She belonged in the Night Court, he thought, from her colors to the curve of antlers to the sash that seemed to drift behind her like gauze, like moonlight. The mare looked at home here, beneath the glow of the full moon, and by some strange alchemy that was enough to smooth away what rough edges of his nerves remained.
He did not waver before the recognition in her gaze – instead he basked in it, though that was half an act. Acton couldn’t guess what she might think of him – certainly that meeting was far from the first time his mouth might have made him a fool – but there was a guilt in his belly, like a heavy, small stone, and the weight of it increased when she spoke.
All her words did was remind him that he’d run. Seraphina’s judgment echoed in his memory (what little he could remember of it, as drunk as he’d been) and a shadow passed over his laughing mouth.
To cover the falter he cast his glance aside, looking over the rows of stalls with their bright scarves and countless wares as if weighing her words. It wasn’t until he heard his name that he looked back, meeting the strange starlight of her eyes, and ducked his head in a showman’s bow. Forgotten behind him, the illusion-dragon flickered and vanished like smoke.
“None other,” he said (almost there was a bite behind the words), then narrowed the space between them, his gaze softening into curiosity. “I remember you, though I’m not sure I ever had your name.”
Ah, more questions than her name pressed against his teeth, weighed down his tongue - how was it, what happened, did they ever explain further? but not even he dared to speak them.
He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, not on a night that was so fine.
@Jezanna <3 I'm still trying to find his groove again but I have faith in us
