The next morning, Wren awoke feeling ill. His throat was sore and he felt a little feverish. He suspected he’d caught a cold in the rainstorm yesterday. Wren sat up in his bed and looked about his surroundings blearily. This wasn’t his room…

It took him a moment to realize everything that had occurred the day before wasn’t the result of some fever-induced nightmare.

He’d barely rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before a servant entered the room. At least, he thought it was a servant. It looked a little like a misshapen Christmas elf – at least as far as he’d figure one should look – crossed with one of those monsters from that 80s movie with the furry creature who wasn’t supposed to get wet.

Green-skinned and harboring what looked to be a disgruntled scowl on its pinched face, it tottered straight over to Wren and proceeded to silently hustle him out of bed.

The creature didn’t speak. It made its wishes known through a series of gestures Wren struggled to understand at first. After a few minutes of playing a weird form of charades with the creature, Wren caught on that he was expected downstairs.

Apparently satisfied that Wren was cognizant of what it wanted, the creature shambled over to a tall gilded armoire. It knocked on one of the double doors of the armoire in an rhythmic pattern and then opened the door and took out some clothing and a pair of house slippers. Wren got a glance of the interior of the armoire and noticed that it was now completely empty.

The creature handed the clothing over to Wren. Aside from the house slippers, there was a pair of jeans, a three-pack of boxer briefs still in the sealed package, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. All were name brand and far more costly than Wren was accustomed to.

Wren ran his fingers though his mussed, sleep-tousled hair and watched the little, green-skinned being shamble out the door. When the door clicked shut behind the creature, Wren quickly got dressed and hurried outside the room. He stepped out into the corridor and was surprised to find the creature waiting by the doorway. It waved a knobby-fingered hand, gesturing for Wren to follow. Wren did so, his eyes wide and taking in his surroundings now that he could see everything in the light of day.

The green walls of the corridors they passed through were void of decoration, save for the wall sconces and a stray portrait or painting every now in then. There were tables every so often. Some with candelabras and busts or statuettes of beautiful people or strange, otherworldly beings. Other tables held vases of fern and flowers, but not the happy or elegant types of flowers like white roses or yellow daffodils. Instead, the vases held gothic arrangements of black roses and bone-white calla lilies.

Wren followed the creature until they passed though a door and into a sumptuous dining room. Several people were seated at a long table and Wren’s gaze immediately found Ash. The redhead was seated near the head of the table, facing the same scarlet-haired lady from the day before. The imposing figure at the head of the table Wren recognized to be the man Ash called father yesterday. The same hunchbacked priest was seated several seats down from Ash’s mother. There were other people as well, most beautiful like Ash and his parents, while others appeared barely human.

Wren was discomfited to find all eyes on him. The room, which had been bubbling with talk and laughter only a moment before, suddenly went completely silent. Wren shuffled in place where he stood. Just when it seemed he was doomed to stand there with everyone staring at him for the duration of their meal, Ash rose from his seat and walked over to join Wren at the doorway. Ash dismissed Wren’s escort with a graceful flick of his wrist. The little creature bowed to the redhead before it scrambled away.

“As you know,” Ash said aloud so that everyone could hear. “I was to be married yesterday. The blessed affair occurred, only I ended up with a different bride than intended.”

Ash placed one hand on the small of Wren’s back and pushed him forward. “Here he is.”

Quiet murmuring and whispers filled the room as Ash led Wren to the empty chair beside Ash’s own and, pulling it out from the table, he gestured for Wren to take a seat.

Moments later, Wren found himself sitting beside Ash, a plate of the most delicious looking food he’d ever laid eyes on in front of him. Spread on the table before him was the most decadent and splendid brunch he’d ever seen. Hawaiian style ham dripping with sliced pineapple and maraschino cherries served as the main dish. There were potato salad, finger sandwiches, and plates of fruits and vegetables with all manner of dips.

Then, there was the sweets. Wren had never seen so many sweets at one meal. Chocolate cake, apple and cherry turnovers, buttery scones with a delicate sprinkle of sugar topping, and powdered white donuts.

