#amon illiad

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"Mommy."

Startled, Essatha whipped around as the shrill call of her latest title reached her ears. She had only just earned it almost four years ago, but it still had to be her favorite; matching only with that of wife.

Hearing it said this way, however, had a way with playing with her heart. It jolted and twisted uncomfortably in her chest, dropping the blanket she had been folding upon the sofa.

"Sibby darling?"

Essie's feet only just carried her out of the sitting room into the adjacent space when she spotted her precious toddler. The young girl's black curls were flopping around, with wide wet eyes and an extended hand held out before her. She had the same deep muted blue as her father; innocent and wide. Her lip wobbled as she waves her hand in the air.

The sorceress cooed as she spotted the red streaks on her palm and fingers, taking to her knees before the poor girl as she took her hand gentle cupped in her own.

"Oh sweetheart, what happened?"

A pitiful sniffle escaped Hepsiba. "I was going to pick a flower for you like dad does, and it bit me."

The worry-knit of the noblewoman's brow relaxed. She released a softened exhale, a touch of relief taking the fluttering from her chest. The feeling was ever-present she found as she became a parent. It came with no regrets of course, but she never imagined just how frightening it was an experience. Her every background thought was dedicated to wanting the best for this beautiful gift before her, made of love and deserving of a world only bettered before her. And she would so it so.

The Yuan-Ti woman's golden visage drifted to the wounds. "Oooh, I see. Well, let's take care of this first and then we can talk about this flower, okay? Keep still for me."

The little girl nodded, reaching up with her free hand to wipe her damp features.

Taking a deep breath, Essatha held her child's gaze as she curled her fingers closed. Her lips pressed to those small knuckles, and she exhaled; her lips barely moving as a flicker of golden light like stars bloomed and evaporated from the girl's hand. She uncurled Hepsiba's hand; the wound completely disappearing as the last scratches knitted together with new skin. Hepsiba's gaze was instantly like saucer plates; mesmerized by the cleric spell that healed her injuries.

"Wow."

Essie smiled at the awestruck look upon her daughter's face, and whispered another spell beneath her breath in a husky murmur. A brief exhale and the twinkling of lights amongst a shadow of her origin magic, and the smears of blood staining Hepsiba's skin faded out of existence.

A bright airy giggle escaped Sibby. "That was so pretty mom."

"Well maybe one day if you're lucky, your grandfather and I can help teach you some of that," she replied with a flash of a grin. Sadris would love the opportunity. Teaching was an inherit strength to him, but sharing what he knew with those he cared for so deeply? The honor would make her wonderful adopted father melt.

"Yes please!"

The sorceress leaned forward, kissing the small hand in her own before releasing her to grab her face and pepper her face with kisses. The little squeals of delight Hepsiba made lit her up inside as they laughed, the damp tears replaced with a glee of pure joy.

"Now, why don't you show me this flower sweetheart."

"You won't hurt it, will you mama?"

"No," Essie murmured, her tender heart clutching as she reached for Hepsiba's hand. "I promise, I won't hurt it."

"Okay. It's out in the courtyard."

Fondly watching her little girl, Essatha allowed her to lead the way as they stepped out hand-in-hand to the central plaza of the household. Her eyes naturally took in her surroundings; from the fountain and statues to the various flowers and bushes carefully preened in garden-beds. So many days spent with Amon watching and learning and encouraging him of his passion, and the pair of them researching together new breeds to bring in to elevate the area. It had certainly grown in years.

"It was this one."

Pulled from her memories, the noblewoman blinked down at the blush rose that Hepsiba was jutting her free fingers towards. Her lower lip puckered too, likely in thought of the boo-boo she had just had.

"Ooh yes, I know this one," Essatha remarked, kneeling down once more. She looked from Sibby to the plant, humming thoughtfully.

"Do you see these sharp, pointy barbs on the steams? Here-" Placing a finger against the petals of the rose, Essie pointed to the thorns protruding from the stalky steams branching amongst the plant.

"Yes mama."

"These are the roses thorns. They're a defense to protect it. They're sharp, so we don't want to touch those, okay? Sometimes plants and animals will grow things or act in ways to keep themselves safe that may give you those scratches you had. We have to respect their space. This rose was just trying to tell you that it didn't want to be picked."

"But dad picks them!"

"Yes he does, but daddy knows how to take those poke-y thorns off these roses. When you're older, maybe he'll let you help him. But for now, please be careful around these bushes and don't touch them unless an adult is around to make sure they're safe, okay? We don't want anymore ouchies."

"Yes mommy."

"That's my sweet girl," she whispered gently, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. "You are so thoughtful, and so clever. I do love these roses, even though they can be prickly. You just have to be careful with them. Would you like for me to get you one?"

"I was trying to get you one though."

"Well, why don't we both have one?"

Hepsiba let out a short, excited gasp. "Yes, please."

"Alright, alright," Essatha mused gently. "I'll get the roses for you. Now I want you to promise me you won't try copying what I do, little miss. Remember that these plants are bite-y, but so are the sharp utensils mommy is going to use."

Sibby nodded eagerly, her curls bouncing.

Bemused and softened, Essie pulled a familiar dagger from her thigh. The frosted tip glistened in the sunlight as she reached out, careful to find a spot where there were no thorns before gently pressing the blade upon the stem. Portions of the plant's stem became covered in a frosty glimmer as she cut the rose off. She twisted the full bloom in her hand, running the blade up to nip off the thorns as she went so they fell back into the compost. The last thing she wanted was a shoe-less little miss to go bounding through the garden next and end up with one of these in the bottom of her foot.

With her daughter watching on with a patient and curious silence, she pulled free another rose to give it the same treatment. A softened murmur to summon a soft breeze to remove any pests living among the petals, and the roses were safe to handle and vibrant of color.

She took one of the pair, tucking it along her child's ear as she squirmed in place. She then went to mirror the other rose among her own ebony waves, pressing it behind her ear.

"There," she whispered. "You look like a princess. How do I look?"

Sibby giggled eagerly, pressing her hands over her mouth.

Puzzled, the sorceress offered a slanted smile. Her confusion turned to surprise as Hepsiba pointed behind her.

"Like the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

A flush of heat pooled into her face as Essie pushed herself back to her feet. "Oh- hello beloved."

"Daddy!"

"Hello my girl- ooof-"

Twin chiming laughs filled the space as Hepsiba connected with her father in a crushing embrace of his waist. A recognizable weightless feeling floated through Essatha watching the interaction as Amon picked their daughter up to twirl her around before placing her back upon her feet in the grass. She was all grins, of course.

"Tova told me she was just finishing up lunch Sibby. Do you want to give her a hand?"

"Yes!! I hope she made chocolate cake."

Essie pursed her lips to keep from laughing. Oh, she was definitely her daughter alright.

"Maybe not for lunch," Amon murmured, smoothing her hair down with a chuckle.

"Awww… Okay."

"Why don't you go catch up with miss Tova so I can have a word with your mom."

"You two are just going to kiss," Hepsiba accused with a giggle.

