.
I found Kaelen and Lyra near the garden entrance, their faces flushed with Ixatrem and laughter. Lyra was tracing the edge of a stone fountain, her hair catching the green glow.
‘The night is still young,’ I slid between them with practised ease. ‘At least, by Fae standards.’
Lyra raised an eyebrow. ‘And what do Fae standards suggest we do next?’
I glanced toward the Great Hall, where my mother was embracing Aunt Istra. The two of them exchanged whispered words, and my mother’s gaze briefly found mine across the crowd. She smiled, a knowing look that said more than words could carry.
‘My parents are heading to the Crystal Caves,’ turning back to my companions. ‘Aunt Istra’s invitation. They won’t return until the month has passed.’
Kaelen’s amber eyes glinted with understanding. ‘And you’re suggesting we take advantage of an empty house?’
‘I’m suggesting,’ I spoke slowly, allowing my grin to widen, ‘that the night is young, the company is excellent, and my family’s home has a garden that’s been growing wild for thousands of years. It deserves to be appreciated by fresh eyes.’
Lyra’s laugh was bright and unguarded. ‘You Fae and your gardens.’
‘You haven’t seen this one,’ extending a hand to each of them. ‘It has flowers that only bloom in darkness.’
The walk to my parents’ home was short, the path lined with rough-hewn stone doorways and wild Ixatrem flowers that released their steely scent with every footfall.
The house emerged from the twilight like a memory taking shape, its walls embedded with Ayanara stones that cast soft green shadows across the garden.
My mother had left a lantern burning by the door. The gesture was small but significant, a silent permission for whatever the night might bring.
I pushed open the door, and the warmth of the house enveloped us. The wild garden was visible through the back window, a tangle of ancient growth that had been allowed to flourish without restraint.
‘Welcome to my home,’ I said, stepping aside to let them enter.
Lyra moved first, her eyes sweeping across the room with open curiosity. She ran her fingers along the edge of a shelf, examining the artefacts my family had collected over millennia. Kaelen followed more slowly, his Dwarven sensibilities taking in the architecture, the weight of the stones, the age embedded in every surface.
‘This is where you grew up,’ Kaelen said, not a question but a statement of wonder.
‘This is where I’m still growing up,’ I corrected, closing the door behind us. ‘Four thousand years, and my mother still reminds me to straighten my posture when I enter a room.’
Lyra turned from the shelf, her expression softening into something less guarded. ‘Show us the garden.’
I led them through the back of the house, into the wild tangle of flora that had grown unchecked for centuries. The darkness was absolute at first, then slowly resolved into shapes, glowing petals, luminescent vines, flowers that opened their faces to the absent sun.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Lyra breathed, her voice stripped of its usual teasing edge.
‘It’s home,’ I smiled.
Kaelen’s hand found mine in the darkness. His skin was warm, calloused, real. A moment later, Lyra’s fingers brushed my other side. Her touch was cool and deliberate, each point of contact a question I answered by leaning into her hand. Behind me, Kaelen’s warmth pressed against my back, his palms settling on my hips.
Two different touches. Two different conversations.
I let my eyes close. Let my senses expand. This was something we Fae could do, something I’d never shared with anyone outside my kind. A gift our creator had woven into our being alongside our wings and our joy.
To share what you feel is to share who you are.
I opened myself to them.
Not with words. Not with thoughts. But with the raw texture of sensation. Lyra gasped softly as her own kiss reached her through my lips, the pressure and warmth reflected through our link. Kaelen’s hands stilled, and I felt his wonder ripple through him as my skin registered his calloused palms against smooth Fae flesh.
‘What...’ Lyra breathed, her eyes searching mine.
‘It’s a Fae ability,’ I murmured. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Yes,’ her eyes lifted, gazing into mine with a gentle curiosity.
I kissed her again, and this time, I let the sensation flow both ways. She felt her own lips through mine. She felt Kaelen’s hands on my waist as if they were on hers. And Kaelen, pressed against my back, felt the cool press of Lyra’s fingers on my skin as though she were touching him directly.
A web of sensation, woven by a Fae who believed that connection was the truest form of joy.
Lyra pulled back, her golden eyes dark with want. ‘Again,’ she breathed. ‘More.’
I obliged.
This time, my hands found the hem of her tunic, lifting it slowly. The fabric slid across her skin, and I sensed Kaelen’s sharp inhale as the sensation reached him through me. Lyra’s breath hitched as my fingers traced the curve of her waist, but she also felt Kaelen’s hands on my hips as if they were exploring her own body.
‘By the Gods,’ Lyra whispered, her voice trembling. ‘This is...’
‘Intoxicating,’ Kaelen finished, his voice low and rough behind me.
I turned to face him, my hands finding the lacings of his shirt. The fabric parted easily, revealing the broad, solid expanse of his chest. His skin was warm, golden in the dim light, and I let my palms press flat against him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
Lyra’s soft moan reached my ears. ‘I can feel your hands on him. As if they were on me.’
Kaelen’s hands found my waist, drawing me closer. His mouth met mine, and I opened myself fully. Lyra felt the press of his lips as if they were on her own. Felt the rough drag of his calloused palms across my back as if they were tracing her spine.
