A set of eyes had pinned him
Became his version of a kingdom
She's everything the devil can't be
When she's singing to me "Glory"
Became his version of a kingdom
She's everything the devil can't be
When she's singing to me "Glory"
An ear flicks in Marisol’s direction as they fell into step, side by side. Israfel was mindful of her wings and kept them tucked tight against her sides, folded neatly in downy feathers of ivory and gilded design. Rose-kissed lips fell downwards in a thoughtful, muddled frown, clearly pondering the information that the newly named Sovereign had divulged.
Asterion. Florentine. Lysander. The Sun Daughter offered them only a pining thought before shoving them back into the recesses of her mind, in that deep, dark place where her father, mother, and all of her friends and loved ones of Helovia existed. It was a place of purgatory, a Pandora’s Box, and Israfel knew better than to open that box here.
‘Untested’. It took a good deal of control to not snort-laugh right then and there. You have no idea, Commander.
“You flatter me,” the Warden jested, grinning a sardonic flash of white teeth and rolling a shoulder back mid-step, lean and graceful and confident in every long-legged stride, “A girl might get the wrong idea.”
Still, she should at least act like this was a serious matter. It was a very serious debate they were having, after all, and flirting with your newly crowned Queen wasn’t exactly the right direction to take. Even moreso considering that she had basically told Marisol to go sleep with Theodosia only a few minutes before. Oops? Israfel could feel Solaris rolling her eyes. Sobering up, the Warden once more began to think.
There were many potential candidates that could possibly serve Terrastella well in her ranks, but could they be trusted? Marisol’s choice of word, ‘untested’, fit very well here. Who else was left? Who else had seen the dawn of the Dusk Court, held under the banner of the Winter Queen Rannveig? No one. No one but her. Israfel remembered the day she had sworn fealty to Rannveig, awed by her confidence and splendor and eloquence, smitten by the fierceness she had displayed in both politics and the battlefield. How bitterly ironic it had been then, that only days later the Winter Wolf had turned tail and fled, thrusting her kingdom onto the inexperienced shoulders of Florentine…
That single action had paved the way to this moment. Rannveig. Florentine. Asterion… Marisol. What a weigh the Commander must be carrying, daunting and heavy. Vermilion eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced to to the bay woman, brows furrowed quizzically. Daunting indeed.
Inhaling deeply, Israfel tasted the air for a few moments before giving her insight, allowing herself to stop just on the outskirts of the city. Turning to face Marisol, she went on. “If you could convince him, Rhone would make a fantastic Emissary. He’s personable enough and experienced in life, but his lack of self-confidence and sheer emotional baggage is worrisome. You do not want someone who isn’t confident in themselves to speak for your kingdom. An Emissary should be personable, yes, but a master of conversation with a silvered tongue. One has to work to pry that tongue out of Rhone… If he can move past that, I think he’d be made for it.”
“Theo’s proven herself a talented and trusted Champion of Battle. She’s fierce, cunning, and loyal. I’m hesitant to say she’d fit well for a Regent, as unpredictable as her behavior can be… But perhaps a Warden, if anything should ever happen to me.” There was nothing wrong with a contingency plan, right?
Immortal though she may be, destined to never age, Israfel knew she wasn’t immune to death. Abruptly she grinned, a quick, dark look as she remembered the day she had died, burned alive by her very own fires. Oh, no. She and Death were very good friends, but they could not trust each other. Confident as she was, she knew that one day Death would return for her hand, but like hell He would take her without a fight.
“As for Regent…” She trailed off, the pinched, troubled look remaining. A Regent defended their home fiercely, the final line should a Sovereign fall. Just as well, they were entrusted in supporting and backing their Sovereign, and helping to mandate the rules that said King or Queen put into place. In a way, it was the same as Warden, save for the higher title… They needed to be familiar with their home, experienced, and tested. Someone trusted, someone who had walked these lands for years and knew each dip, curve, and bend as well as they knew themselves.
Her heart sang for the chance. I want that. Oh, but she did. I want it. Yet she hated politics. Why use pretty words when she could get what she wanted with horn, tooth, and hoof? Didn’t Terrastella have enough strength in their folds? Yet Marisol, fierce, determined, headstrong Marisol would need someone just as capable to be her Enforcer, her ‘right-hand’.
There was no one else worthy enough, experienced enough, or capable enough. Not right now.
“As for Regent… I think you would look damn fine if I was standing next to you. You know I’m not one to say pretty words and phrases. I’d rather let my actions speak for me, and I know that’s something you can appreciate.” Ever so slowly did the Sun Daughter shift, a golden, cloven hoof drawing her closer into Marisol’s space, close enough to smell the woman’s sweat, the musk that clung to the Commander’s form. The unnatural heat that ran through Israfel’s body, a boon from the magic that protected her from the cold, warmed the air around them and she grinned, burning vermilion meeting pale, slate grey. The following words that left her lips were in a low, gentle purr.
“... But I’ll think about it. As for our little ’friend’ from the meeting? All you need to do is say the word and I’ll take care of her for you, Commander.”
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