(piece of me)
Royal, Fantasy Romance, and Spice: still accepting. / (piece of me): sender ties a piece of cloth on receiverβs hand to wrap around a wound.
The world certainly finds this game of theirs refreshing. It's the only reason, Gale concludes, that would have it rearing its head at least thrice in a tenday. In fact, any more of this, and he might come to believe he'd start stirring in a castle, a sword by his hip and his body with mail. Soon, the humble fire of their campsite would turn into a hearth, and there'd be banners where their tents are with a steed for his knighting, and Wish, sweet Wish, would watch him with his smiles. And when he leaves for duty, would see him off.
Gale could see it now, and because of the pain, perhaps with a worrying clarity. He grimaces, Wish fashioning a torn piece of his shirt to wrap about his arm. It bleeds ink-black, the pale quality of his skin illustrating his rot. Knight in magic armor, Gale had said all those midnights ago... And magic armor, indeed. He had saved him from that blow.
"Decorum tells me that I've ought to return this to you once I'm able," Gale laughs, trying for casual, their company trudging on through Moonrise prison, "but that would be a grave affront to both your pride and honor. Truth be told, I've no intention of doing either such things this 'invigorating' evening. I'm sworn to an oath, and your honor concerns me." Oh! How right of him! This is reminiscent, quite like the maidens liked to do with men of honor. Offering silken things as a token of their interest... It's both young and soppy as though sprung from out a book. Still, Gale's heart tweets a song, and the smile he finds pales the burn in his arm, and he eyes dear Wish, lowering his head like some knightly bowing. He's more a king than a suitor. And what's a king if not a god?
"I've pledged myself most thoroughly to you, my liege." The jester! "Consider all that you'd entrust to me most eagerly guarded--and, likewise, enthusiastically returned."
