even after they have been stepped on
He isn’t sure now when he stopped enjoying the quiet.
It used to feel strange, to look back and consider how more of his life had been spent as an Emissary, or a Regent, or a Sovereign, than had been simply spent as Ipomoea. He used to wonder why Kasil had chosen him (me! a boy! even worse, a Solterran, an orphan, a newcomer to the Court-), and further, why Somnus had chosen him.
Now, Ipomoea only thinks how strange it would be to be anything else.
Who was he, if not a king?
He had tried, in Denocte, to understand who he was. But in the end all that wondering and searching had only led him back to Dawn, and Ipomoea had known before setting hoof to Delumine’s soil that he was returning as a Sovereign. The world had not yet known it, perhaps Somnus had not yet known it - but he had. And now he carried that secret around like his own personal noose tied loosely around his neck.
He had hoped that would be the only dangerous thing he would face as a new Sovereign, if only for a while -
- Of course, he should have known better.
Thoughts of the forest (of Emersyn’s map, of the blood drops on the ivy leaves, of the ghastly hue the snow took on as it settled over the bodies) are still bright in his mind as he makes his way through the Court. The click of his hooves against the marble flooring is a welcome distraction, echoing almost too loudly for comfort through the hallway. He has to force himself to slow down, until his hoofbeats no longer sound quite so rushed or frenzied, as he turns the corner leading to one of Delumine’s tea room.
He expects to find the woman waiting at a table for him, perhaps already starting in on a plate of scones with a half-empty tea cup settled beside her. But Llewelyn is standing in the doorway, looking in on the sunlit room, half-in and half-out, like she’s caught on the edge.
“Llewelyn,” he says, coming to stand beside the antlered woman. “I hope you were not waiting long, I’ve been running a little late today.” He turns his cherry eyes to her then, an apologetic smile turning the corners of his lips up.
“Shall we find a seat?” he asks, gesturing towards the tables waiting for them.
He can hear the sound of a fountain singing away from within, and to him it sounds more like shattering glass than something peaceful.
@llewelyn
eep forgive me
