IPOMOEA
eyes are bright, watching as we come undone
A
re you ready?His words hang in the air between them, and he realizes that he’s asking himself as much as he’s asking her. Perhaps his words are meant more to ready himself, to prepare himself for the darkness he was about to face. He had never been in the forest at night, after all; let alone when a monster was stalking amongst the trees.
But thoughts of Somnus are emboldening his heart. A wildfire is alighting within his blood, spreading like a revolution through his veins. Ipomoea would be strong. He would be as brave as the king who had raised him up, from an orphan to an Emissary, from a springchild to a Regent of the Dawn Court. There were monsters walking amongst them, and they would not be safe until they were gone - neither Ipomoea nor Messalina, nor the king whom he loved nor the people he had vowed to protect.
It was funny, in a way; Ipomoea had never questioned whether or not he would be willing to die for his Court.
But as the wind whispered through his window, carrying wisps of blood and terror and change on its wings, there is no doubt in his mind. If his life was what the gods required, his life is what he would give.
Even in his youthful naivety, he did not truly believe it would come to that tonight. But he was learning from stronger kings and braver queens, and he was determined to be as selfless as them.
I am, Messalina tells him, if you are, too. He wants to smile at her, to reassure her with his words and his voice - but his lips are frozen. They will not budge, will not offer comfort tonight.
But she leans forward, and his breath catches.
His heart turns into a wild thing, beating frantically within the ribs that cage it in. As Messalina leans forward, he can’t help but worry that it’s about to burst from his chest; that it’s running so fast he won’t be able to keep up with it. His head is dizzy, the candle lowers as his grasp weakens.
Her touch is featherlight, but it makes his skin burn. He had not realized before this moment how much of a mess his hair must be; he was sleeping, after all. But his eyes trace the crease of her brow, the tilt to her lips, the curl in the hair that tumbles freely from her own crest. She was usually so composed, so put together and tidy…
But now she was in his room, in the dead of night, breathless and afraid.
And he was the one she had gone to.
His heart stops, just for a second.
When it stutters back to life, the smile that had been hiding just out of sight springs into place. It’s small, and it’s shy; but there’s an edge to it that makes his lips tingle, just a little bit. She turns on her heels, striding to the door that he hadn’t realized was still open - and he follows.
"I know they will."
It was Somnus and Eulalie, after all; the bravest people he knew. There was no monster he had heard of that would be able to tear them down, of that he was sure now. But the rest of the Court…
The air outside his room is cool, a draft blowing through the hallway. Their hooves echo across the tile, ringing out loudly in the stillness of the castle. The rest of Delumine is still sleeping, he supposes; sleeping or already out there, in the forest. He can see torchlight bobbing in the distance, can hear the distant thunder of hooves galloping through the Illuster.
A pair of guards come into view around a corner, and he lifts his voice to call out to them. "Come!"
They stop in their tracks at once; but it takes only a moment before they follow. "Where are we going, my lord?"
He breathes in slowly, holding his breath for only a moment before he lets it back out in a sigh, as soft as the moonlight overhead. "To Viride." He looks sideways at Messalina, and nods once as they step out from beneath the safety of the castle walls.
Outside the moon is bright, and the grass is soft underhoof. Ipomoea can count how many steps it would take to cross this meadow, to get from the castle to the forest’s edge, but tonight he doesn’t. Tonight he lets the wind guide him, lets the hoofprints of other horses lead the way. A shiver raises the hair down his spine, and for just a moment, he wishes they had brought a cloak, or perhaps a blanket torn from his bed. But as they walk, their candles bobbing along in front of them, guards taking up the rear, Ipomoea brushes his shoulder softly, sweetly, up against Messalina’s own.
"A part of me hopes this is a nightmare," he says softly. "Even though I know it isn't."
He steals a glance, her blue eyes drawing his gaze to her, lit up as silver pools beneath the moonlight.
"But monsters seem more a fable from Denocte than a disaster in Delumine."
He can't stop the words as they pour from his once-frozen lips; nor does he want to.
@messalina | "speaks" | notes: i had the opposite problem, po had 0 words
