Dusk had defences even the King of Thieves struggled to sidestep, slipping like a shadow through the early hours of the morning to find his girl. That dainty woman made of honey and lilac, so strong she was able to control his emotions — set his great heart thundering, turn his already hot blood to boiling. Florentine, the new Queen of the Dusk Court.
The fact that his lover was now the Queen of an opposing court had not been whispered into the Night King's ear, his silver gaze hadn't swept over a scroll informing him of the change — he was blind to all things Florentine, blind but to gaze at her honey gold curls and the smile that made him inexplicably happy. So, foolish as he was, Reichenbach slid into Florentine's old room with a coy smile. He exuded mischief and power, gliding into the room silently and smoothly, the only tell of his presence being the faint scent of woodsmoke and jasmine.
Shadows began to dance and flicker around him as he drew further into the room, excitement setting them into motion. It was a new magic, this strange connection to the shadows, something he had shrugged off as Calligo's tampering, refusing to look further into the phenomenon for fear that he would not like what he found if he did. Reichenbach paused, his long lashed eyes narrowing through the murky darkness — Florentine was not there.
Without intending it, his heart skipped a beat, a low burning beginning within his chest. If she was not in her room in the early hours of the morning, where was she?
Frowning, Reichenbach tried not to dwell on the absence, slipping back out of the room with a soft tinkling of coins. He peered down the hall, at a loss, if only for a moment.
@Florentine & anyone who wants to inform this supposed knower of secrets that his lady is actually a Queen aha
He’d caught a few hours of elusive sleep, nestled beneath a copse of fir trees, the ground beneath them bare of snow and thick with the scent of their needles. But winter was not going out with a whimper, and some time before the moon set he woke to find his breath turned to mist, shivering even in his winter coat.
Asterion was still loathe to sleep within stone walls – they remind him too much of the maze of Ravos, each turn hiding some new monster – but he doesn’t mind walking them, at least long enough to warm up, and so he goes.
He finds himself drifting, a slender sleepless ghost, down the first hallway Florentine had showed him when she’d led him back here. They weren’t the rooms she kept anymore, but they felt as familiar as anything, and for a while there is only the sound of his feet on the stones to keep him company.
And then, around a bend, a soft chiming clear as starlight. At first he thinks of Aislinn, thinks it still even as he catches the scent of woodsmoke, but it is not the gypsy girl he finds.
He hadn’t expected to come once more face to face with the man he so resembled, and as they had at the Dawn festival Asterion’s dark eyes skim over him, half-impressed and half-uncertain. Reichenbach was like a hero out of one of his childhood stories; surely anyone would aspire to be him, or to have him. He feels insubstantial in comparison, twilight on mist.
And yet, from what he’d been told, this was the man who had broken Aislinn’s heart. What, then, does that mean for his sister?
Catching himself staring, Asterion ducks his head, a gesture somewhere between shy and deferential, but when he lifts it again his dreamer’s gaze doesn’t hesitate to settle on the glimmer of the King’s eyes, pale in the fading moonlight that seeps through the doorway.
“I’ve had little luck finding her lately, either,” he says softly, and a corner of his lips curls in a smile that is lost in the shadows. “But it might help to start with the right room. Lucky that one's still empty.”
The sound of approaching hooves had him turning swiftly, curls flying and then settling comfortably back along the line of his muscular neck.
Asterion.
Reichenbach started subtly, thinking for just a moment that he was peering into a mirror — that the handsome, elegant bones belonged to him and not his beloved's brother. His roguish face broke into a grin, his argent eyes bright in the dim corridor, so different from the even, calm eyes considering him now. They stared at each other for a moment, Reichenbach assessing and finding that he could not read the expression laid so calmly over the mans face. This was the man Aislinn had found, though they'd had little time to discuss their love lives... Reich found, unnervingly, that he did not know anything about Florentine's brother.
Still... a calmness radiated so easily from Asterion that he could not help but to feel comfortable, at ease and... ever so slightly enamoured by the gentle expression he offered.
Asterion's voice was as calm as his eyes, a voice to calm the hurricane that was Aislinn Stormsinger. What was that he had said though? It might help to start with the right room...
Reich didn't attempt to hide the surprise that flitted over his expressive face, though a moment later his black lips cracked into an amused grin.
"Lucky indeed,"
He laughed, voice melodic and full of an amusement birthed from his own foolish mistake.
"I'm sure I'd have woken the whole castle if I found myself kissing Morozko"
Reichenbach's laugh was as quiet as he could manage it — yet it still echoed through the empty hall, a catching cacophony of delight. He grimaced, flinching at the noise now fading into the depths of the night. He glanced further down the hall, to where he supposed his lover now slept, her honeyed lashes soft against the silk of her skin. Looking back to Asterion, a man alone and wandering in the depths of a frozen winter night, he asked;
"I don't suppose you'd like a nightcap, Asterion?"
