A private rp between Kyubi and myself, so please don't post in it - but feel free to read along if you like :D

Reserved for plot and character notes

The road couldn’t get any bumpier. Rocks jolted from the path underneath, along with the wretched slopes that tormented every move. The carriage felt as though the wheels were twisted on purpose to cause great discomfort. It bounced and jolted occasionally causing the two fine ladies within the carriage to grow unsteady. “Coachman, I ask that you settle those steeds. We must look presentable, not like we just frolicked down the muddy roads.” A petty snark lifted from the rose-tainted lips of a young woman. She perched on a chalky velvet seat that represented the interior of the gold brassed carriage. Her laced blonde hair laid perfect in intricate swirls and coils, pinned back and tied to perfection. She was accompanied by mild brown orbs and braised red cheeks, abused by makeup. “Lady Saline, if you keep yowling in such an atrocious manner, those wrinkles on your forehead will never leave.” Fingers tucking raven black hair behind her ear only forced a smile on her face. Her words were richer than Saline’s but she never carried a snarky tone. A fan grew tense in her fingers as she silently covered the devious smile on her lips. Saline ushered her head in an awkward position, brushing her stress-ridden fingers against the dense wrinkles that soon disappeared. Zielle flicked the laced fan closed, holding it shut with her other hand. “Zielle, what are you doing with that fan? Isn’t it quite old? It is out of style nowadays.” Saline finally gained enough courage to return her gaze, with her now stress-free, wrinkless face. Zielle’s silver-blue eyes slid across the lace fan before she locked eyes with the blonde lady before her. “It was my mother’s. You know that, Saline. It is an heirloom of the Maeve family. I am privileged to even have it in my grip,” Her voice grew hushed as she flicked the fan open once again, beating it against her chest. A deep breath lifted from her throat as strands of hair danced from the hand-made breeze. Saline lifted her hand elegantly, using a flicking motion in a mannered gesture to make sure her hair was still as perfect as she made it to be. “I am under the impression that you carry around that family heirloom to show off your wealthiness. Everyone already knows you are from the Maeve family, darling. Yet, you will deny you carry it for that mainstream reason, so I have come to the utter conclusion that you are probably just using it so you can finally breathe with that corset on.” Saline fluttered her eyelashes, resting her hands in her lap. A minor hum spilled from Zielle’s throat as she continued to beat the fan, sending wafts of hair into her lungs. Saline wasn’t wrong. The corset that dug into her ribs caused agitation within her normal breathing pattern. It was hidden amongst the fine fabrics that made up her gown. Such a straining mechanism was only for the satisfaction of men, a way to look unimaginably beautiful. “How am I not to struggle?” Zielle gave a short answer in response, not wanting to have a full-blown conversation. “You won’t struggle when you find yourself a sturdy man,” She slipped out, lifting her fingers to press against her lips like she had just cursed Zielle with a secret. The surprised gawk in her silver-blue eyes caused Saline to chuckle. “Saline, I don’t plan on falling into a man’s arms tonight. That is something you do, hopping from sturdy man to sturdy man.” Zielle couldn’t take herself nor this conversation seriously, the light blush on her cheeks and the obnoxious smile on her lips made it quite obvious. She covered her lips once again with her open fan, hiding the shrewd face she was making. “We are not heading to the main estate for a party. We are merely going there to congratulate the newly profound king,” Her words settled helplessly on her lips that obviously didn’t convince Saline. Luckily, such words managed to change the subject away from finding a lover. “The king is a magnificent man...young and handsome. He is hosting a magnificent ball in order to congratulate his success. I truly thought he hosted it so he could swoon over the vast women. Sadly, that brute of a man is taken. But doesn’t the king have a brother?” She questioned, her words light and frothed with interest, but her intentions were quite clear. “His brother would make a wealthy husband,” Such words made Zielle’s silver-blue eyes shoot up at her, astonished that Saline even spoke of nonsense. “Oh don’t give me that look, darling. I wasn’t speaking of you. He’d make a good husband for me. Handsome and wealthy is all I want. He is also royalty. That is like the sweet cherry on top,” Saline held her fingertips gracefully to her chest as she spoke nobly. It was quite sad, especially since Zielle knew she was being serious. “Poor soul, he was banished, wasn’t he? For disgracing the family. He ruined his dignity and perfection,” Saline scoffed like a disgraceful woman who had to always be perfect. But, even with her nitty-gritty temper and judgemental words, she was still a good friend to Zielle. Yet, those words made Zielle grip her fan with unlady-like fingers. “People act out when they are hurting, Saline. I am sure he had a good reason for such behavior,” The conversations ceased into silence after Zielle’s final territorial words.

The once waltzing steeds that pulled the quaint carriage finally came to an unsteady halt. Their warm snorts filled the air as they continuously chewed their bits. They pawed at the ground impatiently as the coachman, who was driving the mighty horses, lept off of the perch. He opened the carriage door speedily. He was an older man with sorrowful green eyes, one whom Saline’s family had hired. He didn’t come from a wealthy family and was humbler than the average man. Zielle had made acquaintance with him briefly but she still found him quite mysterious. A humble man who tried to dress nice in the presence of wealth was all she saw him to be. “M’ladies,” He bowed his head in a kind gesture, his brass hair falling in his face. Saline slimmed her waist as she carried herself gracefully out of the carriage. Her yellow woven dress dragged behind her as she paid no attention to the gentle-hearted man who held the door open. Meanwhile, Zielle found herself standing up as she grew ready to exit the comfort of the carriage. “Thank you, sir,” She generously stated to the coachman, taking his hand when he offered to help her out. He wore light linen gloves, cold against her skin as he keenly held her hand. “When would you like me to return, Lady Zielle?” The coachman asked with a curious hoarse tone. His shadowed eyes lifted to meet hers but he never held her gaze. “Same time as we planned, my kind sir. If I am not back by the planned time then please contact the obliged personnel if deemed necessary,” She gave a fervent gesture, keeping the fan against her lips as she continued on towards the astounding palace. Zielle and Saline weren’t the only ones who were invited to this glorious event. Many women and men swarmed to get inside. The men stood proud, especially if they had a beautiful lady to make their acquaintance. Meanwhile, the ladies presented themselves royally with their glorious dresses and slim waists. Though it was quite easy to tell that none of them were the mere commoners of the kingdom. Many have derived from the noble families, the wealthy families that well support the king, or at least when he was a young prince before he became the king. Numerous of the fine ladies were accompanied by their lovers while other bachelors and bachelorettes came alone hoping to find love. Zielle wasn’t one of them but Saline sure was. She was already keeping a keen sight out for any broody men she glances upon. She persisted on the outskirts of the palace, implicating that she was a damsel in distress. Her dress skimmed against the ground, trimmed in all kinds of fine yellow hues. It was a basic dress with perfect but simple seams. To be honest, Zielle always thought that dress clashed with the color of Saline’s blonde hair. Still, as the damsel in distress, she hurried after Zielle who was already entering the palace walls. “Why are you so distressed Saline?” She couldn’t help but ask as they continued walking towards the entrance. “Distressed?” Saline proclaimed. “I am not distressed,” She claimed but it was obvious that she was lying. She couldn’t understand why a gorgeous lady like Saline would be distressed over not having someone by her side. All she could do was play along by nodding her head and beating her fan against her chest. Accompanied by deep breaths in hopes to breathe with the corset on, they entered the palace. The freshly polished floors along with the high-standing walls made even herself feel like royalty. She wasn’t given enough time to sight-see what lied within the walls before she noticed Saline wasn’t by her side any longer. It didn’t take long for her to have her eyes on a gentleman. All it did was amuse Zielle. It didn’t matter to her, as long as her friend was having a good time.

