Camdis was as recovered as he could hope to be since his... hibernation.
Having regained most of the weight that he had lost with only a few stone of muscle and fat left to recover, the Regent felt that it was finally time to return to the throne room, to attempt a debut where he could actually use his position as Regent for something other than being a well read recluse. It was interesting, his brush with death was something that had only weakened him for a few weeks, his body recovering with a seemingly preternatural swiftness that neither he nor the nurses that had attended him were willing to comment on. For him, it was something that he had yet to accept - that he had been weakened to the point of a mewling babe by that selfsame presence that he had decided was either Calligo or her shade. It wasn't something that he knew how to discuss or begin to understand, but the stallion had an inkling that he was to be a part of some larger scheme, that he was potentially more than just a plaything for the gods.
Maybe he was more of a game piece now; less of a frivolity and more of a necessity. But such musings he must keep to himself.
The soft shushing of his lengthy mane and tail along the stone floors of the throne room served as a quiet welcome, the scent of incense and melted beeswax permeating the grand space with ease. Moving so as to position himself in front of the dais that was reserved for Reichenbach, Camdis only allowed himself a short moment to consider where his dear friend could be - he hadn't seen hide nor hair of him during his stay in the infirmary, and he hadn't heard of any activity from Raglan despite the hastily scribbled note that the lad had left upon their shared desk; Maxence is vanished. Solterra sits without a Sovereign, a fruit ripe for the taking.
Now was as good a time to discuss that as any, Camdis supposed.
@anyone in the Night Court. Cam is gonna chit the chat and see how he can be a more effective resource for the people of Denocte so I'll tag @Reichenbach @Lothaire and @Aislinn and @Rostislav but everyone is welcome!
The whispers of her feet rise to join the shushing of his tail.
Faida trails the regent, soft-stepping down the center of the throne room as though she were some demure bride. There is no giddiness to the soft pull of her lips and her eyes are too detached, strung from stars and moons an eternity apart.
The bone girl drifts through the gilt room as though she has always been here. Maybe she has – for there is nothing earthly about Faida. The girl is wraith and witch and death entwined.
Her tail trails like a tattered train of a dress, her forelock a decorous veil falling across her thick-lashed eyes. Oh this girl is grace and elegance, she is slender beauty; a flower so divine it lures the eye and ignites the heart. But beneath her petal skin, poison pulses and pushes and whispers. It calls from her universe eyes and its song is a dreadful thing of endless black; the tumbling space between stars and moons and planets.
The regent stops before a throne and Faida’s head tilts, corvine and lupine, sharp with beak and teeth. Her voice – a sound as soft as fur and feathers – resonates from the stone around them, “Have you lost a king?”
Dry, dry lips, paper-thin and snow, snow white, tremble as they close. Only she knows why she shivers. Only she knows why her body trembles, and it is not from cold, or fear, or energy.
She blesses the boy beside her with a smile that grows and grows and grows. Within this room she is a rogue flake of snow; so fragile she may melt in the heat and so dangerous she promises death with an icy caress.
The bone girl stops, only when she is before the dais, a bride before the altar. Her eyes drift like flotsam to the boy stopped beside her. They stand together, like a bride and groom, but Faida has no space in her heart for love and her soul is old and corrupt. She is no longer a bride when she ascends the dais upon slender limbs and circles the throne as though she were a priestess behind her altar of blood and sacrifice. Black, black eyes catch and claw and bite at the boy as though he were a rabbit – the fox will never let him from her sight.
“Well?” Faida whispers from her place beside the throne. Down, down upon the regent she peers with her eyes gleaming wild, wild, wild. There is a monster within her, Camdis, it roars in her blood and purrs in the laugh that peels from her throat.
He entered the throne room in a flurry of movement, bringing with him the freshness of the crisp night air and a freedom that spread from wall to wall in a whisper. Reichenbach had many a thought to occupy his mind that night, as he had had from the moment the crown had touched his dark haired head — Courts and territories and wars, an endless circle that he was already growing weary of. He hadn't taken his mantle lightly though, and settled the burden squarely upon his muscular shoulders — so that his people did not have to.
Still striding forward, Reichenbach looked up breathlessly, halting in surprise as his slate eyes caught sight of Camdis Lohir — alive, standing. His face remained solemn for a moment before breaking into an easy grin, striding forward to place an honest hand upon his Regent's shoulder;
"Welcome back, friend."
He lingered there beside the crimson ex-King, smiling for a moment longer as he searched Camdis' argent eyes for answers. Many questions would be asked and answered, many plans formulated now that he had greater minds to aid his.
"Faida."
He said simply in acknowledgement of the wraith curved elegantly around the throne — a chair he had little use for, but respected all the same. Objects like the star-carved throne held a lot of symbolism, especially to the zealous and god-fearing. Reichenbach followed the slick path of the witchling, eyes wary as he pushed down the discomfort he felt in her presence — he'd never felt comfortable around the delicately boned woman, she radiated an otherness that did not speak of life and vitality but of dark arts and blood magic. Yet... she, too, was a citizen of their realm, a Denoctian just as worthy of his dedication and commitment.
His black lips curved into another smile, smaller this time, humming with a sense of mischief. That smile spoke of things to be told — plans to be revealed.
"We have much to discuss..."
A glance to Faida,
"Call a meeting with the Court"
He did not say when or where, knowing that his Regent was well versed in discretion and secrets — his page Raglan even more so. The Crows will also need to be called together, he noted to himself, a glimmer of anticipation brightening his argent eyes. A Crow meeting meant fighting and fists and bloody grins, taunts and booming laughter, sometimes a broken nose or two and always drink to be had.
His bright eyes turned to Faida, head tilting slightly as he considered her dangerous eyes, the undying thirst that seemed to drive her. In truth, her skills would have made for an excellent Crow — she was terrifying and fierce and Reichenbach had no doubt she'd killed before, and perhaps had other less savoury skills. Her eyes gave him pause though, finding enough volatile violence that he had not extended such an invitation — not that he could be sure she'd have accepted if he did.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Faida?"
