The scholar didn’t know why she had been so nervous.
She had observed Ipomoea as Regent and had known that Somnus would choose no fool to replace him; indeed, the golden stallion had selected a fine successor in the flower laden Sovereign. Ipomoea was a gentle and intelligent sort, someone who spoke softly but with words that rang with surety. Truthfully, Llewelyn had been pleasantly surprised at how respected the male had become within the Court and had she come to admire him, albeit from afar.
So, when the King of Dawn spoke her name and deigned to offer an apologetic grin — to her! a common scholar! — the maiden felt all pretense and anxiety slip from her shoulders, an invisible cloak pooling to the marbled floor. Llewelyn felt herself responding in kind, a warm smile spreading over her features as she nodded toward the stallion, “I’ve only just arrived, my Lord.”
With another polite nod, the femme made her way for the seat facing away from the doorway and toward the depths of the tea room; she knew better than to leave her Sovereign with his back toward an entryway, even if it was in his own palace. As she settled upon a large maroon cushion, an ear swiveling to catch the chiming melody of a fountain, Llewelyn considered the sort of conversations that would take place during this meeting Of course, she knew which subjects should be discussed, but the mare found herself growing more and more curious about the Poaching incidents.
Though, glancing up at the ivory splashed King, Llewelyn couldn’t force herself to broach such a sensitive topic. After all, he must have been practically overrun with inquiries about the stranger, and a tea appointment was hardly the time or place for such gruesome talk. With a slow blink and a dazzling smile, the mare filled Ipomoea’s tea cup and then her own, resisting the urge to stoop down and inspect the exquisite china. Placing the pot gently back upon the table cloth, she tilted her head just so and asked “Do you take your tea with sugar?”
Blowing upon her own cup and taking a tentative sip, the lass curled her tail about herself — practically the image of a pampered housecat lounging by the hearth — “My apologies,” She started, voice light and eyes glimmering, “I wasn’t present at Court to witness your coronation. I’m sure it was a lovely affair and I’d like to offer both my belated vow of loyalty and a congratulations.” The pursing of her lips was only to hide what would have been a wide, and rather improper, grin, “You wear the mantle of King with grace, truly. I do wonder, though,” Llewelyn leaned in conspiratorially,
“Was it really all that surprising? The Folk here have adored you for as long as you’ve breathed Delumine’s air.”
@Ipomoea sorry for the wait!
