˚𐦍˚.⋆ ― gwendolyn song / closed starter / @caeliusofthenight
“you’re late,” gwendolyn called out — not accusing, not annoyed, just amused, like the sun itself might’ve paused a few extra seconds out of respect for the general of the night court. she stood barefoot on the stone edge of solmere’s overlook, robes loose and glowing faintly gold where the light had started to catch her. behind her, the sky was beginning to blush — that first sweet flush of morning that always came before the rise. and before her, just stepping onto the terrace, was a man who looked like he’d never once been caught off guard by anything… including dawn.
she didn’t turn around just yet. instead, she reached toward the low table beside her, plucked a slice of starfruit from the tray, and took a delicate bite. “i had a whole speech planned,” she went on, tone lilting. “something about ancient alliances and twilight balance and how you owe me a dance at the next ridiculous summit ball.” a glance now, over her shoulder, her smile barely restrained. “but then i remembered — you don’t respond to drama unless it involves battlefield maps or kaidan’s blood pressure.”
now she turned, fully, and finally gave him that familiar dawn court smile — all soft light and sharper edge underneath. the kind that said she’d seen him at his worst and still saved a place for him at her table anyway. “caelius,” she said, simply and warmly. “you’re here.” a pause. “and, stars above, you’re still built like a walking war poem.” she raised a brow. “do you ever un-clench? or was that left behind in some training ring two centuries ago?” without waiting for an answer, she gestured to the empty spot beside her with a flick of her fingers — elegant, easy, like this was just another morning in a world that hadn’t yet broken. “come on. humor me. the sky’s about to do something beautiful, and i’d rather not let it go to waste on silence and scowling.” her voice dipped into something a little softer then, even as the teasing stayed in her smile.