Wren tentatively picked at the food, his appetite completely non-existent. It seemed strange that these people would partake of so many sweets, but partake they did. Even Ash and his parents availed themselves of the turnovers and scones, though they did so with less abandon and far better etiquette than some of the other attendees. Like the priest, for example. Wren wasn’t one to critique another’s eating habits, but the rail-thin priest ate his meal like a starving man, shoving the food into his mouth and chewing with an almost ecstatic pleasure. Wren turned his attention to his own plate after the hunchback shoved an entire powered donut into his mouth and followed it with a large gulp of what Wren was certain to be red wine.

For the next hour or so, he picked at his food and avoided the wine in favor of water and keeping a clear head. Most of the strangers ignored him, not even bothering to give him a second glance. A couple of them were curious about the “human,” but their questioning was quickly stanched either by Ash’s father or Ash himself. Others studied him with a veiled hostility, something which became apparent when Wren looked up from studying the food in front of him and noticed a young man with blond hair and glowing yellow eyes studying him intently.

“Why don’t you just rid yourself of the human, Ashley?” The young man said candidly. “That’s what I would have done in your position.”

Before Ash could offer an answer to the blond’s question, Wren’s new father-in-law intervened.

“It’s been decided that killing the human would only result in the unnecessary postponement of Ash’s contractual marriage. We have other plans. In the interim, I expect no harm to come to the human.” Ash’s father said with a tone of finality that brooked no argument.

Wren looked up to see Ash and the young man looking at one another. It was a brief exchange of glances that happened quickly and then the redhead looked away and coolly picked up his glass of wine to take a sip from it.

Wren chanced a glance toward the blond. He sucked in a breath when he realized the man was looking at him. Glaring intensely with open hostility. Wren quickly looked away. He knew a few of them were not happy to have him present – this was especially true of Ash – but he couldn’t fathom why this young man just seemed to outright hate him. Unable to stop himself, Wren glanced up from the barely touched food on his plate to look at the blond again. This time, the young man was leaning toward the priest and whispering something to him. The priest cast a sideways glance toward Wren and then cackled gleefully. The hunchback took hold of the knife used to carve the ham and then promptly stabbed it into what was left of the meat, spearing a cherry as he did so.

Pulling the blade from the ham, the priest lifted the tip of it with the speared and dripping cherry to his mouth. His lips parted and an unnaturally long tongue wrapped about the cherry and plucked it off the blade. As the hunchback chewed, his black eyes stayed on Wren. Beside him, the blond was still focused on Wren as well, his yellow eyes strange and unnerving as he too reached to pluck a cherry off the ham. The cherry dripped red syrup onto the white tablecloth, staining it a bloody red, and then the blond bit into the fruit. Slowly, he licked his lips free of the crimson syrup staining them.

A hand suddenly touched Wren’s shoulder and, completely startled, he nearly came out of his chair. But the hand pressed down on his shoulder, grounding him and holding him in place. He turned and found himself staring into warm amber eyes.

“Was the food not to your liking?” Ash asked as he nodded toward Wren’s mostly untouched plate. “You barely ate anything.”

“Ah, no, it was fine.” Wren replied. “I just wasn’t that hungry, I guess.”

“Are you not feeling well?” Ash lifted his wineglass to take a drink and Wren couldn’t help but see the resemblance that the dark red liquid held to blood.

“Drink some wine.” The redhead suggested. “This bottle’s an excellent year. It’ll strengthen you and help loosen you up some. Might as well enjoy your stay here.”

“I’m plenty loose.” Wren snapped.

“You’re wound tighter than a banjo string.” Ash said pointedly.

Wren let his shoulders sag a bit as if to prove he wasn’t about to spring from the chair like some overwrought Jack-in-the-Box. “I’m not good with alcohol, so, no thank you.”

Ash lifted his wineglass again. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” He muttered as he drained the glass. He’d barely sat it back on the table before a servant appeared to refill it.

“What are you, exactly?” Wren said, his gaze studying Ash’s profile. The redhead’s eyes widened and he turned to look directly at Wren. In truth, Wren was surprised at himself, but he didn’t back down in the face of his husband’s glowing amber gaze. He stared Ash down, determined to at least start getting some answers.

“That’s none of your concern.” Ash said, turning away. Something in the redhead’s posture changed abruptly and his sneer returned. “I think it more prudent you concern yourself with what’s going to happen to you if we’re unable to annul this marriage.”