@Florentine @Asterion --- I'm also happy to have a thread with just Asterion and Reich, if it makes more sense with the festival thread --- on the other hand, also very happy to have Flo join, so whatever works for everyone xx HI GRIFF HOW HAVE WE NOT WRITTEN THESE TWO TOGETHER YET GOODNESS
He’s too caught up in his own uncertainty to notice the way the man assesses him, falling to stillness as cover for nerves. He might laugh if he knew that the appearance he gave was of calm; certainly the trip of his heart and the wonder at this merry-making, heart-stealing figure had him feeling anything but serene.
“There would certainly be surprise on all sides,” he agrees, and does not add that the castle might not mind a little excitement. He is at once terribly curious about the dark king, and wary of slighting his sister in any way. Politics feels like a game he has never played, and no one’s given him the rules; it seems like a ledge with a thousand possible missteps.
He is glad to be nothing more complicated than a brother.
Asterion flicks an ear at the sound of that rich laughter, glancing around as though it might bring heads peering from doorways, but there is no stirring but their breathing. He’s smiling when he says, “But no, when she became queen they convinced her to move to larger quarters. Though I suppose it’s possible she’s visiting Dawn.” It does not occur to him to wonder why Reichenbach hasn’t been updated on his sister’s rooms; truthfully, he doesn’t want to think about it too deeply. There are a few things he’s happier not knowing about his newly discovered half-sibling.
The king’s gaze catches him again, so strikingly silver, more virile than starlight. Surely even in dreaming this man was more alive than Asterion has ever been.
“A nightcap?” he repeats, as mystified as he had been when first he stepped into Isorath’s quarters a few weeks before. Even in the rare moments he came to the keep (most of them spent in the library, puzzling over tidy black marks on yellowing paper) he’d managed to avoid most of the other strange trappings of this world. He’s only just overcoming the sense of wonder at such simple things – silks and songs and stained-glass windows.
Maybe there is a kind of magic here (an ironic thought; he does not notice the way the shadows twist and cling to Reichenbach, separate from the rest of the darkness that lay so still in the hall), if only he’d open his eyes to it.
He smiles then, swift and sure. “I’d like nothing more.” He is certain he would be hard-pressed to deny him, even not knowing what he asks.
@Florentine @Reichenbach I DO NOT KNOW, it has been TOO LONG since we’ve threaded in general. Also I see what you’re doing there, making me miss Morozko, they could have been such good bros D:
Asterion was not alone in the confusion of politics, for Reichenbach had never been a man that followed the rules of Courts, had never considered that he should begin to worry about the laws of society. King though he was, he was just as confused as his almost-doppleganger when it came to political correctness. He'd rarely paused to consider that his own actions sent ripples throughout their world, so much larger his commitment was now — before it had only been his Crows, those likeminded souls that caught aflame right along with him.
The smile on Asterion's handsome face was enough to warm Reichenbach's starlit soul, his own lips responding instantly before — when she became queen.
Reichenbach felt his brow furrow, the words lingering sweetly within his gold ringed ears. Queen? He'd asked his Crows not to divulge any information they gathered on his Dusk girl for his own sake — of all people, he knew the damage rumours could do, and had not wanted to hear anything Florentine did not tell him herself. This, though...
His silver gaze returned to Asterion from where it had been scouring the hallway, his smile the same but.. different. How shameful, to be the last to find out. A bud of vexation burst and died within him, his heart hovering somewhere between hurt and hopeful — why had she not told him? A million reasons trickled into his mind and then submerged again, for he had not been to visit his honey-skinned Queen in too long, and perhaps the fault had been his.
Again, his mind returned to Asterion, only moments having passed.
"Well then, I don't suppose you know the way to the kitchens? I'd like to hear more about your sisters coronation."
@Asterion we should do an Acton one next!! Ahaha yesss I miss Morozko :c bring him back!!
So easily does the sovereign keeps his voice level, so quickly does he smooth his brow, Asterion misses any sign that he’s been caught out by the news. It had seemed a surprise to the whole Court, and many had hid their reaction less well than Reichenbach.
“Ah,” he says, summoning a mental map of the palace, and indicates the hallway ahead with a tilt of his chin. “It was in my first days here, so I was…overwhelmed, anyway.” First he’d found he had a half-sister, and then a day later that she was queen – that there were such things here as queens, and castles, and drink and food that was not rainwater or winter-grass. For a moment he gathers his thoughts, and the only sounds they make in the semi-dark are footsteps echoing soft, and Reichenbach’s coins jingling, merry.
“The first queen – Rannveig? – said she had matters elsewhere, and named Florentine to take her place. I do not think Flora expected that,” he says, and though his voice is light with humor his expression remains serious, thoughtful. “Since then I’ve hardly seen her, she’s been so busy. But I think there is to be a party…” A festival; the castle had been humming with activity over it, the only spark of warmth in the midst of cold winter. Asterion was happy to help, but his inexperience must’ve been clear – so far he’d been left to mere observation.
A turn into the dark, a stretch of hallway muffled by thick tapestries and thicker carpet. A winding staircase. It is a little like a maze; the memory of another, truer labyrinth raises gooseflesh on his skin, and he forces his attention back to Reichenbach, gaze soft and searching.
