You never need bow before me, Camdis...
It was an effort not to furrow his brow in confusion and surprise, the sentiment of a sovereign not wanting physical shows of subservience a far cry from tradition; but then again, it seemed that this bruised boy with coins in his ears and gold in his teeth was a far cry from tradition in every sense one could fathom. He was a champion of his people, a man elected not from his blood or his ability to conquer, but from the way he looked at Denocte as an extension of his own heart.
He was a righteous stallion without the pomp and arrogance of one that claimed such a title; religion made flesh.
One that Camdis Lohir would follow all too quickly if he were to make the choice.
The grin that he was offered warmed him to his bitter, smoke stained bones, the expression that flashed over his patriarch's face searing it's way into the horned stag's mind with all the force of starlight; gentle enough to appreciate without pain, but wondrous in that they could never be forgotten. If not for his training, his years of tutelage beneath the hooves and whips of his advisors, the stallion may have crumbled before this godlike King with his bloodied beauty and rugged regality, but if Camdis knew a single thing, it was how to wear a mask of surety in the face of doubt.
And right then, standing before his Boy King with eyes of moonfall and hair of darkest shadow, Camdis was filled with self doubt - for how could he not bend to this wild, reckless creature? How could he be expected not to crumble at every heated glance, every carefully constructed smirk, every honeyed syllable that fell from Reichenbach's lips? The scarlet stained male felt his lips tug upward in response, eyes flashing as he read - too far? Had he read too much into the tone of his sovereign? - into the suggestion that dripped from the ebony and chocolate stallion's lips.
The pleasure is mine.
The pleasure.
Mine.
My pleasure is his. To take. To receive. To give.
Camdis' grin turned lazy, subtly inviting, carefully and languidly enticing as he struggled to keep his eyes glued to his King's arresting gaze and to not hang himself up on every tiny detail that he was sure marked the sovereign's skin.
Emperor of Our Night Skies. Heavenly Caliph. Prince of All Things Dark and Beautiful.
He is all things Dark and Beautiful.
Great skull cocked to the side, albeit slowly, as the monarch - Reichenbach, such a strong name, one that could inspire fear and adoration in equal terms, though the bay currently erred on the side of adoration - stated that Camdis was counted amongst his friends. The assertion came as a surprise to the Exile King, how factual the tone of his King - his friend? - was, how candidly the words slip from his tongue, and how his own heart thundered with something akin to gratitude.
If you should choose to stay with us.
Choose to stay. With us.
Stay. With. Me.
Camdis Lohir swallowed thickly, his smile dropping from his face as shock overtook him, for once in his short life at a loss for words. What was it to be a friend to something beautiful and holy? What was it to feel at ease, to feel at home, with another creature without fear of judgement or abandonment? He could feel the potential of it on his tongue, taste the freedom of affection and true camaraderie upon his blackened lips; Honeysuckle and woodsmoke, jasmine and ocean mist, sweat and salt and blood and something to live for at last.
His expression, once returned, was something to behold and something to cherish. Camdis had never been told that he was handsome, never been complimented on physicality or traits that were otherwise unnecessary in ruling a nation. He had never been given affection, been coddled or held or sang to on nights where his soul could not rest for fear of retribution from a sacrificed sister. He had been starved by others of matters of the heart, and in turn he had then starved himself, part in punishment of self and part in force of habit. Yet, the way his silvery eyes glowed, his lips lifted into a smile, the way his entire demeanor metamorphosed from a manner of distance and thinly veiled bitterness into one of absolute joy, it was almost as if the caustic man forged from the broken pieces of a boy's lost childhood had never existed.
In his place stood something, someone, else entirely.
Someone filled with hope.
So as Reichenbach - Reich, Reich, Reich, his friend. His beautiful, breathtaking, painfully astounding friend - continued on, Camdis hung on each and every word with a childlike wonder, a careful glee.