A grin spread across the Bearmaster's face despite himself. Essie bumped her hip against his own as he slide closer, his arm sliding around her waist. A shiver slid down her spine despite her best efforts as the warmth and protection she knew so well encompassed her beneath his strong hand.

"We could always start right now," he teased in response.

"That's okay, I'm used to it because you do it all the time. Make sure you wash your hands when you come in for lunch."

"Oh, of course, yes ma'am," Amon remarked with a serious tone, pressing a hand to his chest with a flourishing bow.

Hepsiba gave them a final stern waggle of her finger before turning with a little snicker, and racing for the door.

Shaking her head, Essie waited until he straightened his posture before nudging her darling lord with her hip once more. "See- I told you we kiss too much around her."

"So she knows her parents are very happily in love," he answered with a shrug. "Is that so wrong? Besides, are we not showing her that signs of a happy relationship?"

Finding no argument in that; and blushing red from her hair roots down to her throat, Essatha merely squinted at him. She could not keep her smile restrained, try as she might, watching as he bat his lashes at her in a teasing mockery.

"She's going to tell her friends eventually that that's all we do."

"Well, that's not all we do."

"You are terrible."

"Guilty, darling."

She did not resist as he reached for her chin with his free hand, and held her steady as he leaned in. The smallest hitch caught in her chest as it always did; anticipating the exhilaration of what was to come moments before her eyes closed and his lips brushed her own. He was soft and she yielded; melting into the care and expertise of the way he kissed her. A pleasant hum rose in her throat in answer.

A very faint groan escaped Amon before they broke apart. He swiped his tongue over his lips, running his gaze up and down her body. His dark eyes settled on her own, where his pupils began to expand as he searched her regard in turn.

"You're so good with Sibby. She's lucky to have you. We both are."

"She's lucky to have you, too, m'lord," Essie retorted, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek this time.

"Mmmm… Here I thought you were going to give her a lesson on how roses need the right sunshine to open up to. You were pretty good at removing my thorns too, you know."

Essatha let out a gentle snort. She leaned into Amon's side, lashes fluttering as his palm moved in circles along her spine. "Oh no- you still can be prickly, under some circumstances. If I did anything, I took you out of your cramped pot and gave you space to grow- with some sunlight and fresh water"

He chuckled. "You're so clever with your analogies."

"Yeah, I am pretty adorable."

"You definitely are."

She was less expecting of the next kiss, but no less thrilled. The corners of her mouth dared to try pulling into a grin that Amon clearly felt, because she could feel his own lips curling in answer against her.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Do you think she'll be okay, or should we keep the courtyard doors locked so she doesn't rush to grab anymore of the thorned plants?"

"I think she learned her lesson," Essie admitted with a small wince.

He nodded, pressing her lips gently to her hairline. "May I escort you to lunch, my wildflower? Before the young Madame Hepsiba comes to scold us?"

"I would love that beloved, thank you."

The grip on her waist grew tight, pulling her hip to hip for a moment in a side-squeeze, before Amon's hand slid down. He pinched her rear; causing her to squeak, before taking her hand in his own calloused grasp with a grin.

"Scoundrel."

"I am, but you like me like that."

"See if you get any of my nectar later if we're doing flower comparisons, mister."

Comically, Amon pouted in a likeness of how their daughter had earlier. "You won't let me pollinate with you?"

The grin he bore as she let out a wheezing laughter of shock was all she needed to know he was definitely pulling that card just for this response.

"Sssstooppp."

"Is that a 'maybe?"

Essatha continued to laugh as her husband reeled her in closer, pressing kisses to her scaly cheek as she folded into him. Her heartrate skipped between each press of his lips as her arm drapped around his neck, pulling herself into him until she had stopped snickering enough to turn into his lips for a proper kiss.

"I adore you. I love you so much, you silly man."

"I love you too, Essatha. With everything in me."

Nuzzling her nose against his own, she gave a content sigh. Breathing him in, her eyes fell shut. All her trust, her faith, her heart resting in the hands of the man before her. In the hands that held her now, as he rubbed his nose in turn against her own in a bunny kiss before kissing the space between her eyes.

With a silent agreement, they parted. Her fingers wrapped in Amon's, his smile matching her own with a goofy, eager adoration. His palm squeezed to hers, and a certainty wrapped around her that centered her world neatly in place. The perfect puzzle piece to her heart and soul.

They took a few steps towards the door, and the world suddenly blurred in her vision. Essatha froze; stunned as everything faded from view so rapidly. Amon disappeared, the courtyard garden, the exterior walls of the house. Her breathing hitched with shock as the aroma of flowers and the sound of songbirds drifted away.

She was suddenly in their bedroom. A small swaddle in her arms. Amon's proud grin aimed at her. He kissed her forehead, and then leaned down to do the same to what was in her arms. She looked down at the baby she was holding, her little fists clenched and a small bow in the wisps of what little hair she had. Hepsiba was eagerly tucked against her side, eager as she looked at her little sister…

"… Essatha? Essie?"

The sorceress blinked, sharply yanked back to the present. Amon's face was taunt with worry.

Her lungs filled with air loudly as the realization of what she had seen sank in. She blinked a few more times, grinning sheepily back to her husband.

"I'm sorry my love- I'm fine. Its just been a long time since Jubaeta has sent me a vision, let alone one while I wasn't meditating."

The nobleman's brow raised. "A vision? What of?"

There was no disguising the tight anxiety in his tone.

She pulled up their intertwined hands, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. She wordlessly pressed his hand against her stomach.

It took a few moments, but his confusion turned to excitement.

"Really? Now?"

"Well, I won't be sure until my next cycle. You know that no vision is a guarantee. It could be a possible thread to the future. It could be a variation that won't come."

Breathless, Amon squeezed her hand tighter, pulling her in close. "Was it a little girl? A boy?"

"I won't take all of the surprise from you if it's a real vision of our future child, Amon."

"Essie-"

"Nu-uh, I don't want you to be disappointed," she replied, giving a firm shake of her head.

"I could never be disappointed."

"Then let yourself be surprised," she teased, reaching up to brush her fingertips through his beard.

Like an impulse, Amon licked his lips as he raked his gaze over her with a shade of desire. She had to giggle at him a little; his enamored expression was adorable. It gave her butterflies.

"If I start devoting more time for prayer to you, maybe you'll give me a hint?" he pleaded, his voice low and hopeful.

"Maybe," Essatha replied in sing-song, tugging his hand. "But first: lunch with Sibby."

A growling rumble echoed in the Bearmaster's chest. His eyes were intense upon her as hurriedly moved into her side. Energy crackled in the air as he pressed a sweet kiss to the space between her pointer and thumb, a smoldering hunger edged in his gaze.

She smiled at him affectionately as he reached for the door to open it chivalrously before her, the brief vision sitting in the forefront of her mind.

