august
—« “Then he is a monster!" the Prince crowed, "and I must slay him at once. The Formula works!" »
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f course it is. Everything’s a good look for me.” He can only keep up his exaggerated swagger for a moment before his arch look broadens into a grin. She as much as anyone knows the lie of those words, having seen him the last couple times looking rather worse for wear. He’s too observant (and curious) not to follow her gaze the second time she turns it away from him. Her interest is far too keen to be idle, and it takes him a beat, but once he realizes it he feels chagrined at not having noticed immediately. Her daughter looks so much like her.
And it explains the fact that she’d allowed herself to be painted, and the childishly loose whorls and zigzags of the designs themselves. August’s grin lingers, tucked in the corner of his mouth, when he glances back at her, trying to picture her as a mom.
He snorts at her comment, shaking his head in a way that tips the crown rakishly across his brow. “I’ve decided to retire from stupid trouble,” he says, surprised by how true it feels. For a moment he is quiet, and the fire nearest them gives a mighty pop as the flames hit a pocket of sap in one of the logs, sending up a shower of sparks. As they dissipate he watches her out of the corner of his eye, and says in a tone that is almost serious, “I didn’t know you had a daughter, Morrighan. She favors you.” Another beat, and he’s smiling again when he adds, “Looks friendlier, though.”