We moved together in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Clothes fell away piece by piece, each revelation met with gasps and murmurs of appreciation that rippled through. Lyra’s skin was smooth as river stones, cool in places and warm in others. Kaelen’s body was a map of hard angles and soft hollows, the product of years working stone and metal.
I laid Lyra down on the soft moss of the garden, her hair fanning out around her, catching the dim green light. The colours I couldn’t name shifted in the shadows, streaks of something almost silver, almost violet, dancing at the edges of my vision. Kaelen knelt beside us, his amber eyes dark with desire as he watched me lower myself between her thighs.
When my mouth found her, the sensation exploded outward. Lyra’s back arched, a sharp cry escaping her lips. Her pleasure flooded through me, and through me it reached Kaelen, his answering shudder pressing against my back. I rose and guided him to take my place. He moved with a thoroughness that made Lyra’s fingers dig into the moss. The scrape of his jaw against her thighs, the warmth of his breath, the first touch of his tongue. Her climax came suddenly, a shuddering release that rippled through us, the clench of her muscles through Kaelen’s perception, the wave of her pleasure crashing through him, and my own desire spiking in response.
We lay entangled, breathless and trembling. Lyra’s hazy eyes found mine in the darkness, ‘Your turn,’ she said, her voice thick with desire.
Kaelen’s hand found my thigh, guiding me onto my back. Warmth enveloped me as Lyra’s mouth took me in. The sensation was layered: I experienced her lips, her tongue. Through the current, she felt her own mouth at work; Kaelen rode it too, the wet heat, the pressure.
I reached for Kaelen, drawing him down. My mouth found his, Lyra experienced the kiss even as her mouth continued its work. The layers becoming overwhelming. I felt my release building, Lyra’s awareness of it, Kaelen’s answering need. When I let go, it was a cascade that pulled Lyra into a second climax, which sent Kaelen over the edge with a guttural groan.
We collapsed into a heap of limbs and tangled breath, the current between us slowly fading to a warm, persistent hum.
Lyra was the first to speak, her voice muffled against my chest. ‘If this is what Fae celebrations are like, I’m never leaving.’
Kaelen laughed, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into my shoulder. ‘I don’t think we’d survive another night like this.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ I murmured, my fingers tracing lazy patterns through Lyra’s hair. The unfamiliar colours caught the light as I touched them, shifting like captured aurora. ‘I have a few thousand years of stamina to draw from.’
Lyra lifted her head, a wicked grin spreading across her face. ‘Is that a challenge?’
Before I could answer, she swung a leg over my hips, lowering herself onto me slowly, deliberately, her golden eyes holding mine as she took me inside her, her thighs pressing against my hips. The sensation, immediate and overwhelming: her warmth, tightness, the way she moved. Through the connection, an echo of her own perception, the fullness of me inside her, the ache of being stretched, the euphoria.
Kaelen knelt behind her, his hands finding her breasts. Lyra leaned back against him, her impossible hair cascading across his chest in shifting waves of silver-violet. I watched his amber eyes flutter closed as he rode my sensation of being inside her.
‘Gods,’ he breathed.
‘Just Fae. But close enough.’ I spoke in playful arrogance.
Lyra’s laugh was breathless.
She moved on me with a rhythm that was all her own, a dance she led and I followed. Kaelen’s hands roamed her body, every touch ricocheted through me as if it were on my own, her skin, his hands, the three of us blurred into a single, breathing entity.
When she came this time, it was with a cry that seemed to tear itself from somewhere deep, and I followed her over the edge, my hands gripping her hips, my world narrowing to the pulse of her release around me.
Kaelen reached his own peak a moment later, his groan muffled against Lyra’s shoulder.
We collapsed again, this time truly spent, our bodies slick with sweat and tangled together on the moss. The garden had grown darker around us, the luminescent petals closing for the night. Above us, the first stars were beginning to pierce Yuraku’s violet sky.
Lyra lay between us, her head on my chest and her fingers intertwined with Kaelen’s. Her hair, that impossible blend of colours, spread across my skin like a promise of dawn.
‘If I ever write a poem about this night,’ she said, her voice drowsy, ‘I’ll have to invent new words.’
‘Do you write poetry?’ I asked, surprised.
‘I’m an Elf. We’re born with a verse on our lips.’ She yawned, a delicate thing that cracked her composure. ‘But tonight deserves more than verses.’
Kaelen pressed a kiss to her temple, then reached across her to touch my cheek. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘For sharing this. For sharing... you.’
I turned my head, pressing my lips to his palm. ‘Thank you for being worth sharing with.’
As night faded, the garden began to change. The luminescent petals closed one by one, tucking themselves away from the approaching light. The air shifted, growing cooler, carrying the scent of morning dew and fading Ixatrem.
Above us, the stars began to dissolve into a sky the colour of pale lavender.
Lyra’s breathing had evened into the rhythm of sleep, her head still resting on my chest. Kaelen’s hand remained intertwined with mine, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my palm.
I let my eyes close, feeling the warmth of them against me, the weight of their trust.
Somewhere beyond the walls of Yuraku, the world was waking. But here, in the wild garden of my childhood home, we had our own small eternity.