His reply came easily and without thought, as natural as the breath that whistled in his lungs, "If you are to know the reasons why, then you must know parts of the past, my f-friend," He had never spoken the word aloud, though he knew it would come easier in time. Camdis took a deep breath, shook his head, dismissed the shame, forged on, "I was born to be a half to a whole - my sister and I, we were born to rule together as all those that came before us, but... I was born weak. Blind and wretched. Worthless." Brows knitted together and lips twitched, a sliver of rage and loathing slipping through the cracks, "My sister - Camdis, for that was her name - was the victim of our parent's hubris and a witch's darkness, and her life was sacrificed so that mine could flourish."
He found that he did not want to hold the gaze of his sovereign, he did not want pity or sympathy to flash across the stallion's face.
He did not deserve that, not with who he was and what he had done.
A bitter smile twisted his lips, a hateful laugh falling to the marbled floor, "And flourish it did, into a Boy King hated by his own people, hated by his own throne." He paused, a bit of that loathing slipping away as the bay considered his place among the living, and what his presence here meant, "I think... I think that is why Calligo called to me. I think she knows exactly what it is to be hated by those that you love the most, by those that you want to make proud." A little more of that rancor crumpled as he lost himself in thought, voice becoming softer, as if he were no longer admitting these things to his Sovereign, but to himself, "She wrapped her fist about my heart, she tugged me here, she pulled me home. It did not matter to her that I am a failed king on a self-imposed exile, it does not matter to her that my life began as an atrocity, for she loves me still."
Camdis Lohir swallowed past the lump that had risen in his throat, thankful for his dark coloring so that Reich would not see the heat crawling up his neck and face as he murmured, "I serve Denocte because it is Hers. I serve this city of dreams and starlight because it is Hers. I love her people and her country with everything that I am, because they are Hers, and they might learn to love me back."
Briefly, he hoped that the answer that he had given, even though it was the honest one, remained the right one.
It was an effort not to furrow his brow in confusion and surprise, the sentiment of a sovereign not wanting physical shows of subservience a far cry from tradition; but then again, it seemed that this bruised boy with coins in his ears and gold in his teeth was a far cry from tradition in every sense one could fathom. He was a champion of his people, a man elected not from his blood or his ability to conquer, but from the way he looked at Denocte as an extension of his own heart.
He was a righteous stallion without the pomp and arrogance of one that claimed such a title; religion made flesh.
One that Camdis Lohir would follow all too quickly if he were to make the choice.
The grin that he was offered warmed him to his bitter, smoke stained bones, the expression that flashed over his patriarch's face searing it's way into the horned stag's mind with all the force of starlight; gentle enough to appreciate without pain, but wondrous in that they could never be forgotten. If not for his training, his years of tutelage beneath the hooves and whips of his advisors, the stallion may have crumbled before this godlike King with his bloodied beauty and rugged regality, but if Camdis knew a single thing, it was how to wear a mask of surety in the face of doubt.
And right then, standing before his Boy King with eyes of moonfall and hair of darkest shadow, Camdis was filled with self doubt - for how could he not bend to this wild, reckless creature? How could he be expected not to crumble at every heated glance, every carefully constructed smirk, every honeyed syllable that fell from Reichenbach's lips? The scarlet stained male felt his lips tug upward in response, eyes flashing as he read - too far? Had he read too much into the tone of his sovereign? - into the suggestion that dripped from the ebony and chocolate stallion's lips.
The pleasure is mine.
The pleasure.
Mine.
My pleasure is his. To take. To receive. To give.
Camdis' grin turned lazy, subtly inviting, carefully and languidly enticing as he struggled to keep his eyes glued to his King's arresting gaze and to not hang himself up on every tiny detail that he was sure marked the sovereign's skin.
Emperor of Our Night Skies. Heavenly Caliph. Prince of All Things Dark and Beautiful.
He is all things Dark and Beautiful.