While Saline was off gallivanting, Zielle proceeded to a less crowded place, swirling a glass of champagne in her hand while she flicked her fan with the other. She pressed the rim of the glass against her maroon-tinted lips, the warm bubbly fluid slipping into her mouth. It was one of the finest drinks one could have, especially when she found herself in the King’s palace. A light film from her maroon lipstick burdened the rim of the glass. The dark ombre of red complimented the dark maroon dress she wore. It wasn’t classified as red since it had a genuine hue of black mixed in with it. It sat slim on her chest and waist with light lace along the seams. The moment it hits her hips it flows out in a rigged and unique design. It didn’t jolt out with a poofy skirt like many of the other ladies’ dresses, rather, it sat slim but with enough body to it. The main dress didn’t have sleeves as it merely sat on her bosom. She still wore sleeves that cupped her wrists and reached up to her lower shoulder but the set wasn’t attached to the main dress. It looked more rugged than clean but it accompanied her beautifully. Everything about her design lifted the warmness of her skin and the elegance of her eyes. It was an outfit one wouldn’t think of wearing if they had dark raven hair as Zielle had. It gave off an elegant persona that stood out from the other ladies, though that wasn’t her intention. Most of the women within the ball, including Saline, wore open-back dresses with supreme skirts that sat wide, many with pearls and sparkling jewelry. In her own opinion, it was very...improper per se. Zielle wanted to follow the custom of appearing more proper than she should, not trying to bedazzle the king or any other man. But because of her customs, she stood apart from the crowd, which she knew would soon come to her as a regret. It came to reality when a young man, probably slightly older than her, waltzed up to her. He cleaned up nicely but there was something about him that didn’t stand out to her. His lazy brown hair and glossy brown eyes just seemed dull and unattractive. He gave a courtesy bow of his head before snarling his flirtatious smile towards her. “I never imagined seeing a beautiful lady like yourself to carry an heirloom fan at this event,” His ungloved fingers gestured towards her lace fan which she held with pride. She studied him but couldn’t find herself become interested. It didn’t help that he spoke in a manner of passive-aggressive criticism. All she could do was remain proper, though she allowed her cunning side to slip out. “I never imagined to find a man like yourself waltzing up to a lady and not introducing himself first properly,” Zielle snapped back, but her voice carried no harshness. She had a bite to her tone but it was too proper to notice. Pure cunning elegance was the word for it. She held the fan to her lips that ultimately hid her expression of annoyance. The man before her chuckled in genuine nervousness when he was called out. “I am Tannet Fota, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” He dipped his head once again, his dark brown eyes skimming to meet her eyes. He had potential with his tall figure and charming chiseled face but his personality ruined it all. “Tannet Fota,” She murmured in reply, her eyes narrowing in interest. He came from the Fota family. The Fota family was a good accomplice to her family but she had never conversed with a member of that estate before. To be honest she never knew that family had a son. “An interesting name isn’t it,” His cocky shrewd comments weren’t charming at all, at least not to her. Zielle slimmed her lips, though it wasn’t visible to him. “If you think so,” She replied as she lifted the fan away from her mouth. She flipped it closed then open again, not showing if it was impatience or annoyance that riddled her mood. Tannet cleared his throat before offering her a hand. “May I offer to get you a drink?” He offered. It perplexed her that he would hold out his hand just to offer her a drink. Was she supposed to offer her hand so he can guide her elsewhere? Zielle’s eyes snapped up at him, her eyes blinking slowly as she stared at him with a blank expression. She didn’t offer her hand to him, instead, she continued to fidget with her heirloom. “Thank you but I haven’t even finished my own glass of champagne. Well, I guess I didn’t plan to,” She gave a forced smile and handed him her glass of champagne with the lip stain still on it. Zielle was quite cocky to give her drink to his open hand when she was supposed to offer her hand to him in earnest respect. “Please excuse me,” Her words settled as she turned, flicking her fan to remain open impatiently as she walked off. Instead of returning to her safe place away from the crowd, she decided to cut through the crowd. Her eyes were set on who she was looking for, the king. He was the only reason that she even came to this event. It was her duty in the Maeve family to congratulate him. It was improper for any person to just meander towards the king, especially when he was settled on his royal throne, so Zielle wasn’t surprised when the crowd of wealthy people formed around her. She was walking straight up to the king which wasn’t a common thing to do. He already found himself drinking while he enjoyed gazing upon the many people who had come to celebrate his success. She wouldn’t say that everyone watched her but at least the majority of people did. She halted before him, her dress swirling due to her abruptness. Her heirloom fan was held against her lips but she respectfully closed it while she was in his presence. Zielle curtsied in respect, bowing her head. Her keen eyes closed gently but snapped open as she spoke. “Your highness, I am Zielle Maeve. It is an honor to meet you. I would like to congratulate you, my king.” She claimed in a delicate voice. After paying her respects with another small curtsy to dismiss her, she turned to walk away. After a few elegant paces, she turned back towards him. She didn’t care to give him a warm smile like the others would have. The only time she would smile at a man is if she was charmed by them. “May you rule as great as your ancestors, my king” Her voice was simple and blunt. It was hard to tell whether she was actually paying her respects or if she didn’t really care for his success. Finding her main purpose of coming to this event finished, she proceeded. Zielle didn’t care that all eyes were on her for making such a bold move. To be honest, she didn’t even bat an eye nor glance around nervously. She walked with pride, flicking her fan gently against her chest.

