Sworn to Protect x Sworn to Serve

The prince’s chambers were dark, windows covered by the blinds despite a servant attempted to open them to wake Cyrus in the morning. However, there were still yellow sunbeams that managed to sneak its way from the perimeter of the blinds, illuminating the room enough to gauge the things around, as well as the shape of Cyrus, who laid in his bed, his naked barely covered by the sheets. 

There wasn’t much movement from Cyrus after he allowed the other person access to his room. And he would have remained still if it was anyone else, but Drack’s voice made the Toyne rustle in his bed, some life coming back to him. He finally turned to face the noble, subtly attempting to cover his member, not out of embarrassment but out of respect for the company, though, the thin material didn’t do much to cover the outline of it. A grunt was used to respond to his comment before a tense paused ensued until the prince spoke and broke the silence. “What are you doing here?” He asked rather lazily, but he soon took in the scent of the food and sat up straight, slightly. “And did you make that?” Wondering if the noble was actually capable of cooking.

Whilst the heir to the Nyghtshades had expected the other to still be in bed, he hadn’t realized he would be disturbing the others sleep. Not that he could really blame the other for indulging in a lazy morning idly regretting his choice. Maybe an evening meal would’ve been more appropriate? A quick shake of his head before the thoughts could linger, instead focusing his attention upon his friend.

“Love–       If you’re getting boring, then I fear for the rest of the kingdoms, as all they’ve had to dine upon is porridge and ash. If you want to invite some friends or strangers over for dessert, just say the word, and I’ll fill our quarters with as many guests as you desire.”

“Now, as tempting as that does sound...

“Terrifying is putting it lightlyyyy,” he slurred, the sight of the creatures and their terrible faces etched into his mind. Florencio was sure they would be there for a long time to come, at the very least they would provide inspiration for artwork once his arm healed, but maybe that was just the alcohol and potions talking. 

He sighed when Aquilino wrapped his arm around the small of his back, laughing softly to himself as he wrapped his good arm around his broad shoulders. Boy was he glad they had given him one of the better looking men to escort him home. That made this whole ordeal a lot more fun.

“Do you want to be my company, beautiful?” He asked, giggling to himself, and burying his face in the man’s neck momentarily. “You smell nice, I wouldn’t mind having you in my chambers.” 

Florencio rolled his eyes, stumbling again, but catching himself thanks to his hold on Aquilino. “What are you, my father? I was told not to do it, of course, but did I listen? Nooo. Rules are meant to be broken, you know. It’s what makes life interesting.” 

He quirked a brow at him, moving his arm and wincing at the movement. “’Snot my hand, it’s my elbow. Sprained. Are you going to kiss it better?” 

The drunken slur to the other’s tone was more than enough to earn another soft sigh from Aquilino, doing his best to not berate the other for pulling what was in every way, an incredibly stupid move. Mixing the potions with alcohol could lead to all sorts of effects that he’d rather not be dealing with, but instead he just focused on the task at hand. Getting Florencio home safe was his only priority, once he was there, it was entirely out of his hands. Which was a relief, were he being honest.

Of course, that didn’t prepare Aquilino to deal with that nose so easily gliding against the curve of his jaw as the prince nuzzled in to his neck, jaw immediately tensing and spine straightening. “Unfortunately, sire, I’ll be taking you home and that is all.” His word’s were measured, ignoring the flare of warmth upon his neck as he kept them walking.

As long as he kept tem walking, he could keep himself focused on just walking. Of course he got stuck with the flirt. Most of Sollia knew of Florencio’s reputation, no matter how intoxicated the other was.

Once the other held his arm out, he slowed the pace. Just enough to brush gentle fingers over where it was bound. Checking the swelling. You learned basic medical knowledge on the front line in his position, and it didn’t seem like he’d made it any worse. It woud be better in a mages care, but still.

“I fear you’d do yourself more of an injury if I gave you a kiss of any description.”

     And finally, he was home. Maybe not quite the man he had been, but... More than he had been after the incident, that was for sure. Enough that he allowed himself to show off a little. Or, rather, put some knights in their places. Just those he’d caught muttering as he passed. Questioning what use a Witcher with no eyes was. A few minutes later the knight was wheezing ont he floor, and Sulvan had a smile on that he hadn’t worn in too long.

