The flight back from Ischia is not a long one, but I do my best to drag it out. Spiraling in the thermals, I look down at the world below me. From here, all of Beqanna is one large island, not so different from the tropical kingdom that I have just left. I cannot even see the horses; there is only green and brown and red. Sylva is impossible to miss, even from this impressive distance.
Never once does it occur to me to not return to my captivity.
To do so would be to break Arthas' word, and there is nothing worse I might ever do. It was his wish that I stay in Sylva, a gift to the ruby-nosed king. I do wonder if he knows how Modicum Mortem treats his presents, but surely he does. He is a man, my future-husband, and to doubt him is to betray him.
I won't betray him.
So I return to the autumnal forest, carried by a crisp spring wind. I spiral down neatly into the space that a small meadow has made in the canopy, preferring that to battle branches on my way down. I land at a canter and by the time I come to a halt I've reach the border of the meadow and the shadows of the forest close over me. I tuck my wings tightly to my slim figure, the hard silk feathers feel like protection.
I am grateful for them as I catch a flash of motion, and I feel the breath catch in my throat. There, in the shows. He is waiting. His uncanny ability to startle me is not my least favorite of Modicum Mortem's habits, but it is certainly a contender.
I've not seen him since my first encounter with Kwartz, I realize, and I wonder briefly if the gold and amethyst stallion has shared his actions with the king. Surely he had, I think. Even if he hadn't, there is no denying the fresh and healed marks that litter my pale yellow hide. They had not been there upon my arrival, and it is clear that in the months of my captivity that I have been used many of his male followers, and roughly used more often then not.
Still, I do not lower my head in shame. I am a once-queen and will be a queen again; I refuse to be ashamed.
"Your Majesty," I say with a dip of my blue-tipped head. "I've just returned from Ischia, but have nothing to report. No one was there to greet me but a boy named Grye." It occurs to me that he might find my information unsatisfactory (I'd said I'd smooth relations, after all, and I had done no such thing), and I feel the same knot of worry that catches in my throat at the sight of Kwartz being to tighten in my throat.
ooc: so i had a thought while writing her as flying and thought it might be mucho traumatic to her her wing(s) broken if that's something @[Modicum Mortem] would be down for
Never once does it occur to me to not return to my captivity.
To do so would be to break Arthas' word, and there is nothing worse I might ever do. It was his wish that I stay in Sylva, a gift to the ruby-nosed king. I do wonder if he knows how Modicum Mortem treats his presents, but surely he does. He is a man, my future-husband, and to doubt him is to betray him.
I won't betray him.
So I return to the autumnal forest, carried by a crisp spring wind. I spiral down neatly into the space that a small meadow has made in the canopy, preferring that to battle branches on my way down. I land at a canter and by the time I come to a halt I've reach the border of the meadow and the shadows of the forest close over me. I tuck my wings tightly to my slim figure, the hard silk feathers feel like protection.
I am grateful for them as I catch a flash of motion, and I feel the breath catch in my throat. There, in the shows. He is waiting. His uncanny ability to startle me is not my least favorite of Modicum Mortem's habits, but it is certainly a contender.
I've not seen him since my first encounter with Kwartz, I realize, and I wonder briefly if the gold and amethyst stallion has shared his actions with the king. Surely he had, I think. Even if he hadn't, there is no denying the fresh and healed marks that litter my pale yellow hide. They had not been there upon my arrival, and it is clear that in the months of my captivity that I have been used many of his male followers, and roughly used more often then not.
Still, I do not lower my head in shame. I am a once-queen and will be a queen again; I refuse to be ashamed.
"Your Majesty," I say with a dip of my blue-tipped head. "I've just returned from Ischia, but have nothing to report. No one was there to greet me but a boy named Grye." It occurs to me that he might find my information unsatisfactory (I'd said I'd smooth relations, after all, and I had done no such thing), and I feel the same knot of worry that catches in my throat at the sight of Kwartz being to tighten in my throat.
ooc: so i had a thought while writing her as flying and thought it might be mucho traumatic to her her wing(s) broken if that's something @[Modicum Mortem] would be down for
