one sword out of many.
It was an ocean wave that bound toward him, sliding in to his stone-walled shores with a spray of dirt like when the sea meets the towering cliff coasts. That was his very first impression of her, before he even had a sense of what she truly was. A mare, he soon saw that much, rattling in chains that did not bind her. But that was not the element of her slender figure that would hold his gaze. No, until she uttered her first words, it was the horn that held him—the most elegant of weapons but hardly any less lethal. A mare with her sword always drawn is either reckless or on a war path.
Blyse had quite the preference for the former.
Now, he had always been a stallion’s stallion, at ease among the ranks of the military where copious masculinity was commonplace. But the kind of dames he did come to know would only paint their faces with war paint and had a battle cry to make the barbarians weep. They were the kind you would be a fool to underestimate. Yet, they had a different way about them, both in politics and in war. Instead of thunder and steel, they were embers and silk. Softly burning, hinged on desires that were driven by either fury or fervor. An asset in warfare but a liability nearer to the throne so the noble matrons were encouraged to be much less impassioned. That was why the very notion of female royalty was so foreign to him that he would never even consider that the mare before him might be just that. He only saw an equal.
Her question drew down his gaze and his eyes fell to hers, emeralds to sapphires in a wordless negotiation. Oh, he was used to being leery of strangers. But that was when there were not so many of them. Strangers were all this new land had to offer him and he could either choose to make himself a people out of them or drown in isolation for the rest of his days. He made his choice with a well-intended retort.
“You did…” He shifted his weight toward her, the volume of blood-red feathers at his back swimming alongside the subtle motions of his body. “I would suppose I’m not used to strange beasts barreling out at me from the forests quite so early in the morning.” His tone was playful, even if his expression was not. He trained his face well, fixed in a state of indifference lest the ghost of his ambitions be seen. Then Blyse tilted back his head in arrogant inquisition, colorless waves trailing away from his face. “Habit of yours?”
@Isra