       “Would anybody else like to try their luck?”

It has been some time since the terrible incident that happened back in Valtolia that soon began to feel like a horrible dream he had, though, he wished that were the case. There have been some nights that made him lay in his bed, the gruesome sights of the manticore onslaught etched on his mind. And even though Cyrus appeared to be fine the day it happened, he has been feeling the effects the day after, noticing that work he has put into handling his PTSD has regressed. 

It was one of those days where the prince spent the whole night awake, unable to sleep until close to dawn, where his fatigue had forced him to rest. He would have slept the whole morning if it weren’t for the knock on his door, in which a grumbled ‘come in’ came from the sluggish man.

@oxthsworn

So there may have been the distinct possibility Drack had been putting off this meeting for a while. Why? He didn’t really know, it was mostly just the fact their dynamic seemed to be in a constant state of flux, and actally cementing anything seemed beyond him. But, he still needed to show his gratitude, and check in with Cyrus. It wa what had him making his way there overnight, intending to greet the other with breakfast.

Not to be told to just head straight up to the prince’s chambers. Accompanied by a servent until he assured him that he knew the way, between years of visiting as a child and before the war, he had a decent understanding of the lay out. The grumbled answer was enough to have him nudging the door open, pausing in the doorway as he looked toward the other. “Well you certainly don’t look bright and chipper fro teh day ahead.” As much as it was a joke, there was just the edge of concern there. Mild.

Standing in a clearing outside of the Valtolian castle, Calder trudged over to the line of trees behind him; his calloused hands working on the straps of his sheathed sword so he could remove the weapon to rest it against one of the tree’s trunks. Standing there, with his hands on his hips, the Dragonrider had to find some way to keep himself calm– he hated days like this; when he had nothing to do. As horrible as it was to think, he wished he’d been around for the Manticore attack just because it would have sated his need to fight; that and it would have sated Boudicca’s, his dragons, needs too. Instead he’d missed the chaos because he was still trying to heal from a small tear in his shoulder that he earned because he fell of a damned horse while running through some training exercises. Not once has he fallen off his dragon, or made it seem like he wasn’t capable of riding, but give him some free time and apparently he’ll fall off a horse.

Grumbling to himself, Calder began to undo his armor next; taking his breast plate and shoulder pauldron’s off, leaving him in a loose and untied undershirt that exposed his chest, he then turned his attention to the belt of his iron greaves when the sound of earth crunching behind him caught his attention. “I’d be careful if I were you.” He commented, under his breath, as he dropped his hands to his sides and turned to face the person he could hear approaching behind him. “Boudicca doesn’t do well with other’s, and it’s been a few days since I’ve seen her. You might want to keep your distance, unless you enjoy tempting fates.” Though the dragon Calder was warning them about wasn’t near enough to be seen, the rider’s face carried the seriousness of his words. She was coming to him and, well, if the person came any closer it was likely she’d attack him; and not because the man approaching was a threat, but because she was just as bored as her rider was; she’d attack him simply out of sport.

“Then she’d do well to remember who she’s taking aim at before she did it,” Sulvan’s voice was easy as he offered his retort, but he stopped none the less. Of course, that left him in what he was currently referring to as a bad spot. He’d figured if he was struggling in the bustling streets of town, maybe getting out of it would be better. Feeling the wind upon his skin, getting used to the sounds of nature running through his head like the roar of a beast rather than just the subtle hints for him to pick up on. But this wasn’t familiar terrain, he’d been following a path he knew well enough, but it still wasn’t enough for him to be sure where anything actually was around him.

He gives himself a moment, head tilting to better listen out for it. The steady wngbeats in the distance, probably outside of even most of his fellow Witcher’s range unless they put the effort in. He could remember the glisten of her scales, the scars adorning her body. He’d been on the front lines when the dragon rider had been fighting, and had taken to them again as a Witcher in the last years before the treaty. A chance, of that there was no doubt, going from being terrified of a dragon, to instead having a mindset that taught you to look for how to kill one. “Apologies if I startled you, Calder.” Of course, the fact he was talking to the wind, and not in his direction, betrayed more than he was willing to admit. He needed to talk louder damn him, even with enhanced senses, pinpointing the rider’s exact position was difficult at best.