i wish we were all rose-colored, too
“Look, over there — the Regent!”
How often had he heard that call to attention tonight, and in the previous festival days? He had lost count, and still he was always a half beat too slow in his reply. The Regent. When had he become The Regent in truth? The title had been his ever since that walk with Somnus, when the news of Kasil’s exit had been shared. But when Ipomoea looked in the mirror, he still only saw Po — the orphan-turned-Emissary. His new title didn’t seem to fit quite so well on his lips, and when he thought of the position he always thought of Somnus.
Somnus the Sovereign now. And Ipomoea his Regent. I never aspired to this, a small voice whispered at the back of his mind. All I ever wanted was flowers. In Delumine, there was never a shortage — they grew like weeds, in a hundred thousand different shapes and colors and combinations that continued to amaze him come each morning. More often than not, the sun would rise to find him in the gardens, stealing a few quiet moments for himself in the place that he was happiest.
But all too soon his peace would be shattered, and every day he found himself thrust back into the hectic and chaotic world of the Court.
I shouldn’t think this way, he reminded himself, turning towards the mention of his name. He wasn’t truly unhappy in his role — just perhaps a bit lost. Ipomoea had never tired of talking to people, of meeting new places and exploring new things. Kasil had once said it was why he was perfect for the role of Emissary… and now Somnus believed it would fit the role of Regent, as well. Po was determined to prove them right, but some days he wasn’t so sure how to.
He never saw the trio of giggling girls who had called his name; the crowd and smoke alike were too thick, and the sea of faces had blended together in a nearly unrecognizable blur. Nor did he see when the pale-skinned girl stepped up behind him — but her voice sent a shiver down his spine. Slurred and hushed her voice might be, but he had no doubt that he would recognize it anywhere.
“Messalina,” he breathes, turning his head to catch a glimpse of her sparkling blue eyes. “I was starting to wonder whether you had come at all.”
As he turned, he caught a whiff of the mead coating her breath. It stung his nose - but not in an unpleasant way. He smiles charmingly at her, pretending not to notice. And for a second, he finds himself utterly speechless.
”Were you hiding from me? Ah, but it’s useless — I shall find you every time.” For a second Ipomoea can only stare, his mind fumbling and tripping over itself as he rushed to think of a response, but his lips moved soundlessly. Thankfully, the ever-graceful Messa saved him with another question, this one far more easy to answer. His smile returned in a heartbeat, the Regent willing his nerves to settle.
“Of course, m’lady,” he dipped his head courteously, pressing his dark shoulder against her pale one. “For you, anything.”
He leads her to a clearer section, where less people clog the dance floor and the stars winked down upon them. The whole way, Ipomoea relishes the touch of her skin upon his. “Tell me,” he begins, as his legs begin to move in rhythm and his body sways to the beat, “how are you enjoying the festival?”
I AM SO EXCITED | @messalina
art by rhiann