Another daughter. Their little family continuing to grow.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, staring down at the makeshift memorial in the grass. The brightly-coloured flowers seemed to stare back at him from the arrangement, seemed to sap the strength from his bones even as he stood there. He was vaguely aware of the tiny hand that found a grip on his finger, making his heart jump in his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Stay close, please,” Amon chided the girl gently, keeping an eye on her as she stared at the displays that lined the market square.

“Yes, Amon,” she answered, hurrying to walk a bit closer to him while still watching the stalls with curiosity. There was so many things to see; so many bright colours and shiny trinkets, flags and banners waving in the breeze as merchants tried to get the attention of passers-by. The height of the summer was the busiest time of the year for Briarton. Folk of many kinds passed through with their wares, bringing wonders from far away that never ceased to amaze her.

The nobleman couldn’t help the faint smile that pulled at his lips, watching her. The child was still so young, and still so full of wonder for the world despite the tragedy that had befallen her. He watched her pause for a moment as they passed a stall of fresh flowers, standing on her toes to stick her face among the blooms.

“What are you doing?” he teased gently, stopping to keep from getting too far ahead of her.

“Smelling the flowers! Mom always said it was important to take time to stop and smell the roses. These aren’t roses, but they’re important too,” she announced, breathing in the scent as he walked over.

“Your mother was very wise, then,” he said softly, letting his gaze pan over the selection before glancing up at the merchant watching them. She offered a respectful curtsy, and he nodded an answer. He glanced back down at the little girl at his side, then back to the merchant, before fishing a coin from his pocket to press into her hand. Receiving another curtsy and a thanks, she tucked the coin into her purse as he plucked a pure white bloom from among the carefully-pruned flowers.

Marie turned her head from her inspection as he knelt at her side, curiosity turning to surprise, then awe as he offered it to her.

“For me?” she asked, eyes like saucers as she looked from the flower, then up to him.

“For you,” he affirmed, tucking it delicately behind her ear. She reached up, her fingers brushing the soft petals. The smile that spread across her face as he stood back up was worth far more than anything he’d ever owned. She caught him by surprise as she suddenly flung herself against him, squeezing his leg in a big hug before she pulled away again.

“Thank you!” she squealed, reaching up to touch the bloom again. He patted her gently on the head with a chuckle, starting to move forward.

“You’re welcome, Marie. Now come along, we still have a lot to do today,” he said. She offered a quick wave to the flower merchant before hurrying after him; catching him off-guard a second time as her hand found a grip on his fingers to hold on to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The soft, chirping sigh from the cleric beside him drew him back from his reverie, the grip on his finger slipping away as they stepped forward. The loss of the touch left him feeling cold, his other hand closing tighter around the symbol of Pelor tucked against his chest.

He tried again to swallow the lump that strangled his throat, wanting to say something- anything- to contribute to the tiny ceremony, but the words would not come. It was too much.

Brutus.

Fontane.

Marie.

Now, Alexis Merrikson.

He had only perhaps seen Alexis once or twice, and he couldn’t remember ever speaking to the man. But Alexis had been under his jurisdiction; his subject, under his protection. He knew in his mind that there was nothing he could have done, no protection he could possibly have offered that would have prevented this.

His heart disagreed. Another. They were mourning another, so soon. A tiny twist of black ink, seeping through the cracks and stabbing icy needles through his soul, burrowed itself into him. The curse of Amon Thomas Illiad, it said. Wherever you go, death will follow you.

He tried to crush the thought.

This wasn’t his fault.

This wasn’t his fault.

This wasn’t. His. FAULT.

A new touch on his arm snapped him out of it, forcing his attention onto the half-orc that had come up to his side. He loosened his grip on the holy symbol, where the rays of the sun shape had begun to dig into his glove.

“Are you...” the man trailed off, hesitating a moment before starting again. “...Would you like comfort?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, the response coming out instinctively without a thought. Abernathy seemed unconvinced, his expression turning to one of sympathy as he patted the noble’s back gently.

“If you ever need someone... I am here, Amon,” he said, Caesar scooting up to his feet as though in agreement.

“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, dropping his hand from his chest to pat the dog on the head in reflex. Abe looked... hurt, but stepped back with an understanding nod.

“Of course.”

He didn’t need anyone. He was a man, and a lord: an Illiad. He had shown more than enough emotion in front of this haphazard band already. His father would be ashamed of him. He couldn’t afford to be weak anymore.

So he forced down the cry that rose in his throat, bit back the tears that stung behind his eyes; slamming shut the doors to barricade them with silence.

There is dignity in silence, Amon. If you cannot meet adversity with grace, then meet it with silence. To show anything else is weakness, and they will use it to strip you of all the pride you and your name carry. Do not disappoint me again.

He remembered. Of course he remembered. It had been beaten into him.

Why are you crying, boy? If you cannot handle a few bruises, how can you expect to defend your people? You are to be lord protector of the Emerald Expanse; you cannot squeal like a kicked pup at every slight against you. Dignity in silence, Amon! I thought you had learned that by now.

He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm. His jaw clenched, lips pulling into a thin line. He had to hold it together. He had to remember who he was. Though he did not deserve it, and he knew he would be stripped of the title soon enough, for now he was still Lord Amon, and he had to act like it.

------------

Was this real? Of all the places that life could lead him, how cruel the humour if it held any sort of intention within its grasp. Splendid the luxury; how it made him feel sick with wanting, and with that wanting sick of himself for having the audacity to want at all.

Lady Essätha had no shortage in her kindness. If not for how early and unsuspecting this was all, he would have believed himself a charity case. For show: maybe; but for to better her own self-image would be more like it. This concept too would have run into its doubts, however. Every glance at her came with a great difficulty not to see the poetic version everyone drew so endearingly of her. She was it seemed every bit as was sung and said of her: generous, considerate, thoughtful and wise.

And I am a fool for staring, Amon Clermont thought bitterly. She was something of class and refinement; something far beyond the realm of his thoughts. He didn’t deserve to close his eyes and think of her so softly; or the way the light shone from her eyes whilst she smiled at him.

How long had he been here on her property now? Nor more than a week, and he could feel the disaster of John Keats and Fanny Brawne burrowing into every detail of his life. She was like a flame, and he the moth. He was not so clever and imaginative as the late author, but oh, Bright Star she was. There was an understanding in his heart now, how men could buckle and break to write such passionate odes.

It was all circumstantial. He reminded himself this again and again as he stepped into the mother-in-law suit on the Meduza estate grounds. Proving to her hospitality again and again, when he had held doubt on the very idea of staying in her home, she had finally convinced him of at least taking the extra dwelling unit. More importantly: it gave him some much needed distance between his crazed thoughts, and of her, though he tried not to admit it to himself. The smell of her fragrance lingering in the air of the manor; the sound of her moving throughout the hallways, her laughter; Gods to yearn for something so maddening like a boyish crush and a madman’s obsession.

