REICHENBACH ROMMEL
His silver gaze didn't leave Lysander as they spoke, dangerously intent, as if he were memorising the flawless lines of the ancient mans face — his intention and dislike of the stranger utterly clear. Isorath was speaking in the background, a murmur of satin and silk, but he could not hear the words past the roar of blood in his ears. He felt it all too strongly, every emotion swirling in a torrent underneath his dark skin — rage, bloodlust, guilt, empathy, fear, love. The shadows upon him became erratic, reacting to the mess within him, confused and volatile.
“Reichenbach, how dare you.”
Reichenbach's handsome head whipped to his Dusk girl, silver eyes changing from abyssal cold to somewhat bewildered in the presence of her reprimand.
“You cannot make accusations of Lysander when I saw the way you looked at my Regent.”
A snarl lingered on his black lips, unable to come to fruition in the presence of the honey skinned girl. He had done nothing... never touched a flawless hair on the porcelain head of her Regent. He'd never acted on the stirrings within him, had not touched the mans soft lips or ravaged him in their chambers.
Oh, but he'd wanted to. Was his heart so fickle and changeable? Had he found love only to flit from heart to heart, an unstoppable search never fulfilled? The thought scared him too much to face, shamed him too much to consider. So he pushed it away, hiding it as Calligo had hid her rage.
When she turned her face from him, that rage grew.
"Ah, but he is handsome enough for me. Perhaps Lysander would like to be my escort to the festivities this evening, so the lovebirds may look ravishing together."
His eyes flickered at that, switching to stare at Isorath in consternation — then back to Lysander and his impeccable presence, so slick and elegant.
Finally, they returned to Florentine, her trembling fragility something that had always called to him — and always would. He was a man born to protect, and feeling, seeing the innocence of her, the kindness, it tugged at the essence of him — a hurricane forced into blood and bone. He would always answer that call.
With a considerable amount of effort, Reich turned his gaze back to the antlered men,
"I think that would be best."
He stared at Lysander again, a savage promise written across the tenseness of his muscular body. Oh, how he ached to feel those slender bones break underneath his hands. Drum beats rose within him, thundering in time with his great heart, music swelling and limning his bones. If he only opened his mouth...
He did not, only turned his back dismissively, his spine rigid. The Night King attempted not to spend too much time thinking about the pale skinned kirin dancing and drinking with another man, but failed miserably.
Reichenbach waited for the others to leave before turning his silver gaze to Florentine, softer now, the lashes lowering, supplicating. He hated to see her so distressed, his little butterfly in her cage of emotions. Even more so when it was distress caused by him. Yet that anger remained, hovering behind his heart, thrumming through the heated veins within him — so much so that before he could consider whether or not he'd want the answer he asked;
"Who is he to you?"
@Isorath @Florentine @Lysander bloop
“Reichenbach, how dare you.”
Reichenbach's handsome head whipped to his Dusk girl, silver eyes changing from abyssal cold to somewhat bewildered in the presence of her reprimand.
“You cannot make accusations of Lysander when I saw the way you looked at my Regent.”
A snarl lingered on his black lips, unable to come to fruition in the presence of the honey skinned girl. He had done nothing... never touched a flawless hair on the porcelain head of her Regent. He'd never acted on the stirrings within him, had not touched the mans soft lips or ravaged him in their chambers.
Oh, but he'd wanted to. Was his heart so fickle and changeable? Had he found love only to flit from heart to heart, an unstoppable search never fulfilled? The thought scared him too much to face, shamed him too much to consider. So he pushed it away, hiding it as Calligo had hid her rage.
When she turned her face from him, that rage grew.
"Ah, but he is handsome enough for me. Perhaps Lysander would like to be my escort to the festivities this evening, so the lovebirds may look ravishing together."
His eyes flickered at that, switching to stare at Isorath in consternation — then back to Lysander and his impeccable presence, so slick and elegant.
Finally, they returned to Florentine, her trembling fragility something that had always called to him — and always would. He was a man born to protect, and feeling, seeing the innocence of her, the kindness, it tugged at the essence of him — a hurricane forced into blood and bone. He would always answer that call.
With a considerable amount of effort, Reich turned his gaze back to the antlered men,
"I think that would be best."
He stared at Lysander again, a savage promise written across the tenseness of his muscular body. Oh, how he ached to feel those slender bones break underneath his hands. Drum beats rose within him, thundering in time with his great heart, music swelling and limning his bones. If he only opened his mouth...
He did not, only turned his back dismissively, his spine rigid. The Night King attempted not to spend too much time thinking about the pale skinned kirin dancing and drinking with another man, but failed miserably.
Reichenbach waited for the others to leave before turning his silver gaze to Florentine, softer now, the lashes lowering, supplicating. He hated to see her so distressed, his little butterfly in her cage of emotions. Even more so when it was distress caused by him. Yet that anger remained, hovering behind his heart, thrumming through the heated veins within him — so much so that before he could consider whether or not he'd want the answer he asked;
"Who is he to you?"
@Isorath @