The last thing Zielle expected at such an exquisitely formal event was to be bumped into, especially when she was in the presence of other nobles. All nobles were highly proper, watching every step and movement they make, or at least she had realized through her own experiences. So it was the least expected when such a situation erupted. Before she had realized it, she had stumbled to the ground. She would have maintained her balance if she hadn’t tripped over herself on top of being bumped into. Lucky for her it was rather graceful, only catching the attention of few people who stood nearby with concerned gawks as they gripped onto their fine drinks. She wouldn’t lie when she found her demeanor growing rigid with irritation. Her fingers scrunched up and her eyes narrowed as a result. Any lady who had a price on her name would be pissed if she were embarrassed in such an inconclusive situation. Yet, she didn’t find herself upset nor did she find herself wanting to make a scene. Luckily he hadn’t caused great damage to her prized heirloom, which she still held in one of her hands safe and sound, or she truly would have caused a horrendous scene. She lifted her empty hand onto his, her skin smooth against his as she allowed him to lift her to her feet. Her hand slipped from his the moment she found her own balance. Zielle wasn’t a touchy-feely person, especially with a stranger, so the moment she had a choice to not be touchy-feely she took it. “There is no need to be charming, sir. I am not one to be pleased easily,” Her voice was proper and calm but there was a hint of feistiness that underlined her tone. Zielle had a gift of maintaining a monotone voice while coming off cunning. Before she knew it, her silver-blue eyes landed on his pine green orbs. It was a struggle to not find his appearance rather extraordinary yet oddly familiar. His green eyes were positively rare amongst the brown-eyed and blue-eyed nobles surrounding him. Yet, even with such a rare color, it couldn’t help but clash with his dark hair and dark outfit. It sure did catch her attention. In order to clear her mind, she pleasantly gestured her hand as she articulated once again. “But I can’t help but thank you for such kindness. Most nobles aren’t ones who can openly accept their mistakes, so it is delightful to experience a diamond in the rough.” Her words slithered with such a sly compliment that even surprised her. Zielle wasn’t trying to amuse him just because she found his physique to be impressive, rather she was actually being genuine for once. It was expected of her to bring a smile on her lips but she didn’t want to force anymore smiles unless she felt to do so. However, her eyes carried an amusement that the man before her was sure to see.

“Lady Zielle,” She heard a familiar voice call for her. The tone was warm but worried as she heard footsteps rush over. Though, she didn’t expect such a tone to carry through the room so loud. Her raven black hair swiveled as she turned her head, no clear expression coming to her face. “Saline, there is no need to fret,” Zielle already came to the understanding of why Saline had rushed over in such a hasty manner. Her voice grew pleasurable as she took in the familiar face of the blond-haired woman. She wasn’t surprised to see Saline’s cheeks already flushed by the previous constant flirting with men, even if it was moments ago. “You had fallen,” Saline scrunched her hands in concern as she glanced towards Soryn. Her brown orbs were coarse at first but softened at his handsome features. Saline was one to never get upset with the pretty ones, they could easily murder someone and she would still fall head over heels for them. “Indeed I did, but I really am alright.” Zielle waved her hand in reassurance knowing it would bring a smile to Saline’s face. Saline did what Zielle expected and smiled. “Well in that case then may I introduce you to someone? I think you will find him rather charming,” Saline said reaching to grab Zielle’s hand in order to guide her. She truly was one to say something so bold to Zielle at a formal event. But Zielle wasn’t going to correct her since she understood her intentions. “Please, Saline. I am not one to ruin your fun, but I am already making the acquaintance of someone,” Her voice was like silk, as if she were comforting a young child but in a formal manner. Saline gave a submissive nod and hurried away, but it wasn’t to Zielle’s surprise that Saline carried a gleam in her eye. She knew what that look was. It was Saline’s way of commenting on Zielle for finding herself in conversation with a handsome man.

Zielle’s attention returned to Soryn. Her eyes sparkled for a second but the sparkle disappeared as she began to speak. “She is quite bold with her words,” Her smile slimmed away but her voice was still light with pleasure. Zielle wasn’t trying to reassure him but instead apologize for Saline’s blunt words. To dismiss the current subject, she decided maybe she did want to make his acquaintance. There was something about him that charmed her, and from what she understood, she charmed him just as much. She might as well be the first to say it. “If you aren’t accompanying someone already I wouldn’t mind if you amused me enough to have a drink?” She offered in a warm tone. She was under the assumption that he wasn’t accompanying any lucky girl since there was no lady glued to his side. Her raven black hair danced as she turned away from him, already on a search for one of the servants who carried fine glasses of champagne on a platter. Zielle unconsciously found herself carelessly flirting right when she glanced back at him to make sure he was following. She narrowed her eyes in amusement, her gaze gawking at him up and down, and she allowed a minor smile to come onto her lips. It wasn’t like her to smile at a man at this event so soon but he did manage to charm her at least a little bit.

She gripped the glass lightly in her hand as she pressed the rim against her maroon lips, taking a sip as she has many times before. Her hand allowed the glass to lower away from her mouth as she found the light conversation to indulge herself in. “It is quite blunt to say but you look oddly familiar,” Her eyes were intricately placed on him and only him. Zielle couldn’t help but study his face but she never understood what caused such familiarity with him. Little did she know that the man before her was one of royalty. Not just any royal but the brother of the king. She let out a minor hum from her throat as she continued to casually converse with him. As time slipped by, she didn’t realize how long she had indulged in conversation with him. Her face grew flushed as she was having her--well she didn’t remember what drink she was on anymore. By now she was in deep open conversation with him. She wouldn’t call herself drunk since she was able to maintain control of her body and voice but the logic she once held dear grew useless. She didn’t find herself guarding her words nearly as much as she did when she first met him and she seemed to become gullible to his restless flirting. Zielle flirted here and there but very little of it was found in her words. She would flirt with her glances and demeanor, knowing how to intrigue any man with something so simple. But she didn’t know that such careless flirting would become a regret to her in the future.

Soryn hadn’t expected the party to be anything more than a colossal waste of time, its only redeeming quality being that it was the perfect place to cause a scene and embarrass his brother. He hadn’t anticipated feeling anything more than resentment and anger. And he certainly hadn’t expected to have a good time. But he also hadn’t anticipated....her. The reaction to their collision had been anything but expected. Any other woman in the room would have done one of three things: giggle and flirt, making a fool out of herself; react with outrage and cause a massive commotion; or over-dramatize it and take advantage of an opportunity to have the attention of the whole room. But this woman had done none of the three. Instead, she had reacted with grace, poise, and just enough annoyance to tell Soryn that she either didn’t know who he was or just didn’t care. And either way, he was intrigued. Very few women had ever been unimpressed with him, and the few that had...they had simply been acting, putting on a façade to play the part of a hard-to-get, unique woman. But they were all the same, shallow and flighty and mind-numbingly boring. But not her. She was different. Something about her was....he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But he was pleasantly surprised when he realized he was actually enjoying himself, despite his initial expectations.

He had been caught off guard when she boldly invited him to have a drink with her, adding yet another thing to the list of what set her apart from anyone else. But Soryn had smiled and obliged her, following behind to retrieve a glass for himself. And none too resentfully, either. They had been talking ever since. Soryn had initially politely deflected questions about himself, especially after she had offhandedly told him he looked familiar. He liked her, and he didn’t want to let on that he was the infamous brother to the King, the exiled outcast who always played the part of the villain in the bedtime stories told to children. He knew all too well how that particular bit of information could change how a person viewed him, how they acted around him, how they thought of him. There was a reason he was keeping a low profile. And he wasn’t about to stop.