There was a possibility that his time tied to Essätha Meduza could lead to his death. But what better fate to die, then? He had nothing, and she provided him with all humanely needs and all desires he gently attempted to rebuke. And there was her of course; her mostly importantly. The way she fidgeted her fingers, pulled back her hair, turned her eyes away as though shy when their gazes caught and lingered to long-

Pity him, he must be blind. Seeing things he shouldn’t, definitely. Amon gave a shake of his head, laughing at himself harshly as he moved about the room to undress. He opened the dresser (when was the last time he’d gotten to use one of these?) and gathered out some attire to wear to bed. There was no running water to this unit, but he had bathed and brushed his teeth in the main house before mulling down the walkway to the smaller house. Amenities on top of amenities, he was becoming spoiled.

Grunting, Amon tossed back the sheets and comforters to make space for himself in the mattress bedding. He took a great delight in the plush mattress; though Lady Essätha warned him that it was old and likely lumpy. It felt heavenly enough for him, and he took up the covers to shield himself from the chill of the night. Leaning over to where he’d left the lantern bedside that he’d walked down with, he blew out the lick of flame, and turned over to rest.

The world danced behind his eyelids as sleep swiftly overtook him. Nestled in warm bedding, full from a grand feast for dinner; all his dreams and thoughts were plentiful fantasies. All the comforts he had been missing out on for so long; all the literature at his fingertips, the access to humanity he’d been rejecting for so long.

Then of course, there was her. The glow of her in any lighting; it mattered not the sun or moon, the candlelight or magical baubles. It flowed through her, along her, beside her; filled her like an ethereal glow. She was the light, and it beckoned to her welcomingly. It came home to her readily; and brightened her eyes, her face, her smile-

A rapping at the door abruptly shattered him into awareness. At first he thought he had imagined it. Then Amon thought better of it; wearily remembering the hostile intentions of the murderous assassin. They would not come knocking in the middle of the night, no; but what if it was the Warden, or one of the temple healers. What if something had become of Lady Essätha?

Amon rolled quickly out of bed just as the second knock timidly rapped upon the door. He blinked at the blurry darkness that was his room, stumbling around the bedposts. There was so little moonlight on this night, and he could hardly see a damn thing. Tripping over one of his boots at the end of the bed, he growled to himself with annoyance as he finally made it to the doorway to tug the handle open.

I must still be dreaming.

Like Heaven’s Gates had opened before the very doorway, Lady Essätha stood awkwardly, her arms wrapped over her bosom in the chilled night air. Though he had grown accustom to the visible light catching off the golden hues of her iris like a predator stalking the night, her gaze was like a beacon in the night, guiding in warmth.

“Lady Essätha?” He drowsily grunted with shock. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

The noblewoman reached up, pushing strands of curly black hair from her face. Her expression was naked with a kind of vulnerability he only ever saw at the Temple of Torm, when they had been admitted for healing after he’d saved her from the attempt on her life. Everywhere else, she had managed to hold a cool demeanor of strength and refinement. She was unshakable in that way.

“I’m sorry to have woken you at such an hour, Amon,” she rasped. Amon. He loved the way she said his name. It lifted his spirits; how she curled it just right, announced it in such a way that gave it meaning and life and vibrancy. Not Mister Clermont, but Amon.

Call me anything, and I’ll answer to it, milady.

“It’s no trouble at all, Madame,” he answered with a rough clearing of his throat, “how can I be of service to you?”

She rubbed her elbows uneasily, dropping her gaze from his. Her entire body folded inward with doubt.

“I shouldn’t be bothering you-”

“Upon my mother’s name, milady, you are not causing me bother in the least. Is there anything that I can do for you?”

With a sigh, the woman’s shoulders sagged. “Would it… be alright if I slept here, tonight? I can’t seem to garner and rest. Every little noise sounds like someone’s in my room.”

Her throat flexed. Amon could still see the distinct impression of the rope that had at one point been tightened there, attempting to suffocate the life out of her. His own throat swallowed heavily, burdened by the reminder that still remained there.

“Of course, ma’am. This is your house, after all.”

Essätha lifted her eyes to gaze up at him with relieved fondness. “Thank you- but this is your space while you are here. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Not at all,” he quickly remarked, stepping aside as he gestured with a respectable bow. “Please do come in: the night is chilly, I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

Her eyes were grateful as she tentatively stepped into the small dwelling space. “I’ll take the armchair-”

“The bed is most certainly yours, milady.”

“I promised this room to you; the bed is yours,” the noblelady insisted as he quietly closed the door after her.

“Madame: respectfully, I have slept on much less comfortable things than an armchair. I’ll be alright.”

To his great astonishment, she jutted out a finger at him, her voice stern: “I will take the floor, then, if you must take the armchair.”

“That is a waste of a bed milady,” Amon countered, slightly exasperated.

Though it was too dark for him to see it, her cheeks inflamed with color. “Why do we not just share in the bed, then? It is large enough for two people.”

He knew she could see him blushing; with her remarkable vision that adjusted to even this inky black. Amon swallowed thickly as his heart leapt in his throat; enthralled with the idea. One that, he knew, he should be taking no interest in.

“I- That would be indecent, madame. I’m not worthy-”

“Amon,” say it again, he prayed; latching on to her every breath and word; “This is not a matter of philosophy, nor class; this is simply about rest and impartial equality. You were granted this space as your own; therefore, the bed is rightfully yours. However I will bend in this matter to share with you the bed, since I know that you are far too much a chivalrous gentleman and wouldn’t allow a lady sharing the same space as you to be less than comfortable. We can share in the bed.”

The matter-of-fact way that she said it, well, how could he refuse her? He should; he needed to, but he didn’t wish to. There was a thrill in his body; tingling from nerve end to nerve end. The very idea of her pressed so close to him while they rested, it made him feel a giddy restlessness of joy in his heart that he wished he could vomit out. He needed to be rid of it; this longing. It was unhealthy. It would lead nowhere.

“… Fine. Fine, but I can lay at the end of the bed-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Essätha snorted, making her way to the bedside. She climbed in with ease beneath the layers of fabric, and patted the adjacent side as she glimpsed up at him.

Join her? Now? His heart was pounding; sweat beading on his brow.

With an aching lightness in his chest, Amon shuffled around the other side of the bed; his eyes having adjusted better to the dark. He sank down at first, giving her time to change her mind, but she was already ahead of him; pulling back the sheets on his side, smoothing out the bedding cover. Her mass of black curls flopped into the pillow, burying herself in like it was a Queen’s comfort.

Slow as a snail, Amon took a seat on the mattress. One by one, he raised a leg to shimmy beneath the blankets. Lady Essätha huffed softly at his sluggish delay; tugging up the covers like a shroud before he had even laid back.

“Goodnight, Amon.”

Feeling inadequate and stupefied, Amon inclined back into the mattress, immediately turning his back to her. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t bare to. He feared that his own passionate desire would be plain on his face.

“Goodnight, Lady Essätha.”

“I told you before my dear: you can call me just Essätha, or Essie.”

“Of course, milady.”

She sighed on the other side of the bed, and it sounded sad. He hated that sound, but couldn’t make any sense on why it sounded that way. The framework of the bed creaked and bounced slightly as she apparently rolled over, curling herself up into a ball.

