I'm the hero of this story
I don't need to be saved
I don't need to be saved
The lion is not impressed with him. August is not dismayed; it is a cat, after all, and he has known his fair share of those. Still, it’s hard not to think of the canines behind the whiskers, and the claws yet unseen.
He wonders more how similar the king is to his companion.
August does not shy away from the man’s gaze, though maybe he should; maybe it would be wiser to choose this moment to examine the gnarled, ancient roots of the olive tree, or avert his gaze to the lotus in the still pools or the jasmine climbing up the walls. Instead it’s the stallion’s eyes he meets, tumultuous ocean-colored eyes, the color of Denocte’s harbor on a sunny day. There is nothing of the desert about them, and it’s a ridiculous thing to assign any kind of judgement to, but August likes him more, for the color of his eyes.
And at his answer, the palomino feels a tiny flick of shame. It’s not the answer he’d expected from the king of Solterra; humility is not a word he associates with the people of the desert. It might have softened him enough to be friendly, but when Orestes continues August tosses his head with a snort. “Novus has not often had the luxury of ignoring Solterra’s affairs. They’ve had a nasty habit of spilling over.” And this time (he tells himself) its not his own pride talking; there is Raum, after all (never mind, never mind that he was born of the Night Court, moon-kissed and alley-raised), but Zolin before him, whose reign left August an orphan, who cut off countless roots and branches of families.
Grudgingly, curious and wishing he wasn’t, he begins to follow Orestes down the path. Shadows bar the garden, the air is dense with scent; he’d never realized there were so many shades of green. August ignores the lion lounging along the low branch of the tree.
“I’m an old friend of Aghavni’s, who has graciously permitted me to stay with her for a while.” He manages to keep the edge out of his voice, though his ears tilt backward for a moment; there is too much unsatisfactory, incomplete about the answer. But he doesn’t know what she’s told her new king.
He meets the smirk with a smile. “And I’m August. I like your garden, Orestes. And your tattoos.”
@Orestes photo inspiration for this post here
