Torture
He might never be one for the kingdom life. While his sister feels comfortable in the rhythm of her diplomatic endeavors (the chatter of the field, the lull of a walk to another kingdom, the drone of peaceful talk), the untamed man knows his soul cannot sing that sort of song. He is constantly moving, constantly changing. He is strung too ruggedly and bored too easily to be involved in something like diplomatic kingdom life.
Perhaps he could be better suited for the military lifestyle, but even then the metal on his shoulders and the clang of armor in his ears would not suit him entirely.
She appears from the froth of Loess to stand before him, wild eyes dancing and intoxicating hips swaying. She taunts him candidly while his dark eyes wind along the length of her petite body, following the curve of her back and the angles of her legs. It’s only when she welcomes him that his gaze finds hers.
A grating, smoky laugh leaves his throat. “I won’t stay long.” He figures she knows this — they are made of similar blood and bone and he’s sure she can feel the way his legs are restless. He has wandered many places, conquered many queens, lead many herds and this place will not be much different. Perhaps he will never find peace, cursed to wander many lands and see many things.
It truly doesn’t sound too bad to him and it hasn’t done him wrong thus far.
“Are you going to let me in or just stand there and tease me?”