He allowed himself a single glimpse over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the thickness of her locks and her body rolled up in a balled up indistinguishable shape beneath the sheets. It didn’t take his thoughts much though to fill in the gaps: the soft, suppleness of her skin; aglow with the rich autumn tones. The gentle valley of her chest rising and falling, the curves of her hips, the line of her throat as her head tipped back-

Clamping down on his thoughts with an bear’s iron trap, Amon turned his head over. His lips were white; pressed together firmly as he bit the inside of his cheek. He was being incredibly indecent; daring to think of her so boldly when she was right there. Gentle and funny and sweet and right there. Like fate teasing him. Or how her voice so boldly challenged him; had him biting his tongue and finding no fault in how she approached him with an answer before he could dissuade her.

It would be over soon enough. He would wake and she would not be there; like the dream he believed it to be. Or he would wake and she would not be there, having fled from his side as she should. He was hardly a prize to be won, in status or appearance with his hideous scars. She was just lonely, and frightened. How could she not be, after what she’d been through?

And he would not take advantage of her fears. He would not abuse her kindness. She was here because of her night terrors, and he would respectfully be humbled by her finding security in his presence. Nothing more.

Eventually, his eyes fell closed. Sleep this time was dreamless; almost in a knowing that the reality he sought to ignore couldn’t be matched by a fantasy. To have her so close to him was far more than an urchin like he deserved. A nobody. A cast out. A failure on his family name; a would-be murder, a mess, a disaster.

When night fell to dawn, and he blinked in the morning light to stir to the world, he thought that maybe he was still asleep. It must be a pillow in his arms; it had to be a pillow.

But Lady Essätha groggily hummed in her sleeping state, curling herself bodily into him.

He wanted her. Not sinfully; though he may be a sinner. He wanted this casual comfort; the connection of human touch so peaceful and so long forgotten. Exploring bodies in carnal lust was easy to come by; a welcome lull to a deeper kind of loneliness. This though; blissfully content, was fulfilling in every way he could ever want day by day.

How on earth had they come to this though? She in his arms, her legs tangled with his, the heat of her breath wafting against his chest?

Tentative; fearful he would wake her and she would headbutt him right in the face, he nuzzled his face into her lush ebony curls as he knew he shouldn’t. She smelled of morning dew on marigold’s bloom; like the freshness of the cotton sheets and the ozone in the air before rainfall. There was a sweet hint of vanilla on her skin, and Gods, she was soft against him; loose and relaxed with trust and faith. Her skin as warm as a summer day, the sound of her breathing muffled against him as she shifted as though to get closer; to climb into his ribcage.

Let her go, his mind demanded. Get out before it becomes too much. Before you’re pulled in any further. The loss will destroy you otherwise.

She slept so serenely now. He could recall her restless nature even now at the Temple; how she’d been struggling against invisible nightmares and horrors that gripped her. How could be possibly refuse her a moment of tranquility, even if it was with himself? Yes it was selfish to take any joy in this moment; in a moment not warranted for him, but it wasn’t just for him, was it? She had come to him asking for his presence; wanting of this feeling of protection she felt assured he offered.

The noblewoman sighed, rubbing her cheek just beneath his collarbone. A stillness took over him bodily; hoping she did not wake and scramble away from him. Not yet; just give him a moment more to pretend, to craft a memory so vivid from this moment that he might yet be able to find comfort within it long past his time here.

Amon gave a muted thanks to the Gods, and clutched her closer; swearing her felt a reflexive tightening of her own arms around him as he pressed his face into her locks. He peered wearily at the rising sun filtering in through the curtains, knowing that all too soon it would rouse her completely from her slumber and they would have to unweave from this nest they made together.

Gods help him, he prayed he could find a way to learn how to unweave his heartstrings from her unknowing grasp one day too, before he lost. Before leaving was such agony that he couldn’t bare it. Before he settled down here, watching her, wanting her, and witnessing her grow with someone else yet being unable to live with the idea of never seeing her again.

Maybe his father had been right about him all along.

-----------------

Heart hammering against her ribs, Essatha let out a strangled gasping-hiss as Atmara dragged her into a wrestling grasp. One arm locked around her, the other flashes up to her neck with a knife produced from the spy’s person. The cool steel settles against the warmth of her vulnerable throat, leaving the sorceress fearful that swallowing or breathing too heavily would knick the blade into her skin.

“By Gods woman- sorry you haven't been kept in the loop. As Adela pointed you, you don't exactly have a Sending Stone on you right now to get information or to have received notice of our arrival, otherwise you would have known to expect the Hand of Jubaeta.”

Regardless of how incredibly agitated she was, Essie does her best to keep her posture calm and her words factual. It doesn’t stop the anger from biting into the rasp of her voice, and as she looks to her companions; protective and ready to skirmish for her safety, a brief flash of love and gratitude warm her heart. These people weren’t perfect, or always saw the world she did, but they were family, and they cared about her- and she cared about them.

The snarl of the woman behind her; hot breath on her skin, reveals that no one’s words were calming Atmara in the least. Although she couldn’t see her face, the wood elf’s firm arm remained unbending against her middle.

“Release. Her. Now.”

The only one who had remained silent through introductions and correspondence; Amon, finally asserted himself with enough frost lining the rumble of his voice it felt like an arctic chill had entered the room. Essie shivered unexpectedly, wincing as Atmara stiffly dragged her into the outline of her body like a shield, the blade angled into her flesh. The fiery-blue fury of the ex-nobleman’s gaze was enough to give everyone in the room the barest pause for thought.

“I don’t think any of you are in a position to make demands,” the spy seethed. “Answer me this: when did you hear about the supposed ‘assassination attempt’, huh?”

“We don’t have to answer shit,” Face replies with a sneer, angling his crossbow. “My finger may just slip though; I wonder how you’d like a bolt in your eye.”

The tension in the room felt like a rapidly depleting fuse to dynamite. Swallowing tensely, Essie trained her gaze on Amon’s for reassurance. He didn’t return her glance, however; the hate in his eyes trained upon the woman caging her as hostage.

A curse of some sort slips past the elf’s lips, but she didn’t sound afraid. She sounded pissed.

“Tick-tock, my arm’s getting tired.”

“Some agent you are; do you apprehend everyone sent to pass along information?” Penimra chimes in, almost sounding bored.

“Maybe we shouldn’t antagonize a lady with a knife to someone’s throat,” Sulhadur states with a nervous edge. The tip of his tail twitches back and forth; anxious as he looked about the room.

“Why don’t we let her use our Sending Stone to contact Seeker Aero, and straighten this whole thing out?” Adela offers, offering her hands out with palms open placidly.

“Nice try,” Atmara glowered, “the lot of you don’t have a Sending Stone.”

“I have it, actually,” Rava pipes up, reaching for her pocket.

The dagger moved, but Essatha didn’t see it. She didn’t even feel it; not at first. The only reason she knew something was wrong was the moment that Amon tore his eyes away from Atmara’s to look into her own, and she could see his anger melt away for the briefest of seconds into a look of total and complete horror intermingling with terror.

