to feel that we exist, even though in pain
♠︎ ♕ ♠︎
She had teased him - because you can’t, can you? - and he had nipped at her playfully, and let himself shiver for effect, and they had gone on.
But the truth is that August believes he can tolerate anything, if the end result is worth it. Exhaustion - simple; he runs and trains with sword and bow until his limbs tremble and his lungs are aflame every other day. Cold - fine; it is not so difficult, to take his mind away, to think not of the numbness of his limbs but the wonder of his court in snowy glory, and the way it made the scents and sounds all the sharper. Pain - well, pain is difficult, another mind-trick, but not so different from the cold.
He loves to better himself, to force himself up to his breaking point and beyond. This is how he knows that he is alive, that he is strong.
What he can’t tolerate is such cruelty enacted on others.
Perhaps they are strange and sorry thoughts to have on such a night as this, on their way to a castle better than any from a fairy-tale - but August thinks that if this is a story, then their land is under a curse. Too much tragedy, too much darkness, so much uncertainty building on the horizon like a punishing storm. When there comes the rustle of tiny clawed feet the golden boy does not note it, but for a twist of his ear, a quick cut of his eyes. A rat or a dragon, both harmless; he is thinking now of Senna, and anything that creeps the streets of Denocte in search of a meal after dark is a pale fear in comparison.
Neither of them speak until they reach the castle, but her father’s presence hangs between them like a ghost, deadening the air, making the night colder. It only dispels at the sight of the pale archway that glitters like diamonds beneath the full moon.
They are still only playing pretend (just like children, he thinks, and is glad that Senna is not there to see them) but as the unicorn steps forward into that strange magnificence August pauses behind her, his gaze tracing each cold and lovely surface. What strikes him most, what lays its hands around his heart and holds, is how much detail and care has gone in to something so temporary. That is perhaps the greatest wonder of all, though it tastes like sorrow on his tongue.
When his silver gaze drops it is to find Aghavni, touching her nose to that temporary and lonely perfection. The sight stills him like nothing else has yet; she belongs here, in this place holy and strange, and he is almost glad when she breaks the moment for surely he never would have.
August waits behind her, and the chilly cathedral they stand in makes him feel like he is holding his breath even as it spills from him in steady silver plumes. Here it is, he thinks, the reason for her uncommon tension, and even so it is not until she laughs, and speaks the king’s name, that August feels truly cold for the first time. He is not sure how he will thaw.
But still his expression is stoic, until a half-grin creases his cheek, though it is formed of the same stuff as her laugh. “I didn’t think the Scarab would reach treason so soon,” he says idly to her back, to the stallion and mare that pursue one another like an ouroboros.
How easy it might be, to kill Raum within the dark and lush walls of the Scarab. August thinks of the sword in his rooms, the fine hilt encrusted with barnacles and sharp bits of coral, the way the blade curves like a question and gleams like an eager eye.
If that is what Senna wanted, then he would say so. August shuts down the thought with all the will of his mind, like closing a door - but the want of it lives on his his heart, in the dark.
“Does he know who you are?” This question, too, is languid, all the gold splendor of a lion lounging on the veldt. Only someone who knows him utterly would hear the worry in it.
@Aghavni | <3