“I am sorry no one told you sooner. It must be as surprising for you as it was for her. It seems that Dusk has some, ah, positions unfilled as well, which can’t have helped.” It’s only then that he wonders how much information he should be divulging to the head of another court – but the bay is no simple king. Surely, Florentine’s status aside, there were no secrets between them that Asterion could accidentally slip loose.
Luckily he is saved from saying more by their arrival at the kitchens. Embers burn low in a fireplace, and all manner of things glint in the dim from their rows of shelves. It smells of baking and spices and a hundred things Asterion can’t yet name. Here he is lost, and he looks to the man beside him, unwilling to admit the depth of his ignorance. “Help yourself,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t come off as arrogant.
@Reichenbach I am not sure how this got so long, eep. I would <3 an acton x reich thread, I feel like much has happened
The hallway was quiet but not completely silent, the Dusk Court still breathed with life around them. His coins sang in the night, swallowed only by Asterions silent allure. The Night King could see why Aislinn's gazes paused so much longer upon the mans mahogany skin — could see that though he and his Queens brother looked alike, they were vastly different men. Asterion was like earth, his strength came from mountains and snowgrass, grounded and eternal. Reichenbach was a galaxy of chaos, filled with unbound emotion and an edge that spoke of catastrophe — no doubt he and Aislinn would have torn each other apart.
“The first queen – Rannveig? – said she had matters elsewhere, and named Florentine to take her place. I do not think Flora expected that,”
Reich shared Asterion's amused smile, though his great heart ached to think of the burden dropped onto Florentine's honey-gold shoulders.
“Since then I’ve hardly seen her, she’s been so busy. But I think there is to be a party…”
A party? It seemed a very Denoctian thing to do in the wake of a coronation, but perhaps some of his chaotic ways had rubbed off on Florentine. The thought made him grin, his teeth gleaming through the shadows. He was surprised, once again, by Asterion's careful insight as his twin spoke;
“I am sorry no one told you sooner. It must be as surprising for you as it was for her. It seems that Dusk has some, ah, positions unfilled as well, which can’t have helped.”
He'd never been able to hide his emotions very well, so his surprise at the insight must have been written clearly across his handsome face, along with the pleased smile he wore. Asterion would have made an excellent Emissary, had he been confident enough to do so — despite his lack of political knowledge, Florentines dark-skinned brother seemed to put everyone at ease.
Reich could smell the kitchens even before they rounded a corner and were faced with their warmth and comfort, breathing in the spices as a slow grin rolled across his black lips. The kitchens were one of his favourite places in every home — they were honest and full of delicious things to eat and drink, welcoming for everyone from Kings to dirty-handed Crows. His voice lost it's echo as they entered, Reichenbach leading as his telekinesis grabbed pots to make coffee and unmarked bottles filled with golden liquor.
"Being Queen can be overwhelming. Florentine will need all the support she can muster — filling those positions in Court will be vital to her success, and I think..."
Reichenbach paused, offering Asterion a steaming cup of coffee mixed with something resembling whisky,
"I think she will need our support especially — I feel better knowing you are here to watch out for her, should things turn awry."
He relaxes into the background, content to marvel at the gypsy-king’s clear ease as he set to work amid the bottles. The hearth fire was always burning, here, though it had been banked low before Riechenbach set to boiling water; the glint of the flames set the stallion’s coins to even more gleaming, caught his eyes and made them shine like stars.
Asterion wonders what it would be like, to have that kind of casual command – to be as comfortable here as holding court, or on the battlefield, or dancing at a festival. Has he ever been so confident anywhere? (Yes, he thinks, wandering, alone, under strange constellations.)
Maybe he will, in time.
For now he only takes it in, the rich-warm scents and the deep rumble of the other stallion’s voice. He nods in agreement as he accepts the mug, but his expression is considering.
“She’s strong,” he says quietly, but the volume of his voice belies the strength of it. “Stronger than she looks, I mean, with all those flowers and her kindness and…everything. The place she came from before this…” he trails off, thinking of what she’d told him of the riftlands, thinking of what he knew of Ravos. Of rogue gods and diseased dragons and how you couldn’t trust the ground you walked on. It had felt like living in a dream that could dissolve at any moment into a nightmare.
But ah, the magic! Bittersweet as saltwater, fizzing like starlight in his veins.
“I don’t know which place is stranger,” he muses, half to himself, though his gaze moves up to meet the king’s, his the dark calm of the space between the stars, Reich’s like silver moons. “There, with its monsters and mad magic and gods that walked among us, or here, with all of this.” He shrugs a dark shoulder at the room, the world, and takes a tentative sip of the brew.
And then sputters and the bitter taste and the burn down his throat, and laughs at his own coughing. “Maybe this one,” he allows, and his expression relaxes into a grin.
--
When he leaves some time later, as the first pale fingers of dawn light begin climbing up the battlements, it is still wearing a smile and a new sense of ease.
