@lupusrcx
The practiced advisor often walked the Spring Court with wide, hazel eyes lit with admiration. She coed and bemoaned, at the warmth and splendor of the beautiful court. With its English roses, lush greens, and ethereal glow -- it was the embodiment of a storybook, come to fruition. All the same, she was quick to spread compliments to the faes among the court, speaking highly of their beautiful wings. It was almost frightening, how easily she slipped into the mirage that was ‘Jacqueline Dubois.’ The beautiful, shy, and fragile advisor to the King of Nightmares. The anti-thesis of all the Night Court represented, for whom the enviable role of ‘advisor’ seemed ill-fitting. After all, what did a silly girl know of politics or power? It was a personage that she guarded well.
Ares Deerling; however, allowed something akin to a release. Never mind the carnal pleasure his flesh brought upon her (though it was too satisfying to forget entirely). But he offered a ‘release’ of the chaotic, hellhound within the fae. During their clandestine meetings, the veil upon the advisor was removed. Her doe-eyed expressions replaced with the ice in her eyes and a cruelty to her pert lips. There were drawbacks to such a revelation, Jacqueline knew. Ares could very well speak to her true nature, to all who would listen. But the rumor was a price worth paying, to keep her pulse close to the Spring Court. And, frankly, the pleasure of competing with openness. Even Jacqueline grew tired of the ‘doe-eyed’ personage she relied on.
She gleans outside the window of his chambers, arms crossed as she scowled at the ‘beauty’ of his court. The light, airy beauty was nauseating. Lacking in dignity, Jacqueline discerned, that the French Gothic styles of the Night Court offered. Her naked body is covered in his markings. Dark hickeys along her neck and his grip marks bruising along her arms and thighs. The rawness of it left residual pleasure coursing through her body. The pain remaining pleasurable, even an hour after the fact. “How does it feel?” Jacqueline asks, eyes flickering away from the sight to meet Ares’ Machiavellian demeanor. He rode her with an intensity of a war lord on impending glory. A testimony, she believed, of the glee his recent betrothal to Tatiana Valentina brought him. “To have your long con, come to a spectacular resolution?”
