♕
She had retreated to the ivy-wreathed balcony nestled atop the citadel’s main courtyard in an attempt to escape the sea of nobles and commoners alike all clambering for a moment of the newly ascended Regime’s time.
Cerulean blues narrowed as she glanced down at the flurry of activity that bathed the usually serene castle in a swirl of limbs and silks and shouts. She did not belong down there, among the madness. After Somnus had finished delivering his eloquent speech to the crowds who’d gathered for the sudden announcement, Messalina had struggled valiantly for a chance to voice her congratulations to the Sovereign and his Regime. Yet it had been a hopeless endeavor, the dancer’s slim figure shoved to and fro by the far more — eager, to put it politely — members of Delumine until even Ipomoea’s steady crimson gaze had been smothered by a head of sleek, auburn curls.
“Excuse me,” she’d whispered to the woman, ducking into a short curtsy, but the taller noble had spared Messalina only a pointed glare before once again blocking the girl’s path in a swish of perfumed satin. There is no use forcing my way through if they refuse to even look at me. I give up! was Messa’s parting thoughts as she huffed her way back to the fringes of the crowd, and then to the very balcony she stood upon now.
Imagine her surprise, then, when her name of all things slipped like satin from a sonorous voice she knew all too well. “Messalina?”
“Somnus,” she gasped, ivory braids swishing wildly about her neck as she lowered into a hasty bow at the Sovereign’s approach. Am… am I allowed to address him so brazenly by name now? the flustered dancer realized, far too late. Stilling her breath, Messa rose softly to smile into the verdant eyes of her King.
“I was not able to offer my congratulations earlier, but I offer them now heartily,” she said, her composure settling daintily into place with each word she spoke. “There is no one else better fit for the throne than you, Your Grace.”
“A moment of your time, if you would?”
Though her expression never wavered, curiosity blossomed like a spring flower in Messalina’s chest. She had not the faintest idea what Somnus would want from her. She was not a noble, nor apart of the court. She wasn’t even a native — and though she’d tried her best to glean all she could from the scrolls of Alexander’s vast library (and the citadel’s own, if she had the time), and even gained the title of a Sage, there was still so much the girl was ignorant of.
“Of course. Anything you ask, I shall do.” For Dawn, for Somnus, for Ipomoea. Her loyalty was as eternal as the blooming rose that would never wither, tucked like a haunting whisper behind her ear.
@Somnus | "speaks" | notes: this is so rough but I didn't want to delay it anymore!