But as the night went on, he loosened up a little. The alcohol was affecting him a little by now. Not so much as to slur his speech or embolden him to blurt out some outrageous thing, but enough that he felt comfortable letting his guard down around her, just a little. She was funny and intelligent and witty, and in all honesty that was a rarity for ladies of the court. Her sarcasm and attitude were remarkably refreshing...and Soryn had to admit that her personality wasn’t the only thing he was attracted to. He was not blind nor unobservant, and he had certainly noticed her physical qualities as well. She had a lovely face and an attractive figure, yet she chose to dress tastefully and not slather herself with cosmetics. Yet another thing he liked about her. His gaze subtly drifted down her form once more and he allowed himself a small smile. There were ideas surfacing in his head, ideas that made him shift his weight and sip from his glass to cover up what he was thinking. But it seemed he was not the only one thinking of things beyond polite socializing between two new acquaintances. Unless he was reading it completely wrong, Zielle had begun to flirt with him. It was nothing like he was used to. There was no overly loud laughter, or obvious winks, or deliberately leaning over a table to “accidentally” show the swells of her breasts. No, she was much more refined about it. A suggestive look here, a meaningful glance there, a fluid motion that emphasized her graceful way of moving. Once he caught her watching him over the rim of her glass with a very alluring look in her eyes. It was becoming more and more clear to him that he was not alone in his interest.

Yet...he didn’t want to rush into anything. It certainly wasn’t out of some notion that they should know each other for longer, or that he wanted to be proper or maintain a reputation. No, it was for a purely selfish reason. He was, quite frankly, mesmerized by her enticement. And he wanted to see more. He wanted to see what kind of woman she would become, wanted to feel more of this new and exciting thing between them. She was the kind of woman who would go for what she wanted, and he wanted to see what that was like. So, he deliberately kept things subtle, deliberately avoided voicing his thoughts, all the while continuing to exude his trademark charm. It was something he had learned very early on, and though it had taken him a few years to master it, he now didn’t even have to think about the significant glances, the smooth tone he used, the slight smirk that he wore. It had always served him well...and she seemed to like it too.

The clock was well past midnight when he decided to make a move. Zielle had proven that she was extremely talented when it came to being overwhelmingly alluring while feigning disinterest. And he had to admit, he had been seduced by it. Her charm had overcome his in their little unspoken contest to see who would last longer. And strangely enough, that didn’t bother him one bit. Instead, it filled him with desire and anticipation. It was time to act.

Stepping ever so slightly closer to her, he leaned in a little and murmured, “I must admit, I was not expecting to find this night so enjoyable. Parties are not where I’m usually to be found; I find them loud and claustrophobic and rather tiring. If given the choice, I much prefer....”

He moved closer, letting his breath tickle her smooth neck as he dropped his voice low enough for only her to hear. “...darker, quieter, more....intimate...surroundings.”

Then he withdrew and spoke at a normal volume once more. “But I must say that I find your company quite agreeable. You have a way with words and a wit sharp enough to slice the tapestries adorning these walls. It is an invigorating change from what I am used to.”

Something struck him then, and he laughed slightly with a small shake of his head. “Forgive me, but it has just occurred to me that despite our lengthy conversation, I have yet to properly introduce myself. I am Lord Soryn of Thrawcliffe, at your service.”

He bowed low, then took her hand and brushed a kiss along her knuckles, his green eyes almost glittering in the candlelight, his tone meaningful as he softly added, “And it is my great pleasure to meet you.”

Then he withdrew once more and casually took a sip of his drink. He had opened the door. Whether she chose to go through it or not would determine how this night would go. It was up to her now. And so he waited, eyes still resting on her as he measured her response.

A deliberate hum spilled from her lips every time she found herself amused. It was stagnant, one that wasn’t prominent for attention. It exaggerated itself like a sigh. Most occasions, she made such an exquisite noise unconsciously, not even noticing that she was doing it instinctively. Many who have been in her presence have caught on whether they had or hadn’t amused her based on such a quiet noise. A hinted smile appeared on her maroon lips after the hum, simultaneously with the abbreviation of her eyes. Blue and silver glinted in her orbs as she gawked upon his facial features. Her face flashed various gazes, though it was evident that each look was on a seductive basis. She elevated her glass, which had never once left her hand. The rim, like many times before, pressed to her lips but this time the beverage never slipped down her throat. The movement hitched, diminishing the glass back to a leisurely position. Zielle didn’t find it odd when he had advanced closer to her, amongst the excessive chatter that was still prominent even at this hour. His voice was soothing, having the ability to make any woman clammy with lust. She cut in, the alcohol hinting in her eager breath. “I’ve never been fond of such events either. I prefer--” But her voice muffled when he mentioned what he fancied first. The way he asserted each word made it seem like he knew precisely how to catch her attention. His breath against her skin subtly incurred her recognition but she didn’t lean away as she would have with countless other men. She allowed his astute words to pierce her with such precision. Her lips sealed, finding herself giving him a well-honed inspection. “To be expected,” She muttered in an angelic tone. If she wasn’t under the influence of the exceptional champagne she wouldn’t condone such statements being spoken to her. Yet, the coo in her tone only made her accept it further. “I am pleased that you are captivated by my mere presence. Though it is completely remarkable that the charmer can be charmed just as easily,” She found herself tantalizing but her egoic tone didn’t pulse in a sarcastic manner. Her lewd testaments drifted when he bowed his head. Zielle was astonished that she had never grown fond of his name until this point. Come to think of it, she hadn’t properly introduced herself either. Before she could introduce herself in response she found something odd about his introduction. It wasn’t the custom he declaimed but rather the words he used. “Lord Soryn of Thrawcliffe,” She reformed in the utter acceptance of his name. The way she fluttered his name off of her tongue was sure to get an arouse out of him. She didn’t expect that he would announce himself as a lord primarily since most men don’t have the guts to claim such a title. Foolish because of the alcohol crimsoning her system, she didn’t piece together that he was the king’s brother, the man extradited to reside at Thrawcliffe. It didn’t help that his name, Soryn, wasn’t published for all to know. Many just distinguish him as the failed prince, the one who could have doomed the kingdom, or the one who couldn’t capture the throne. But even if she knew it was him she wouldn’t accept that the charming man before her had such a haunted past. “...of Thrawcliffe,” She earnestly repeated, to take in the aspect of where he arrived from. Many men aren’t expected to come from a faraway region, that he spoke of, which gave every reason for it to stand out to her. There were countless tales that Thrawcliffe was a place for the banished and sinister, but Zielle never found reason to believe such childish assumptions. Instead of concerning herself with the instability of his origin, she didn’t concede it to ruin the pleasure she found herself having. “I had never met such a brute that originated from a faraway place like Thrawcliffe. No wonder why I perceive you as distinctive from the others,” She hadn’t caught on that she denominated him a brute until the last minute. That was something Saline would have said, not her. Brute was a bold word used very little by nobles, especially ladies. It was a per se exaggeration used to establish a man’s competence and stature in a manner to catch one’s attention.

