His fellow Crows had descended upon the Silvertongue the moment the girl gilded in gold had placed her pretty blonde hooves within the walls of Denocte's Keep. They whispered of her beauty, of the sand scent that clung to her skin, of the confidence that laced her steps and the grins brimming with untapped potential. From the way the youths spoke of this stranger from Solis' Court, he wouldn't doubt that a few of his older Crows had fallen in love with her on site. As the winged page slipped silently through the shadows, his destination the large and generally forgotten receiving chamber that the maid had found herself in, Raglan considered her reason for traipsing so brazenly into the stronghold of Night.
Their borders were open, yes, but the shadowed Night Court had long since held a less than savory reputation - one that he and the rest of the citizenry hoped would change beneath the rule of their beloved Orphan King. Could the girl be an envoy? An emissary? The Crows had not whispered any details that could point toward the mare being of a royal rank, but Raglan knew better than to operate off of assumptions of station. After all, the First Crow the crown and the Silvertongue found himself living in a palace.
With the only sound of his approach being the whisper of his feathered wings over heated flesh, the horned lad stepped through the arched doorway of the chamber. For a moment, he considered the woman before him; her sun kissed skin and the scent of heat that rolled from her frame. She was a beauty, his messengers had not been wrong, but beauty rarely meant anything when it came to mannerisms. If anything, a gorgeous face either hid a nimble mind or an empty one.
Raglan was curious to find out what this stranger hid behind her pretty little mask.
"The Orphan King is on his way, I'm sure. I dispatched a few Crows to fetch him," the Silvertongue's velvety voice still held the height of youth, but the flirtatious tone couldn't be mistaken. With a dramatic bow flourished with a sweep of burnished wings, Raglan moved closer to the silver haired mare, opal eyes glimmering with wry mirth and a mischievous smirk dancing about his lips. "My name is Raglan, but you may call me whatever you wish... 'Beloved' or 'Dreamy' perhaps. Who might you be?"
Their borders were open, yes, but the shadowed Night Court had long since held a less than savory reputation - one that he and the rest of the citizenry hoped would change beneath the rule of their beloved Orphan King. Could the girl be an envoy? An emissary? The Crows had not whispered any details that could point toward the mare being of a royal rank, but Raglan knew better than to operate off of assumptions of station. After all, the First Crow the crown and the Silvertongue found himself living in a palace.
With the only sound of his approach being the whisper of his feathered wings over heated flesh, the horned lad stepped through the arched doorway of the chamber. For a moment, he considered the woman before him; her sun kissed skin and the scent of heat that rolled from her frame. She was a beauty, his messengers had not been wrong, but beauty rarely meant anything when it came to mannerisms. If anything, a gorgeous face either hid a nimble mind or an empty one.
Raglan was curious to find out what this stranger hid behind her pretty little mask.
"The Orphan King is on his way, I'm sure. I dispatched a few Crows to fetch him," the Silvertongue's velvety voice still held the height of youth, but the flirtatious tone couldn't be mistaken. With a dramatic bow flourished with a sweep of burnished wings, Raglan moved closer to the silver haired mare, opal eyes glimmering with wry mirth and a mischievous smirk dancing about his lips. "My name is Raglan, but you may call me whatever you wish... 'Beloved' or 'Dreamy' perhaps. Who might you be?"
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