Then the pain came; burning and freezing all at once, as though she had shoved herself into frigid icy waters. She spasmed, coughing and gagging on blood that rapidly filled her airway. It was all over; the metallic tang, the scent of it in her nostrils, coating her tongue. Everything was red. Her neck stung; pain lacing its way through her like a snare grip.

Suddenly she was launched forward at a dizzying pace. The table came hurtling towards her and knocked the wind out of her as her abdomen connected, slumping towards the floor. Of the first things that came through all the sudden shouting and clatter of weapons and explosive magic, the alarmed shrill of Pri’cha as they came diving beneath the worktable for her, their golden carapace glittering in faint lantern light.

Oh Gods. She tried to breathe, and suddenly she was choking, gasping desperately for air.

Oh dear Gods was she going to drown in her own blood?

Helpless and alarmed, the sorceress clawed at the air and at her face, the shock swiftly being replaced by the reality of the situation and the jarring sense of fear as convulsions rocked through her. The whites of her eyes were alarmingly large as she finally attempted to slap a hand over her throat. Looking upon the floor and her chest, a puddle of blood and staining coating her upper clothing made her fingers slick with her ebbing life.

“ESSATHA!”

As the Thri-Kreen reached for her, the table lurched and went hurtling to the side. A violent howl of anger and Pri’cha’s cry of pain as the table landed upon two of their limbs rang through the sorceress throbbing eardrums as she flinched.

“ESSIE!”

Her vision swam as she searched for whoever was howling her name. Even in the cramped space of the basement, with all the noise, it was like a thunderclap. She gargled on saliva and blood; dripping from her mouth. The hand she didn’t have cupped over her wound pressed to the floor for stability as she attempted to stand, but she faltered and her palm slid upon the slick surface left behind by her bodily fluid.

The room was suddenly dimming, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of lanterns being knocked out or that the random flashes of magic spiraling around were making it seem otherwise dark. She felt light-headed.

“ESSIE, HOLD ON, PLEASE-”

Blinking, a shadow suddenly obscured her vision. It took her a moment to recognize Amon’s face; she hadn’t seen so much panic written there in some time. Not since…

Something grabbed at her pants leg as she blinked up at him once more, only, she couldn’t find the strength to open her eyelids again.

A tingling sensation began somewhere around her calf, where the feeling of thin spindly-like digits pressed into her clothes and began to throb in her neck. The sensation was warm, and not altogether unpleasant. But she still felt so sluggish; so bizarrely vertigo from lack of blood.

“It’s going to be alright; I’ve got you.”

Ears ringing, the world began to fall away from her conscious. Something heavy and warm lay atop of her. It smelled of cedarwood, leather, coriander and a touch of rose. The aroma brought a wave of memories and a feeling of sanctuary. She knew the fragrance blend well; knew its layers and knew the guardian of it that blanketed her with care.

“Essie, can you hear me?”

Amon’s pleading was so far away. Her lips trembled as she tried to use them; eyes flickering behind her heavy eyelids. Breathing felt easier, but everything was still muffled and growing further and further away.

“Please-”

She shivered involuntarily, floating; no longer tumbling, into some essence of a void that she had no control over.

“I need you.”

Inhale. Exhale. She couldn’t even feel Pri’cha’s hand upon her anymore; and the fierce grip of Amon’s arms as he pulled her in was like a blissful dream and less real.

“I love you.”

She sank into nothingness; neither dreams of bliss with her nobleman nor nightmares of the woman who’d just attempted to murder her.

-----

-----

He had a thousand watt smile bright enough to light up a room, but a brain the size of a pea, Essätha reasoned. Money could buy this wealthy aristocrat his many trinkets, his glittering gold bangles, and the shining gemstones decorating those shimmering rings on his fingers; but they weren’t going to buy him the ability to comprehend the atmosphere around him. Unable to read the room or grasp reality, he outstretched his his hands with purpose to reveal his jewelry and flaunt his expensively embroidered vibrant blue-dyed fabrics and gesture to his paintings, the architecture of his home, his vases and oddments.

The sorceress didn’t much care; zoning in and out, that this particular rug was four-hundred years old and made by a blind priestess in the mountains of Etheron. Nevertheless, the man continued to eagerly boast the accomplishments of his many generations of family legacy in collecting these assortments. It sounded less and less like achievements hard-earned, and more and more like a silver-spoon lineage.

“Master Mévouifulin, I appreciate the tour of your enchanting home, but-”

“My dear Miss Essätha, you may call me Arcamend,” they cut off with a twirl of their hand. “But yes, I appreciate your adoration for my treasured family home. Now, if you’ll follow me-”

“Sir,” she stressed, barely containing the urge to roll her eyes or yawn of boredom. The Yuan-Ti woman stepped forward, blocking the heir’s locomotive urgency to continue full-steam ahead.

He frowned at her, truly baffled. “My apologies, madame. If these things do not interest you, perhaps you would like to see the bedrooms? You’ll find the guest quarters are adequate, but the imported silk sheets in my room are quite luxurious and fitting of royalty. If you’d like a chance to examine them closer…”

Essie stared blankly in response to the odd statement; the man’s casual playful smirk completely missing their charm and mark. She gave a shake of her head, sighing.

“I’m sure they’re all lovely Master Arcamend, and I am grateful for your willingness to spend your time with me, but I’m afraid I’m a bit pressed for time. You mentioned you would show me to your impressive private library, if I recall? Could we perhaps go there next?”

“Private indeed,” Arcamend agreed with a lided gaze that swept over her features. He rested his big stupid brown eyes on hers after a fumbled step on his expensive carpet in a sad attempt to do a casual lean against a sidetable. She wondered how the man had managed to lose his footing staring into her eyes all doopey; perhaps the weaving had bunched up in the middle somewhere and caught on his boot?

“Alright,” she stated; cautious. “Lead on, if you’d please.”

“Right,” he stalled slowly. “I could have a servant fetch us a nice merlot; would you fancy some cheeses while we read? I could get you the finest gaperon you’ve ever had, or perhaps you would like boursin blue cheese with some pepper crackers?”

How insufferable could one gentleman be, Essätha pondered. Did he not get the hint that they were going into a library, a place usually reserved for peace and quiet, not for snacks and beverages to be knocked over and stain precious rare copies of literature? Did he not see that she was pressed for precious time, and did not wish to spend any of it on him where possible?

And how did he not see how incredibly obnoxious and pompous he was behaving? As if rubbing it into everyone’s noses how many rare and exotic things he owned was going to make him more interesting or likable? She had half a mind to grab Arcamend by the earlobe and drag him out to the streets, and take him to the nearest shelter where the luckier homeless went for temporary food and shelter. Not that it would matter, she reasoned; anyone that full of themselves would probably spend the whole time clutching to their things fearful of dirt rubbing on them or believing that a little thief may snatch their pearls.

Well, perhaps she would get some dark amusement out of either of the two happening, anyway.