Her desired thoughts blundered away when he pressed his stern lips against her hand, eyeing his intricate green orbs in shear response. “Lord Soryn, I am Zielle Maeve of the acclaimed Maeve family. I derive from Farvein.” She didn’t return a bow nor a curtsy as she responded. She wouldn’t allow her to give her utter respect to him just yet. For once, out of their whole conversation, an actual chuckle spilled from her throat. It wasn’t based on giddiness but because she found him amusing. It lifted at first but came off as light and romantic. “I guess we were both senseless on the aspect of not introducing ourselves in the first place,” Her fingers lifted to cover her mouth but she was unsuccessful in hiding the warm features she rarely allowed anyone to see. That was when she noticed she hadn’t used her heirloom to hide her features instead, nor did she use it the whole conversation with him. Such an item wasn’t to proclaim her wealth but to allow herself to find comfort near people. She would hide her emotions behind the handheld fan that would flick open and closed at every second depending on what she felt. Well, on top of that she struggled to breathe with a tight corset underneath the glorified dress she wore. But it remained closed in her grip. Barely noticing an inconclusive submission of action made it clear that this man did something to her that no other could ever do. Her eyes peered as he eased a doorway open...and she thought she was the cunning one. The way he eased it open in an eager and excited yet nonchalant demeanor only made it harder to resist him. A slow breath escaped her lips as she skimmed the existence within the room. Zielle’s eyes narrowed mischievously but she didn’t enter. It was as though she was testing his composure, just to see if his nonchalant personality would crack and truly show the excitement he hid so well. It was pure entertainment to see a man so riled up, so why wouldn’t he show it? Her mouth opened to speak but no words escaped her. Zielle’s lips slimmed instead. He had a stained persistence on his face but she couldn’t exactly read what he was implying. Did he plan on wooing her after she entered the room or did he plan otherwise? Yet, even with her undeniable concerns, there was something about him that attracted her, though she would never show it on her face. Without a second glance nor a single word, she entered the room. The moment she entered, she settled her heirloom fan on the nearest stand for safekeeping, allowing the glass to be the only thing that persisted in her hand. Zielle’s gaze caught the attention of an oversized window that surveyed the palace grounds. She permitted herself to glide towards it. Her keen expressions loomed out at the view. Horses and carriages were lined up to find the presence of the personal noble that owned such a luxury. Many were already shuffling out to find their way back home, but it hadn’t become clear that she had a scheduled time to return to the steeds and gold-rimmed carriage. The alcohol had drowned out such gracefully planned proclamations. “I forgot how marvelous the night can be,” She claimed as she pressed her hand against her stomach taking a deep breath. Zielle finished the final sips of champagne before placing the glass on the stand that persisted underneath the enlarged window. Her hands slimmed down her gown to achieve perfection before she turned towards him. She placed a kind hand on his forearm but instead of removing her hand, as she would with any man, she allowed her fingers to ascend his arm and slip back down again. The way his keen eyes gleamed at her made her both worry and grow perplexed. This was the first time she couldn’t decipher a man’s thoughts, and to be honest, the lack of control alarmed her. “Tell me, what do you have on your mind...Lord Soryn?” The way she spoke his name was very elaborate and soothing. She knew that men relished their rank being spoken. Even though he was a diamond in the rough, he was still a man, and Zielle knew how to play any man like a violin. Before she knew it her lips carelessly blessed his skin. Along with deep huffs of her breath, her hands grasped onto his chest as she managed to kick off her heels. Her dress twirled when she was instinctively pulled close to him. Her eyes fluttered open and closed simultaneously with his. Their breath was filled with passion and smelled rich in alcohol. Her tender hands stopped him and his hasty choices when she caressed her fingers against his lips. She then skimmed her fingers upwards to brush away the strands of hair that had fallen into his face. Though she didn’t expect a fragile gesture to hold him back for long. Zielle allowed his hands to wander, allowing him to become encompassed in her in any way he pleased. As they continued, the world seemed to get fuzzier, yet it became clear that this was a night she wouldn’t forget...for many reasons.

--

If it hadn’t been the disturbing breath of another against her skin she wouldn’t have woken up. Her fingertips traced against warm skin before she could brush the messy strands of her hair out of her face. Zielle’s skin was nipped and flustered with attention and affection from last night, her cheeks still flushed as a result. As she was still half asleep, she snuggled into his comforting build, but the cordial hand caressing the curve of her back was what caused her eyes to largen in bewilderment. She forced herself to sit upwards. The extraordinary fabric of the bedsheets entangled the bed, twisted every which way, but still persisted against her skin. The last thing she expected to come of her day was to find herself under luxurious covers with a nude man. His skin was just as flushed as hers as he laid peacefully asleep. His face, lips, neck, and chest were littered with the smears of maroon lipstick. Her fingers traced her lips, amazed that she would do such things to a man who she had only met. A minor headache settled in her head, most likely due to the countless glasses of alcohol. Zielle tugged at the sheets, covering her indecent body in hopes that her maidenhood would be recovered. Like a deer in headlights, she stared at him, her heart fluttering. She should have known. A man, especially a marvelous charmer, only had his mind set on one thing, and to her regret, she gave him what he wanted. From her dismembered thoughts of last night, she was under the vast assumption that he took advantage of her loose mind. She could only remember vague instances, but one she didn’t recall was her consent to such a misfortune. The burden of accepting her willingness to such actions became unbelievable, even if she did recollect her scattered memories. To her dismay, she didn’t forget all of the memories which she couldn’t tell was a good or bad thing. Still scatterbrained, she stumbled out of bed, picking up her strewn-about gown. Her fingers trembled in adrenaline as she jostled on the tight dress the best she could. The last thing she aspired to do was find herself in an uncomfortable eventful gown once again but she didn’t have much of a choice. Every few seconds she would glance behind her to make sure he was still asleep. Zielle knew she should feel pity towards him for abruptly leaving but the alcohol was now out of her system, for the most part, so she had no need to feel such emotions. It became clear to her that men weren’t the only ones to run away from situations like this. She snatched up her heirloom fan, in the same place she had placed it last night, and snuck out of the room. An exhausted breath escaped her when the door clicked behind her. Her chest felt tight and she felt nauseous but she couldn’t help but consider it being the countless glasses she drank. Zielle bit her lip a final time before darting to escape like it was a crime scene.

The early-morning sun streaming through the window nearly blinded Soryn when he sleepily opened his eyes, causing him to quickly squeeze them shut again and disappear under the covers with a muffled grunt. After a few moments he slowly resurfaced and glared at the shafts of light that seemed intent on shining directly into his face. There was a pounding headache in the base of his skull and a pain in his temples that he knew well, though he hadn’t felt it in a while. A fuzzy, stagnant taste in his mouth and the overwhelming desire to drink an entire barrel of water further confirmed what he already knew to be true: he was very hung over. How much had he drunk last night? He had stopped keeping track around his fourth glass....and that had been very early on in his conversation with...Zielle....

He put a hand out to the other side of the bed and found only cool, empty sheets. Had she really-

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he surveyed the empty room with a faint smirk. He hadn't taken her for the type to do that, but it seemed he had misread her. To be fair, they had both been quite inebriated for a significant section of their conversation, so who was to say that he had known her at all? Alcohol could bring out parts of someone’s personality that they would normally keep hidden, so why would she be any different? Maybe she really was just looking for a one-time experience, a chance to let go of her normal worries and enjoy herself with a total stranger. He could understand that – he knew well the feeling. Still, a small part of him was somewhat disappointed. She had been so unique, so different from the other ladies of court. He had genuinely enjoyed talking to her and would have appreciated the chance to get to know her better, even if it was only as friends. Ah well. Perhaps it was for the best. Though many of the details of the night were fuzzy, he distinctly remembered that at one point he had been.... begging. It was probably for the best that she had left; he wasn’t sure he could look at her without thinking of what he perceived as a stain on his normally dignified and dashing reputation.

