A S T E R I O N
in sunshine and in shadow*
So easily does the sovereign keeps his voice level, so quickly does he smooth his brow, Asterion misses any sign that he’s been caught out by the news. It had seemed a surprise to the whole Court, and many had hid their reaction less well than Reichenbach.
“Ah,” he says, summoning a mental map of the palace, and indicates the hallway ahead with a tilt of his chin. “It was in my first days here, so I was…overwhelmed, anyway.” First he’d found he had a half-sister, and then a day later that she was queen – that there were such things here as queens, and castles, and drink and food that was not rainwater or winter-grass. For a moment he gathers his thoughts, and the only sounds they make in the semi-dark are footsteps echoing soft, and Reichenbach’s coins jingling, merry.
“The first queen – Rannveig? – said she had matters elsewhere, and named Florentine to take her place. I do not think Flora expected that,” he says, and though his voice is light with humor his expression remains serious, thoughtful. “Since then I’ve hardly seen her, she’s been so busy. But I think there is to be a party…” A festival; the castle had been humming with activity over it, the only spark of warmth in the midst of cold winter. Asterion was happy to help, but his inexperience must’ve been clear – so far he’d been left to mere observation.
A turn into the dark, a stretch of hallway muffled by thick tapestries and thicker carpet. A winding staircase. It is a little like a maze; the memory of another, truer labyrinth raises gooseflesh on his skin, and he forces his attention back to Reichenbach, gaze soft and searching.
“I am sorry no one told you sooner. It must be as surprising for you as it was for her. It seems that Dusk has some, ah, positions unfilled as well, which can’t have helped.” It’s only then that he wonders how much information he should be divulging to the head of another court – but the bay is no simple king. Surely, Florentine’s status aside, there were no secrets between them that Asterion could accidentally slip loose.
Luckily he is saved from saying more by their arrival at the kitchens. Embers burn low in a fireplace, and all manner of things glint in the dim from their rows of shelves. It smells of baking and spices and a hundred things Asterion can’t yet name. Here he is lost, and he looks to the man beside him, unwilling to admit the depth of his ignorance. “Help yourself,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t come off as arrogant.
@Reichenbach I am not sure how this got so long, eep. I would <3 an acton x reich thread, I feel like much has happened