The sorceress cleared her throat, politely folding her hands in front of her abdomen as she murmured; speaking as if to a child, “If it would not be too much trouble, Master Arcamend, I would like to be alone. It will make my work quicker, and more efficient. Your library follows the standard dewey decimal classification, I presume? I will be in and out of your hair, no troubles at all… Unless you feel as though you need send any of your attendants to watch over me, just to make sure I do not damage nor take any of your belongings.”

As she spoke, she watched as the wealthyman began to deflate like a balloon. Whatever was bringing him down, she couldn’t put her finger to. Disappointment for his conduct, she prayed. Still, her final remark seemed to cause him the most discomfort at all; a flush of color warming his face as Arcamend ruffled a hand through his bronze colored locks.

“I- no of course not I- meant nothing by it- I mean-”

Essie quirked an eyebrow.

Shoulders slumping, Arcamend heaved a heavy exhale, reaching as though to take her hand. “Miss Essätha, I meant no harm to an outstanding and delightful woman such as yourself. Please, allow me to reconcile this atrocity I’ve brought to your honor.”

She stepped forward, just out of his arm’s reach. “I care not for what you meant, Master Arcamend; I care for what I came here for. I do not want to take up any more of you day or your staff’s than necessary, and would like to return to my companions as soon as possible. They need me.”

“O-of course, madame, whatever pleases you,” the elitist mumbled, “I will show you the way. My humblest apologies.”

When she did not respond, the man strode forward with a pouty lip to lead the way down the elaborately decorated passage. The Yuan-Ti woman huffed, blowing a few stray curls out of her face, and moved to follow; careful of the carpet. What a childish prat, she thought with sincere sympathy. To grow up with more coin than you ever had need or want for, and then to spend it on such nonsense without recourse or care. He never had to lift a finger; never had to struggle, to fight, or even leave his cozy home if he so desired.

What a lonely, miserable existence.

It hit her, then, like a strike of Magic Missiles. Perhaps the poor man was destitute. That would explain the clingy, needy, chatty mannerisms. She’d pity him if he wasn’t so annoying, and she wasn’t so uncomfortable. Usually her commiserative ways and gentle heart lead her to easily bending and stretching for a moment to help the weary, the broken, the lost and the hurting; but in this case, she felt a surprising amount of nothing.

Swallowing, the sorceress gazed up from the floor that she had been glued to to see that the rich snob had stopped before a looming set of doors. He pushed it open before her, revealing indeed a vast wealth of knowledge. Books upon books in neatly aligned shelves and rows; tall enough that it required a mobile ladder to traverse to the top shelves.

Her heart nearly swooned.

And then she looked to Arcamend; so miserable he could not catch her eye. Finding a bit of remorse returned to her, she reached out to touch the man’s forearm.

“Thank you so very much for your assistance, Master Arcamend.”

The man once more began a beacon of light so radiant she almost had to squint to look upon him. Grinning from ear to ear, he retrieved her hand from his skin to press a humble kiss to her knuckles.

“It is my utmost pleasure to serve you, Miss Essätha. Could I get you anything at all? Or perhaps you would like me to walk you through the archive, and I can help you look? Or explain to you the history of how my family collected-”

And just like that, her compassion for the man was gone with the slimy feeling of his sweaty palm clutching helplessly to her fingers, and the moisture of his lips on her hand; the feeling of his breath bathing her skin. Her insides curled; a far-away memory being clutched at by the ghostly hands of her thoughts. Rough hands, and warm breath dancing against her, and dark, dark eyes…

She snatched her hand away a bit roughly.

“Thank you again, Master Arcamend but no thank you; I can take it from here.”

As though she owned the very estate she walked on, the sorceress stepped confidently into the library.

“V-Very well-” Arcamend called, moving as though to follow her. “And if a little dove shall require anything-”

Essätha turned to close the door right into the aristocrat’s face, thumping her forehead against it with a silent gasp of relief as she heard the muffled voice stall and fizzle out on the other side. Her gaze, slowly, turned upon the true vast wealth the man had at his disposable in the enormity of his collection. The sunlight coming from an upper balcony window sparkled in the golden sunshine hues of her iris.

At least now she could enjoy some silence, with something far more interesting than Arcamend Mévouifulin.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~

Blowing a raspberry, the Yuan-Ti woman flopped backwards onto the bed with a final exasperated huff. “Honestly m’lord- you wouldn’t believe how incredibly obnoxious one man could be!”

A soft chuckling answered her. “Oh, I’m sure I can imagine.”

Lifting her head, Essätha looked over to see her nobleman; shed down to his tunic and trousers alone, sitting on the edge of mattress and looking directly over his shoulder at her. Her heart did cartwheels beneath that warm regard held in the depth of those ocean-hued eyes. She loved how he smiled at her most of all though; not just with his lips, but how the entirety of his face grew relaxed and soft as he looked at her. She had to wait to catch her breath until he turned back to untying his rather large boots.

“S-Seriously, the man gloated the entire time,” she vented. “He came to check up on me almost every ten minutes; I thought about barricading the doors!”

“Sounds difficult when you’re busy reading.”

“Exactly! I’ve seen pride, and I’ve seen vanity, but this Arcamend fellow was a level of ego I could not wrap my head around. And this was only after I had to try, numerous times, to get his attention and remind him I was there for his library. All he wanted to do was parade me around like a young pup on a leash, showing me around to all his big, glistening, expensive knick-knacks. ‘This was owned be so-and-so who was once held a seat of the Council’ this and ‘my sheets are made of silk spun from the hairs of an angel’ that… More or less.”

“… Did he, now?” Amon murmured slowly; hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Essie responded; growing equally cautious now hearing the unease in his voice. “Presented me to his ‘secluded secrecy's’, like I was already showing any interest in his sculptures, he felt the need to take me to his gallery room. I mean, the craftsmanship of the paintings and mediums was nice, but how many people find it logical to have a room dedicated solely to paintings and a single sofa made of some rare fabric? How often are you going to go in there, if not to show off that you can have a room dedicated just to paintings? With a sofa you refuse to even sit on, or allow guests to sit on?”

This time her nobleman grunted, setting aside his footwear.

The sorceress swallowed anxiously, rolling on to her side to reach out for him. “… I’m not upsetting you about all of this, am I?”

“Hmm? Why would I be upset?”

“I-” her face warmed, and she glanced away. “I don’t want to sound like I’m picking on the guy just because he’s… loaded with coin.”

A hand blanketed on top of hers; worn and calloused. A flutter emerged inside her, and she felt like she was floating as her gaze moved up, trapped instantly in the softness of Amon’s soothing gaze.

“No, Essie, I don’t think you’re releasing your frustrations because Master Mévouifulin happens to be rich.”

Her brow knit. “Then why the… unresponsiveness. You usually love talking to me.”

Her smile was mirrored in his own expression. “I do love talking with you.”

“Then…?”

The Bearmaster licked his lips nervously. Gradually, he turned to face her, taking her hand in both of his own to give a careful squeeze.

