As another of his customers leaves his booth, with a newly woven crown and a smile to match, a familiar face takes their place. ”May I?” A wide grin splits across Ipomoea’s face, and he nods enthusiastically at the gesture. “Of course you may,” he reassures. “I should have known, the irises and holly suit you so well, Somnus.” Even before the King lifted the crown to his head, Po knew the vibrant green and violet tones would stand out spectacularly against his golden coat. At the subtle endearment, laughter bubbles unhinged from Ipomoea’s lips. Little brother. From the moment Kasil and welcomed Somnus into the Regime, Po had considered them all family. It brought him uncontainable joy to have the feeling reciprocated, to be greeted just as warmly and fondly, to belong. He never had known his birth family; but what did it matter, with people like Somnus on his side? “You flatter me,” he chastised the king gently. “I couldn’t have done any of this by myself!” Countless others had helped him in his preparations: from the careful tending of the gardens, to the constructing of the stages and booths and games. Even the dates selected for the length of the festival had been discussed. “But I thank you, brother.” At the movement of the owl, Po’s smile relaxed fondly. “Well I can certainly make one for Miss Alba.” Plucking a few more violet irises and woven green holly from his stash, he wove an identical, albeit smaller, crown for the king’s bonded. Finishing his braiding, he gently lifted the circlet of flowers and greens to the owl’s small head. “Perfect!” he decreed, “Matching crowns for a man and his owl.” He was unaware of Odet’s discovery; the songbird played along, pretending not to notice the freckled dancer approaching. Po’s head had dropped to rearrange his workspace, carefully joining the stem of a carnation to a garland of baby’s breath. Until her voice took him by surprise. “Oh!” His breath left him, much like his courage. ’She wants one of my crowns. She called me a master!’ He couldn’t help the way his heart leaped and bounded at her words, taking off like a sprinter in a race the moment his rose colored eyes met her baby blues. “A-any you’d like, of course, Messa.” ’They all could be your’s,’ he added on in his head—but oh, how he wished to say it aloud, to promise the pale-skinned girl anything and everything she wished for. His heart nearly stopped as his extended the rose towards him, savoring the brush of her telekinesis against his skin. Po hardly dared to breathe as the flower was braided delicately into his forelock, joining the wreath of flowers already adorning his brow. But this one… this would be his new favorite. There wasn’t enough time to collect his thoughts (or catch his breath) before she was sweeping the crown of carnations and baby’s breath off of his table. She tossed it onto her poll, where the delicate garland and bold petals fit oh so perfectly, and was dashing off in an instant. Her words were fleeting, but the flowery Regent held them close to his heart, savoring the promise she made him. It’d be a lie to say his heart didn’t jump, freeze, then sprint at the idea of seeing her again. “I look forward to it.” He only hoped she heard him before she ran off! ”here am I!” Messa and Somnus are both perfect and far better than I deserve in my life |
art by rhiaan
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