Great skull cocked to the side, albeit slowly, as the monarch - Reichenbach, such a strong name, one that could inspire fear and adoration in equal terms, though the bay currently erred on the side of adoration - stated that Camdis was counted amongst his friends. The assertion came as a surprise to the Exile King, how factual the tone of his King - his friend? - was, how candidly the words slip from his tongue, and how his own heart thundered with something akin to gratitude.
If you should choose to stay with us.
Choose to stay. With us.
Stay. With. Me.
Camdis Lohir swallowed thickly, his smile dropping from his face as shock overtook him, for once in his short life at a loss for words. What was it to be a friend to something beautiful and holy? What was it to feel at ease, to feel at home, with another creature without fear of judgement or abandonment? He could feel the potential of it on his tongue, taste the freedom of affection and true camaraderie upon his blackened lips; Honeysuckle and woodsmoke, jasmine and ocean mist, sweat and salt and blood and something to live for at last.
His expression, once returned, was something to behold and something to cherish. Camdis had never been told that he was handsome, never been complimented on physicality or traits that were otherwise unnecessary in ruling a nation. He had never been given affection, been coddled or held or sang to on nights where his soul could not rest for fear of retribution from a sacrificed sister. He had been starved by others of matters of the heart, and in turn he had then starved himself, part in punishment of self and part in force of habit. Yet, the way his silvery eyes glowed, his lips lifted into a smile, the way his entire demeanor metamorphosed from a manner of distance and thinly veiled bitterness into one of absolute joy, it was almost as if the caustic man forged from the broken pieces of a boy's lost childhood had never existed.
In his place stood something, someone, else entirely.
Someone filled with hope.
So as Reichenbach - Reich, Reich, Reich, his friend. His beautiful, breathtaking, painfully astounding friend - continued on, Camdis hung on each and every word with a childlike wonder, a careful glee.
His reply came easily and without thought, as natural as the breath that whistled in his lungs, "If you are to know the reasons why, then you must know parts of the past, my f-friend," He had never spoken the word aloud, though he knew it would come easier in time. Camdis took a deep breath, shook his head, dismissed the shame, forged on, "I was born to be a half to a whole - my sister and I, we were born to rule together as all those that came before us, but... I was born weak. Blind and wretched. Worthless." Brows knitted together and lips twitched, a sliver of rage and loathing slipping through the cracks, "My sister - Camdis, for that was her name - was the victim of our parent's hubris and a witch's darkness, and her life was sacrificed so that mine could flourish."
He found that he did not want to hold the gaze of his sovereign, he did not want pity or sympathy to flash across the stallion's face.
He did not deserve that, not with who he was and what he had done.
A bitter smile twisted his lips, a hateful laugh falling to the marbled floor, "And flourish it did, into a Boy King hated by his own people, hated by his own throne." He paused, a bit of that loathing slipping away as the bay considered his place among the living, and what his presence here meant, "I think... I think that is why Calligo called to me. I think she knows exactly what it is to be hated by those that you love the most, by those that you want to make proud." A little more of that rancor crumpled as he lost himself in thought, voice becoming softer, as if he were no longer admitting these things to his Sovereign, but to himself, "She wrapped her fist about my heart, she tugged me here, she pulled me home. It did not matter to her that I am a failed king on a self-imposed exile, it does not matter to her that my life began as an atrocity, for she loves me still."
Camdis Lohir swallowed past the lump that had risen in his throat, thankful for his dark coloring so that Reich would not see the heat crawling up his neck and face as he murmured, "I serve Denocte because it is Hers. I serve this city of dreams and starlight because it is Hers. I love her people and her country with everything that I am, because they are Hers, and they might learn to love me back."
Briefly, he hoped that the answer that he had given, even though it was the honest one, remained the right one.
@Reichenbach OH. OKAY CAM WE'RE FEELING PARTICULARLY DRAMATIC TODAY.