“… His arrogance is not something new to me,” her nobleman began. “It is something easy to fall into. Even I have shamed myself by wanting to appear more larger than life; extravagant events, large parties, venues; wanting to show off my abilities and skill with what I had, what I killed, what I could afford. He has growing still to do, if he wishes to better himself as an individual rather than an accessory to money. Luckily I had great teachers; time, humility, embarrassment, Marie, and… you.”

She felt the blushing feeling in her face intensify beneath the fond way that he looked at her; the way he cradled her hand between his own. It was entrancing; intoxicating, the man could rip away all her thoughts, all her fears, her worries, her past. All she ever saw; all she ever felt when she was with him, was the here and now. Experiencing the joy of just belonging in the same space as him. The comfort he exuded in his understanding and compassion. The ease of his presence; the way he made her feel secure and confident and wanted. There was no before, and there was no future to worry about, as long as she knew he would be there.

There was no place on the planet, and no time, she would rather be at than this. To have him hold to her hand and to see those tender eyes. To be the one to witness him smile; genuine and kind, it did things to her she could not describe. Of all the treasures she ever longed for, she never would have dreamed he would be the only one she’d ever come to crave so deeply that nothing else in the known universe mattered or compared. Not even by a thousand miles. She’d give up her very last breath, for him.

Amon cleared his throat after a moment, and let go of her hand. His posture stiffened as he informed her, gazing away: “I do not think that Master Mévouifulin was simply showing you these things to make himself look better or more successful, Ess’. Clearly he wanted you to think well of him and to be impressed, but I think his intention was to… flirt with you. Terribly, it seems. I think he wanted to show you the things he could get and afford and… perhaps to show you an example of how comfortable a life with him could be.”

A hush fell over the room. It seemed as though everything was muffled; even the sound of Caesar’s groans as the mastiff flopped over with a bored huff. The sorceress could see the strain in the muscles on her nobleman’s face. His knuckles were bone-white clutching to the sheet, and his jaw and throat moved at random as though he was clutching his teeth and swallowing deeply.

Essätha remained quiet for a while longer, absorbing this suggestion. It was utterly… absurd. And yet the almost comical desire for him to remain attached to her side; to show her everything, to even suggest his bedroom upon his sheets of all things as a place to mingle… It wasn’t that far-fetched, when she really bothered to see the obvious slides right in front of her.

Finally; with annoyance, she grumbled: “Does he think I haven’t seen a plate before?”

Her nobleman turned to stare at her, his mouth agape at the amount of exasperation still in her tone. She didn’t even have the time to meet his shocked expression, busily drawing her hand in the air to theatrically show her vexation.

“I mean really, his idea of wooing a lady is to show her his old plate held on the wall that was painted? Or his sheer curtains made of lace that require special washing? If he wanted to impress me he could start by showing me how gracious and generous he can be; not by how much crap he owns. He could do more to prove that he is kind, and warm, and thoughtful, and intelligent, and loyal, and funny…”

As she spoke, Essie’s eyes finally captured Amon’s astonished gawking inspection. Her rosy cheeks; which felt like they had only just finally simmered down, heated up once more. She found it incredibly difficult to draw air into her lungs until she could bare to look upon his eyes any further, and glanced shyly away with a shiver dancing down her spine.

“… Or that he could protect my heart,” she finished in the smallest, softest voice imaginable; looking to the bedspread. Her pulse had accelerated a hundredfold in a split second, the image of one man appearing every time she blinked behind her eyelids. If she could only turn her head and look at him in the face without giving away everything; everything inside her. How she wanted, how she craved, what she’d give for just a chance with him, even brief. Even just a moment to taste the reality of calling him hers.

So engrossed in the throw-blanket, she could not see the yearning in the man’s gaze that was so breathless enraptured just watching her. Suffering in his yearning; tongue-tied in his hunger but unwilling to yield to it. Oh he ached for her in more ways and words than and language, dead or recent, could describe; in a burning nature that was beyond rational or expression, past reasoning or primal thirsts for things. He desired her in a way that was profound in realms few rarely got to touch; in styles of art written about and few experienced, as though two souls were bound to each other invisibly by choice as much as fate.

As she could not help obsessing about the shape of his lips and how they may taste in her thoughts, his own were following the exact same trail of rational as his regard dropped to her mouth and then roamed all around what he saw as golden perfection. The vision of an angel.

It was not courage that brought Essätha back to the presence of the now; it was the gravity relaxing between them, the urgency to climb into him that subsided enough that she could look to him without grabbing for his collar and begging him to love her, and to kiss her that allowed it. Still his eyes mesmerized her just the same. They’d been waiting for her, after all. It still gave a the rhythm of her heart a new song to play, but she liked it.

“I could never fall for someone as blind and careless and dull as Arcamend Mévouifulin,” the sorceress concluded firmly.

Amon licked his lips, spellbound to her luminous beholding. Her every work had sunk into him; aspirations to live by, things to do. She was writing him a list to lead by without her knowing, and one that he desired to live by; little knowing it was all that she already saw in him and more.

“You… You are much to good for him.”

Essie smirked a bit tightly, raising her browline. She had hoped for a moment that maybe her nobleman might…

No, she should be careful of her heart and its wanting. This was virgin territory; a frightening realm. Her heart was delicate; never offered, always behind a barrier. She shouldn’t expect much, and yet…

“I am, aren’t I?”

She watched, wanting to once more drag her fingers into his hair and pull him in to her lips as his expression collapsed into one nothing short of pure admiration.

“You’re too good for this world and everyone in it, but I know you can do better than him.”

So much better. She drew the tip of her tongue across her lips reflexively, wishing the lingering taste of his mouth was on her own.

“I suppose he’ll just need to find a new dame to impress with his nude marble figures and lavish sheets then, mm?”

To her great delight, her nobleman gave a throaty laugh of amusement. It was a deep and liberal sound; so free and hearty and delightfully homey. She loved it. She loved everything about him.

“Good luck to the both him and his figures, hopefully they do not go sliding off the bed.”

Stifling her giggles entirely proved impossible. Essie sat up a little to swat against his shoulder lightly, falling into his side.

“You’re terribly naughty.”

He gave her a grin; albeit a bit anxious. “But you like me anyway.”

“I very much do, m’lord,” she agreed; swiftly and without a drip of hesitation. Her arms found their way around him, wrapping tight as she squeezed herself perfectly into the dip of his pelvis bone and up into his scapula, she she could rest her chin along the nook of his shoulder. It was a perfect angle to view up into his face, and watch as his cheeks turned pink and flush.

Amon wormed his arm free to wrap around her side. He folded towards her; ending up resting his bearded chin upon the crown of her head so she could nestle her face against his collarbone instead.

“I like you, too.” Gruff; raspy, as though he was whispering a secret into the black waves of her hair.

She hummed, clinging to him a little tighter as he turned further into the bed to be able to grasp her fully and pull her into chest. Right back into the home she wanted to be in. Right where she felt like she was meant to always be.