The Island of Excess Love by Francesca Lia Block Page B

king.
    â€œI’d like to paint you,” Ez says.
    The king shakes hair from his eyes and smiles. “That could be arranged.” He turns to me, hands me a crystal goblet, and I take a sip. This wine is black as blood.
    â€œI’m going to bed,” Ash says coolly. Ez hardly notices him leave.
    The sun and water of the day has made me drowsy. Soon I’m reclining against pillows with my friend and my brother and my host, forgetting, I’m ashamed to say, my lover. Perhaps Ez has forgotten his lover a little, too.
    Hex isn’t in his bedroom when I stumble there, tracing my fingers along the quartz wall. I go to my room, fall to the bed fully clothed and sleep.
    Later, I feel sweet-warm breath on my face—the exhale of jasmine flowers on a spring breeze, and open my eyes, reaching out in the darkness for Hex.
    But it’s not Hex.
    The king sits on my bed, his antlers branching out into the darkness and entwined with pink-white jasmine blossoms, olive branches, and grape leaves. He’s holding a large crystal goblet in one hand and a candelabra in the other. The candlelight throws shadows across his face and ignites his eyes and the gold hoops in his ears. I sit up and cover my chest with the bedsheets. I’m wearing the cream silk charmeuse gown and my hair is slicked back with oil that smells like lily of the valley. I reach to make sure my new eye is still there. It is.
    â€œDon’t be scared,” he says. I can feel my body melting like dripping wax with the heat of his voice.
    â€œWhy are you here?” I ask.
    â€œI brought you some wine to help you sleep.”
    â€œI was asleep.” I try to sound angry but it’s hard with him this close. I smell dark roses, grapes, and honey.
    â€œI’m sorry.” His eyes twinkle in the light of his smile. “Well, since you are awake now anyway, would you like a libation?”
    â€œLibation? Isn’t that ceremonial?” The liquid shines darkly in the crystal goblet. I’m suddenly very thirsty. I take the cup in both hands, lower my lips, and sip.
    â€œCeremonial? Yes, an offering of sorts. To Sylvan.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYou will know someday.”
    I have no chance to ponder this name. The wine hits me right away, streaming through my blood and weakening my joints. I blink at the king. He’s standing up now, wearing a white linen shirt with shell buttons and brown leather trousers that hang low on his hips and loosely around his thighs. His feet are bare.
    â€œPenelope, I’d like to show you something. Will you come with me?”
    He takes the goblet of wine, sets it down, and holds out his hand. It’s large and smooth, and he has a gold ring on his middle finger. His nails are carefully shaped, flat, and clean. I guess I was so entranced with his face that I never noticed his hands before.
    â€œIs it Hex? Have you found him?”
    â€œI’m sorry, no. It’s something else.”
    I find myself getting up anyway, taking his hand, walking barefoot over the chilly polished quartz floor depicting that disturbing image of an eye inside a rose. The king lets go of my hand, takes a gold brocade robe that’s hanging on some protruding crystals, and places it over my shoulders. He catches my hand in his again. I can feel our pulses mixing where the crook between my thumb and first finger presses into his. I’m not cold now.
    His voice is husky. “Come with me.”
    We climb up the winding staircase into the tower. Tourmaline crystals that protrude from the walls have been fitted with candles lighting our way. At the top of the tower is a large balcony overlooking a garden. I don’t remember seeing it before. Trees with silvery bark and others with draping, feathery leaves overhang pools of water that shine in the moonlight. Silver-white orchids grow everywhere and even from here their scent is so strong it’s almost like a drug. They’re the