Soryn shook his head and sat up, the blankets falling away to expose his toned torso to the sunlight. Letting out a deep yawn, he stretched and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to work out the stiffness residing there – and froze when he caught a glimpse of himself in the tall mirror in the corner across from the bed. Slowly, hesitantly, he looked down at himself. At the myriad of marks covering his skin. Most of it was lipstick, but some were....

He ran a finger over the raised patches of skin and let out a breath of mild amazement. Yet another unexpected way that she had surprised him.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up – but immediately swayed and had to sit down. Something felt wrong. No, not wrong. But....different. Definitely different. He wondered again exactly how much he’d had to drink; what exactly he’d had to drink. Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet once again and made his way to the washbasin. The cool water felt wonderful against his skin and helped to wake him up and revitalize him. He could hear the sounds of the morning bustle in the castle drifting up from below his window. Hoofbeats, voices, the creaking of carriages as they received their patrons, the voice of-

Soryn recoiled in surprise and disgust. The voice of his brother. What in the hell was he doing down there? Footsteps light and careful, he made his way to the window and peered surreptitiously down at the scene below. Kenai was assisting a lady into her carriage, ever the charming gentleman. Her tittering drifted up on the breeze and Soryn almost rolled his eyes. It seemed that what he valued in a woman and what his brother valued still differed greatly. The silver and green banners on the carriage were familiar to him. Ah, yes. The Clibarde family. His brother may be rather superficial in his taste in women, but he was cunning when it came to romancing women of power. Evalin Clibarde had no reputation for intellect nor wit, but she was as lovely as an angel incarnate and hailed from a rich and influential family. Soryn sighed and returned to the basin, dropping the cloth beside it before turning to his clothing, discarded on a chair near the bed. It was best to just leave. All his plans to humiliate his brother had gone out the window, as had the opportunity. And frankly....he just didn’t feel like pursuing it anymore. Not at the moment, at least. Perhaps once he had returned home and had time away from the ridiculous lavishness of his brother’s court, he would feel differently. But he needed time to rejuvenate – he had forgotten just how draining it could be to be immersed in this place.

Ten minutes later he was in the stables, pleasantly surprised to find Centon waiting with the horses harnessed and ready to go. Soryn raised his eyebrows and smiled as he approached. “Early morning?”

Centon bowed and smiled upon rising. “Nay, I rose before the dawn as I always do.”

He stroked the neck of the horse nearest him. “Dunstan was more than ready to be on our way. Alger however,” he indicated the other stallion, slightly shorter but more muscular. “He would have been quite satisfied to stay and indulge in his hay.”

Soryn smiled and moved toward the carriage. “Then let us be off. I find myself rather worn out.”

Centon inclined his head. “I would be too, after that late night.”

Soryn whipped around to retort, but his driver had already ascended to his seat with a wink and a sly grin. The man was only a few years older than Soryn, yet had the eyes and mannerisms of a man three times his senior. And he treated him like it. Not that Soryn minded. Some would find the other man’s familiar way of addressing his lord downright disrespectful. But Soryn had always considered the man a friend, and didn’t mind the occasional quips or remarks. So he simply climbed into the carriage and tapped on the ceiling. “Let us be off, Centon.”

The vehicle began to move, and Soryn leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, something was....diminished, for lack of a better word. He raised a hand in front of him and let just a bit of his power manifest, watching the smoky shadows curling around his fingers with a distant interest. That was still there...but he couldn’t help feeling like somehow the feeling was tied to his power. He let his hand sink to his lap and gazed out the window. Perhaps he just needed time away, back at Thrawcliffe. It seemed only time would tell.

Their departure from the castle walls was unnoticed and unremarkable, save for the onslaught of beggars and waifs that descended upon them the moment they left the castle proper. It seemed that for all his glorified announcements about how prosperous his kingdom was, poverty still ran rampant in the streets. The gaunt, desperate faces of the children lingered in his mind long after the nearby guards had chased the pack of beggars away from the coach and into the dirty streets. Soryn felt anger rise within him as they traveled through the city. Last night it had been ostly dark when they had arrived, but now...now the light of day revealed the true state of the city. Conditions ranged from poor to downright squalor, and everywhere Soryn looked he could see desperation and fear. His brother had never been a tyrannical type, and it was clear that the people weren't oppressed...but it seemed that the lack of action could be just as damning for the commoners. He let out an angry sigh and tore his gaze away from the exterior. There was nothing he could do. Not now.

Perhaps these people could be helped if his lazy brother could be convinced to actually aid his subjects. But how?

The timing seemed relatively perfect. By this time of the morning, her carriage was pulling up in hopes to search for her after her influential hindrance in returning to the carriage on time. Zielle, encapsulated by Soryn’s charm, had foolishly neglected her requirement to return at the required time. He must have left last night, proclaimed her missing, and resolved to return in the morning. The coachman was inevitably prosperous for finding her or he would have had to barter with the excess violence of her disquieted parents. Currently, she exited the palace, her heels clicking in promptness as she peeped back towards where she had just exited. It was sickening to bequeath him but she didn’t have much of a choice. The cordial rays of sun began to peek over the horizon, grazing against her lustfully bruised lips and crimsoned skin. It caught her by surprise that she felt tears coming to her silver-blue orbs, both in disturbance and yearn. Coming to the steep stairs that led up to the entrance of the estate, she nearly tripped over herself. That was when she barred eyes on the gold-rimmed carriage that had just pulled into the vast lot, that once was filled from last night’s event, but was now empty. The horses snorted steam as they uniformly chewed on their bits in the agony of being overworked. “M’lady, where have you been?” The coachman who had originally dropped her off lept off of the bench he had sat on many times before. His eyes emerged restlessly, his attire shabby like they were jostled on. On a side note, she couldn’t judge him since her clothes were just as sloppy as his. Her dress wasn’t neat and prosperous as it once was. But was he looking for her all night? Had he even gotten any sleep? The shaded bags under his eyes made it clear that he hadn’t slept a wink. Her parents must have given him hell when he had returned to the Maeve family estate without Zielle in tow. She was just fortunate that her parents didn’t tag along to find her or else they would have made a scene. “I’m not feeling too well. Please, take me home,” She subtly stated, flicking her fan open to hide the insistent blush on her face from last night. Luckily, the coachman had no authority to question her as he opened the carriage door. He elevated a jittery hand, which she seized with forced grace. Zielle stepped in, her steps just as shaky as the coachman’s hand. For some reason, the torque of the carriage hadn’t bothered her nearly as much as it had before. It originally would jolt her from the bulges of the path but such movements didn’t cause her agony. It was plausibly due to the vast gained memories from last night. Each memory contained indecent motives but came off relatively blurry leaving them to be out of order. It sure depleted her energy yet her heart continued to race. Zielle wasn’t one to act so indecently, not just in her behaviors and actions as shown in her memories, but with running away at the last second. Her heart had sought to bury herself in his arms for just a few minutes longer. Zielle couldn’t help but yearn to feel his lustful touch just once more. But to be candid she was rightfully frightened. That was the first time she had ever...been with a man...in that manner. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had romantic inclined relationships before. All of those bonds were always professionally limited. Most relationships of that sort were indulged in noble family duties, but it was clear no registered arrangements had worked out. So, that was the first time she…

