BEXLEY BRIAR
Bexley does not stir as the group continues to form around her, nor does she grace the stranger that slinks to her side with more than a derogatory, sideways glance; he was not at the hunt, and so not worthy of her respect. If Bexley Briar could help kill a Teryr, surely this man could have. With one glance-over she files him away in her brain and turns her eyes back to Maxence, an absurdly stoic figure in the face of the celebration that is about to commence.
Only when Maxence begins to list off his advisors does Bexley stir, leaning imperceptibly forward to catch each word, hoping, hoping, hoping. She knows it must be in vain - what purpose does she have here? what position would Maxence be foolish enough to grant her? - yet still the thought of proving herself runs rampant behind that cool-as-ice expression, so unfit for a child of Day. Under the sun her bright blue eyes are glass, are fixed, are pinpoint-dark. Her heart thrums the beat of a wild thing too deep inside her chest. And, as if Solis himself has been listening to her prayers, the sovereign calls her name, a champion, and, with a sharp and genuine smile half-hidden in that silver hair, she leaps forward to take her place ahead of the rest, a warmth not brought by the summer still flourishing through each nerve.
Poised in her new spot, Bexley listens to the laws with fractured attention, though each one is still put away neatly and completely in the recesses of her brain. Champion! Champion! From across the sand she catches Eden’s gaze and grins again.
Let them come for her now - the ungrateful, the overconfident - those who see her as weak, as lesser, as nothing but flax and gold and bone. Let them come.
short lil reply for y'all
