I P O M O E A
He had heard that the Queen was a Halcyon, a fighter for the Dusk Court. He had also heard that the Halcyon adorned themselves with war paint to denote their rank, wearing the symbols with pride. But today she has come to him plain and unadorned, without a flock to accompany her.
It makes the curiosity inside of him grow, and the questions linger there at the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked. But Ipomoea merely smiles at her, and waits. He knows Queen Marisol’s reputation, and he knows she will not leave him waiting for long.
“Marisol,” he concedes, dipping his head politely. “And you may always call me Ipomoea, as well.” It’s a relief, to be able to drop the formal titles - and he hopes the informality is a hint of something more, a blossoming of friendship between them and their Courts. Delumine needed more of that, and he thought maybe Terrastella did, as well.
When she pulls back he does the same, expectation making his heart flutter. But when her smile fades, and the name Asterion falls from her lips like a sigh, he feels his throat begin to tighten. And he watches quietly as she pulls the offering from beneath her feathers, and lays it out before him for the morning sunlight to annoint.
For a moment he’s silent, swallowing thickly pas the lump that has formed in his throat.
“I did not know him as well as I would have liked to,” he admits quietly, without meeting her gaze. He’s admiring the paper nautilus shell, with a sad, wistful gaze. He would have thought of Asterion even if she had not brought it with that very intention - it’s a thing from the sea, and the smell of the ocean that clings to it is the same that clung to Asterion. The thin bands of color reminds him of the island, the way they had chased a doe with crystalline horns through a forest that was the same green-tinged gold, and of the way he had stood on the beach and watched kelp dance in the current.
“But I always knew him to be good, and a good friend,” he goes on, and his eyes raise to meet her’s again. He smiles, and faint and sincere. “Thank you, for this.”
He’s watching her carefully now, the woman that was Asterion’s replacement, the Regent-turned-Sovereign. It makes him feel almost guilty - he had come into his own position far less honorably than her, he thinks. He had left his Court, and come home to take the crown from his friend, his brother-in-all-but-blood. She had not had a choice other than her decision to lead when they had no other leader.
And from what he had heard of Queen Marisol and of the Dusk Court, he had inferred that it was her love of the court and of her king that had made her decision so easy.
“How is Terrastella?” he asks softly, and he’s sincere in wanting to know. “What brings you to our Court today, Marisol?” It was a pleasure to welcome her, truly - but Ipomoea suspected she was here to deliver more than a seashell. The Dusk Court could not spare their queen for long, not in times like these.
It makes the curiosity inside of him grow, and the questions linger there at the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked. But Ipomoea merely smiles at her, and waits. He knows Queen Marisol’s reputation, and he knows she will not leave him waiting for long.
“Marisol,” he concedes, dipping his head politely. “And you may always call me Ipomoea, as well.” It’s a relief, to be able to drop the formal titles - and he hopes the informality is a hint of something more, a blossoming of friendship between them and their Courts. Delumine needed more of that, and he thought maybe Terrastella did, as well.
When she pulls back he does the same, expectation making his heart flutter. But when her smile fades, and the name Asterion falls from her lips like a sigh, he feels his throat begin to tighten. And he watches quietly as she pulls the offering from beneath her feathers, and lays it out before him for the morning sunlight to annoint.
For a moment he’s silent, swallowing thickly pas the lump that has formed in his throat.
“I did not know him as well as I would have liked to,” he admits quietly, without meeting her gaze. He’s admiring the paper nautilus shell, with a sad, wistful gaze. He would have thought of Asterion even if she had not brought it with that very intention - it’s a thing from the sea, and the smell of the ocean that clings to it is the same that clung to Asterion. The thin bands of color reminds him of the island, the way they had chased a doe with crystalline horns through a forest that was the same green-tinged gold, and of the way he had stood on the beach and watched kelp dance in the current.
“But I always knew him to be good, and a good friend,” he goes on, and his eyes raise to meet her’s again. He smiles, and faint and sincere. “Thank you, for this.”
He’s watching her carefully now, the woman that was Asterion’s replacement, the Regent-turned-Sovereign. It makes him feel almost guilty - he had come into his own position far less honorably than her, he thinks. He had left his Court, and come home to take the crown from his friend, his brother-in-all-but-blood. She had not had a choice other than her decision to lead when they had no other leader.
And from what he had heard of Queen Marisol and of the Dusk Court, he had inferred that it was her love of the court and of her king that had made her decision so easy.
“How is Terrastella?” he asks softly, and he’s sincere in wanting to know. “What brings you to our Court today, Marisol?” It was a pleasure to welcome her, truly - but Ipomoea suspected she was here to deliver more than a seashell. The Dusk Court could not spare their queen for long, not in times like these.