To her, there was something unconventional about him. It wasn’t just his pretty face that had caught her attention. Even with his cocky and ingenious charm, not once did he take unsettled interest in himself as any other man had done in her presence. Processing through her fuzzy memories sure made her undergo all types of incoherent emotions, but that wasn’t what she was focused on. The way he had presented such passion for a woman he had just met. It made her feel ludicrous for thinking it was her. That he had only become so vulnerable because of her. He was a charmer so he must have acted that way with every lady he managed to passive-aggressively harass until they presented themselves to him. At least that was how she perceived it. Though, even with her underlying suspicions, she wouldn’t at all say it was a horrible night.

Zielle’s face grew lank as she heard the steel gates to the Maeve estate jar open, the horses grunting outside in eagerness as they hoped to relax. Her fingers slid to peek open the shades that dimmed the light that entered the carriage. Her eyes narrowed in an attempt to adjust to the eminent rays of light. The luxurious grass was lit by the fully elevated sun. There were endless rows of exotic flowers that illuminated the outside of the estate, welcoming any newcomers. There were vast colors, all too beautiful to just gawk at once. To her dismay, in a few moments, she would have to enter the estate to face her fretting parents. The carriage halted, workers of the Maeve family already ushering towards the horses to get them taken care of. It wasn’t long-drawn until the carriage door unfastened, the gentleman’s hand reaching towards her as usual. She seized it but his grip seemed sterner than usual. “I do apologize for causing you trouble, sir. Please take the rest of the day off to get rest,” This time she didn’t produce a smile, not feeling inclined to do so. Instead, she held her fan to her lips. She ultimately had to reluctantly step inside, knowing that in just a few seconds she would have to hear yelling. It wasn’t unusual for a young woman of Zielle’s age to continuously remain under her parent’s roof. Many ladies across countless borders are required to do so. That is until they are courted off in a means to commemorate with nearby noble families. Inside, the walls were flourished in height and the floors were crisply polished but after seeing the royal palace it seemed quaint. Nothing could ever compare to the royal grounds. It wasn’t long until she perceived two riotous figures rushing over to her. Of course, they were her parents. Her father was a lean, tall man with a chiseled face. He could undoubtedly be deemed as a remarkably handsome man if it hadn’t been for his stubble of a beard that he never seemed to shave. His stubbed gray hair that was once black showed that he had aged punctually from limitless stress. He was a remarkable man with a vastly respected title, known to have acquainted himself with the previous king. Meanwhile, her mother, of shorter stature, shrunk into her oversized gown. The casual gown was mixed with intense yellows and oranges to represent the warm season, complementing her blue hues and blonde locks. From many stories told, countless times, she was the one to initiate the relationship with her father as she had fallen head over heels for him. Yet, such noble figures weren’t always meant to stay composed. Zielle’s eyes grew dull as her parent’s fury was let out. They boomed their voices, cutting over each other in hopes to get their pain-stricken words through her head. Yet, she zoned out, not caring to pay attention to their rampage. It wasn’t like her to act in such manners. She always considered their rage, taking the hurtful input they gave to make herself better. She had no choice but to, coming from a noble family. “Zielle?” Her father barked at her, forcing her to snap her eyes onto him. It was obvious that he caught on to her not listening. His demeanor was off, him usually staying composed. He must have truly been frightened to act in this manner. “I’m sorry, father. I am feeling under the weather. Forgive me,” She drifted her head deliberately before shifting her legs to hold her unnoticeably unsteady figure. “What exactly happened last night,” Her mother cut in before she was able to excuse herself. A light blush arose on her face but her parents luckily didn’t notice. “As an honor to the king, I was privileged to spend the night within the palace walls. I guess I was so ecstatic that it slipped my mind to inform the coachman. I have no other intent, mother, but to keep the family name in honor,” She bowed her head before heading for the doorway. It felt disgraceful to lie to her family but what was she supposed to tell them? That a man, whom she deemed to have taken advantage of her, had contrived to get her under the covers without courting her in a relationship? It was utter dishonor to even try to explain it to her parents. “Zielle,” Her mother’s silked voice still ill-advised but pure called out to her. Zielle glimpsed behind her shoulder as her mother continued to speak. “At least remember that we have an important event coming up about our imperial marketed trade routes. I expect you to be of the right mind when we go there,” Such a bitter tone slipped from her mother’s inexplicably slimmed lips, but Zielle understood why she was spoken to in such a manner.

Exiting the room, Zielle groped her abdomen as her nausea grew. It wasn’t stomached distress but rather a pain that seemed to build up the more she bore with it. Still doubtful of last night she couldn’t help but wonder if he slipped something in her drink. It is nonsense to think of anyone at the event to do a shameful and frowned upon action but it wasn’t like it doesn’t exist. It made sense as to why she had allowed him to do such things to her...adventurous things...lovely things. She grimaced at her indecent thoughts, slamming her eyes shut for half a second to regain focus. There was no way he could have slipped anything into her beverage since she had never set her glass down unless her drink was otherwise completely gone. It was probably just the countless glasses she downed that made her feel so sickly. Zielle had never drunk so much so this feeling was all new to her.

By the time she had gotten up to her chambers, she had a bath already brewing for her. Her room had the complex redolence of incense and perfume, freshly laundered and prepared for her arrival. Slamming her beloved fan on a nearby stand, she caressed her heated cheek in an attempt to diagnose her ill feelings. Her shaky fingers slimmed the tousled dress off of her skin, not caring that it laid strewn about on the floor. Slinking into tepid water made all of her worries sink away, but sadly nausea lingered. The liquid caressed her worn-out and flushed skin, soothing with the scented oils laced in the water. She lowered herself underneath the water, the steamed liquid touching her lips as she arched her head back. Her raven black locks dipped into the water. “Lord Soryn,” She susurrated underneath her breath, running hands through her now damp hair. She didn’t know whether to think of him as a one-night lover, devious bastard, or both. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind. Was he thinking of her? Maybe not, but as any woman, she hoped she at least made an impression.

Soryn awoke with a start as the carriage came to a lurching halt, Centon’s angry voice drifting back as he yelled at whoever or whatever had caused the sudden stop. The mooing of cattle reached him a moment later, followed by the whistles and encouragement of the farmer herding them. Soryn sat up as the carriage rocked into motion again and rolled his shoulders, wincing at the knot in his neck. He stretched both arms upward, kneading a hand firmly against the sore spot with a pained grunt. His carriage was comfortable, outfitted with plush, velvet-like seats and cushioned sills...but they had been entirely unhelpful in preventing the stiffness that inevitably followed whenever one slept with their head drooped awkwardly like a rag doll.

