#crystallizedwings

"Uh, beg pardon Stranger, but, uh, I don't normally wear clothes."

@lcstbov & @omuse & @whitesctin & @sunkissies

“Arthur, keep your voice down,” she says.  Here in the palace, they are never really alone.  But she is smiling, bright and open, the way only he can make her do.  Truthfully, she can’t quite believe it either, never would have seen it coming, and yet, when she heard him say it, she knew that it was true – and, more surprising still, perhaps, she knew she felt the same.  She is in love with Arthur, and he with her.  It is funny, she thinks – their love is unexpected, to her, but there is nothing strange about it.  When he holds her close, his arms around her waist, hers draped around his neck, she feels safe, comfortable.  Happy.  For the first time in her life, she feels at home.  The sun shines down on them, bright and warm, or maybe it is just his smile that makes her feel that way.  “I love you too.”

It wasn’t that Guinevere was unhappy.  She was, in fact, quite happy -- but she was also exhausted.  As it turned out, being the future queen at a ball and being a bride were two very different experiences.  A bride (a bride who was queen, now) hardly had a second to herself, even to breathe, and she was sure Arthur was not faring very much better, though it had been some time since she had seen him last.  Her bright smile was beginning to strain, and finally she decided she needed a break, just for a few minutes.  It was perhaps not very polite of her, but it would be even less polite if she snapped at someone out of sheer exhaustion.

Once she was away from the crowd, she let out a breath, relieved until she realized she was not actually alone -- but it was only Arthur.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here too.”

The daemon wasn’t thinking. He might say his true job was a cop but the reality was he was the executioner. Asher sneered down at the poor man who made the deal with him. 

The man was bloodied on the ground, begging for his life. The pathetic pleads of being a better person that Asher knew would never come through. He was read to pick up his mace, make sure to put this man out of his misery. When he saw her. 

Rani. 

The memories of her face, her laugh, her lips were etched into his memory. Just everything flowing to approached her. But he remembered his form, how his eyes were blackened and his hair was all over the place. He closed his eyes, one black tear streaming down his face. The daemon sighed to himself. No, he had to be strong. He had to be truthful, even though his first words were. 

“This wasn’t what it looks like.”