Terzian readies himself for the hunt.
This is just a tiny ficlette exploring the idea of Terzian seeing himself in his more soume role, given a fair amount of sheh before he goes to seduce Cal in Enchantments. A few pages before this scene, Cal somewhat disgustedly tells Pell: “All those female bits lurking inside you, where you can’t see them, where you can forget them: but they’re there!” When Terzian appears at that fateful dinner, Pell notes he’s been drinking and that’s chilling because it means he’s no longer in control of himself. I interpreted that to mean Terzian had accidentally let his more soume parts loose now that he’s not in control.
Rose petals. Proud, seductive flesh that shivers with power. They surround a tantalysing core; satiny soldiers defending its treasure. Vulnerabilities, and guerdons, these must never be unguarded, any leader or general knows that.
Terzian’s imagination is a lambent feast— he drinks more sheh as his fingers drift along the crimson sentries of the flowers on his dressing table. He’s had one of the house-hara come by to oil and brush his hair until it gleams like the pelt of a lioness. He’d had his eyes lined with indigo kohl, so subtle as to be almost unnoticeable — Terzian is no progenitor — but it highlights the cerulean of his eyes. Hara quake under his unrelenting gaze: in fear; in thrall; in adoration. There is one tonight whom he plans to ensnare with his eyes, an arrogant buck Terzian will wile into his bed, and keep him there…
He licks his lips and lifts his chalice, its delicate silver scrollwork pleasing to him. The sheh warms him. It unbinds the lurking yannic coils wound tightly far within the lush caverns of his being. Terzian is not currently restricted by his role of commandant, nor is he coarsened, out in the wilds of Galhea. He can luxuriate in curvaceous calfskin, adorn himself with onyx rings that shine dully as he strokes the hard planes of his chest. A low purr of pleasure escapes his lips when he tugs on the silver adornment which pierces a bared and hardened nipple. He laughs, a low sound of yearning in his throat. He’s not unleashed this power in an eternity; its source the serpenmolten throb pulsing from the cosmos deep between his legs. Terzian’s long stalk, encased in clinging leather, grows at the thought. With a growl, he drops his boots to the floor and stands, taking a last look at himself in the mirror before going to the dining room.
Sleek and strong, a sedutrix. It is the privilege of Wraeththu, though he almost never surrenders to it. Only that One could draw it out; his silent challenge through cavalier daring, his pouts, the exquisite fuck yous behind the batting of violet eyes.
Terzian smiles ferally at himself and rakes his fingers through his hair. He turns to toss back the last of his sheh and strides, a pantherine, to retrieve his prey.