The light from outside had taken on the distinctly golden tone of late afternoon, and Soryn peered out to see that the outskirts of Tavanire had long since disappeared, replaced by the rolling hills of Manilyth. The area had long been known for its lush fields and rich vineyards, and the farmers who tended the crops there had singlehandedly been responsible for supplying almost a third of all the grain and wine distributed across Lyrian. He could just make out the top of the city structures in the distance - not nearly as large or grand as the capitol, but still an impressive sight to behold. The stonemasons and sculptors of old had taken great care and pride in their work when they built the cathedral that sat at the highest point of the city, and it showed. The structure itself was awe-inspiring, but it was the carvings that were the crowning jewel of the spectacular building; animals so lifelike they looked as if they would one day just simply walk out of their stone surroundings, people that appeared to watch the passers-by, angels with faces so hauntingly beautiful they seemed sad. It was said that mighty warriors had been brought to tears with a single glance at them. Soryn could believe it; he had found himself at a complete loss for words when he laid eyes upon the famed sculptures.

But the cathedral was not where they were headed tonight. The road to Thrawcliffe was a long one, and it would take another day’s travel at least to reach home. So they would spend the night in Manilyth and carry on in the morning. Soryn sat quietly and watched the city approach, smiling when the carriage passed through the gates and immediately headed away from the rich sector of the city. Centon knew him well indeed. Soryn had found the grand hotels to be....well, annoying. Though he had once welcomed the attention of servants and staff wanting only to please him, in the time since moving to Thrawcliffe he had grown accustomed to a much more independent lifestyle. Now the fawning simply irritated him, and he had grown quite weary of it the first time he had stayed here. Since then he had discovered alternate accommodations; an inn a fair distance away from the glamour of the rich district, in an area of the city that was still upscale but far more modest. It was much more to his liking, and by now Centon didn’t even have to be told where to go.

The sun was touching the horizon by the time they pulled up in front of the Blue Raven Inn, apparently named for the rare birds that were said to live in and around Manilyth. Soryn had never once seen a blue raven, however, and nor did he ever expect to. In his opinion they were nothing more than stories, and until he actually saw one with his own eyes he wouldn’t believe otherwise.
The carriage rocked slightly as Centon disembarked. A moment later the door swung open to reveal the coachman. “We have arrived, Sire. Shall I escort you inside?”
“No, that will be fine,” Soryn replied as he stepped out of the carriage. “Get the horses settled; I’ll see to our rooms.”
His boot touched the cobblestone below, and a wave of dizziness and nausea swept through him. His hand shot out to grip the door frame. Centon’s keen eyes followed the movement, but he wisely said nothing more than, “Very well. A decent rest will do us both good.”
Soryn nodded and took a deep breath to gather himself. Then he released his hold and strode to the front door of the inn.

The place was busy but not overly so, and the delicious smells drifting from the kitchen made his stomach growl appreciatively. The feeling of nausea had passed quickly and left a demanding appetite in its wake, and Soryn was eager to sit down and enjoy a bowl of stew - the food here was one of the best parts of staying at the Blue Raven. The innkeeper recognized and greeted him happily, clearly remembering the generous tip he had left on his last stay here. Soryn paid for the rooms then headed for the dining room, and within a few minutes a steaming bowl of stew was placed before him. Soryn inhaled deeply before digging in. Just as good as he remembered.
Centon joined him when he was halfway through his meal, sitting down to his own food and taking a long drink of ale with a happy sigh. The two men ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes before Centon asked, “Was the trip to your liking, Sire?”
Soryn eyed him over the rim of his tankard. “I thought I told you to stop calling me Sire.”
The other man inclined his head. “Perhaps...but it hardly seems proper to call you by your first name. And I do recall that you prefer not to be addressed as “Your Lordship.”
Soryn smirked as he set down his ale. “Hardly proper indeed. God forbid you call me by my given name.”
But he understood Centon’s reservations about such a casual form of address - it was extremely uncommon for a person of noble descent to prefer a simpler title, or none at all - normally the punishment for someone of Centon’s station to speak to his lord in such a familiar manner would be dire indeed. It was understandable that he would be hesitant to do so, even though he knew Soryn was a different case. “I suppose Sire is acceptable,” he allowed. “If you absolutely must call me by a title.”
Centon smiled. “Very well.”
There was a brief silence as Soryn finished the last of his stew. The evening musicians had arrived and were arranging themselves on the small stage along the far wall, tuning their instruments and preparing for the performance. Soryn picked up a piece of bread and used it to blot up the last of the gravy. “And the trip was...fine. It wasn’t as dreadful as it could have been, I’ll admit.”
He fell silent as his thoughts turned once again to Zielle, and he absently wondered what she was doing at that moment. Perhaps she was currently ensconced in a meal as he was, or maybe reading one of the fine works of literature they had discussed, or perhaps enjoying a quiet walk in a garden somewhere. Or perhaps she was in bed, given the lateness of the hour. A faint flush rose to his cheeks as memories of their time together rose unbidden to his mind, memories of the sounds-
He snapped abruptly out of his train of thought at the quiet sound of a throat being cleared, and he looked up to see Centon watching him with a knowing gleam in his eye. Soryn cleared his own throat and hastily stood up. “Ahem. I am quite weary from the journey, so I will take my leave and retire to my room. Please,” he gestured at the stage as Centon started to stand as well. “Feel free to stay and enjoy the performance. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The older man smiled and dipped his head. “Very well, Sire.”

Soryn didn’t even bother undressing beyond removing his boots and travelling cloak before he collapsed onto the bed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very off. Again he let a trickle of his power out, the tendril of living shadow drifting about, snaking and weaving its way through the room. It was there...his power was there and unchanged....but if that was the case, why did it feel different? Nothing was abnormal about it, yet the feeling of...wrongness, for lack of a better term, persisted. But what could he do about it?
Once again an image of Zielle formed in his mind, and his power lazily reached toward her. He absently watched as the tendril of shadow hovering before him slowly, gently reached out to caress the arm of the unseen woman present only in his mind. Closer, closer - then the shadow touched her arm. Soryn sat bolt upright with a barely muffled gasp, the shadows instantly disappearing as his power retreated within him. It was impossible. There was no way. She wasn’t here. She was leagues away. There was no possible way for it to have happened...but he had felt her. The moment the shadow had touched her arm in his mind, he had felt her skin beneath his hand, as warm and real as if she was standing in that very room. But...that was impossible. His powers didn’t work like that; they never had. In order to physically touch someone, they had to be close to him. In the same city, at the very least. But she....she was at the Maeve family estate...there was no way...Soryn arose and undressed properly, freshening up at the washbasin before returning to bed. He rolled onto his side and tried not to think too hard about the strange encounter. It disturbed him, not only because there was no feasible explanation for it, but also because when he had supposedly touched her, he had felt a flicker of...himself. Not himself, per se...but his magic. “It must have been a reflection....” he thought. “Nothing more than my imagination.”
The explanation was sound enough. It made sense. Yet he laid awake for long hours, and when he finally did nod off, his sleep was fitful and filled with strange things that made no sense and could not be explained at all.