the devoted

penned by wren for @bloodydayshq

it was a marvel to be able to attend an event such as this with his wife. to be able to dance with her, to pair his costume with hers, all without fear or reserve. only a handful of years ago such public affection would have been out of the question, and yet here they were, hand in hand, walking to the dance floor.

they were dressed not as gods but as the doomed lovers orpheus and eurydice. it had been rose’s idea and art had laughed to hear it, for there was a beautiful sort of irony it. for had they not been damned to hell and yet returned from it? he had risen where orpheus had fell. and if rose had any say in the matter he was sure they would keep rising.

their concerns could be put aside for the evening. they had triumphed. they were dancing at the heart of the king’s court and none could cast them down for it.

arthur cavendish had once loved the idea of court. when he had first joined his father at court, near fifteen years ago now, he had been awed by the sight of it all, the beauty, the glory, the power all concentrated in this singular place. he had been eager to climb up through the ranks, to make the most of himself, and therefore to find himself at the centre of all that beauty.

court preyed on all of art’s worst instincts, his greatest failings, and he was all too aware of that. the vanity, the greed, the deceit, the rashness it inspired, it had brought both him and his father down in the end. william cavendish had not lived to long enough to truly feel the consequences of his actions, so art felt it for the both of them. his time in the tower had humbled him, though whether that was enough to keep him from falling again, only time would tell.

it was these thoughts that spiralled through his mind as he walked through the gardens, paying little heed to his surroundings. it was not until he near walked straight into someone that he stirred from them.