#desnas

He spreads his arms. Indeed, he’s wearing an embroidered mustard-colored vest over a roomy-sleeved striped purple shirt, gathered snug at the waist with that fringed turquoise scarf. On anyone else it's an eyesore, but he knows he pulls it off.

Yet he sees you will not be distracted.

The smile falters. You can tell he’s bitterly regretting agreeing to answer these questions. When he finds his voice it’s unusually subdued.

“Don’t congratulate yourself, it’s not that big of a secret. The Hand of the Inheritor spotted it. So did Woljif.

“How much I love to be adored.

“I sometimes wonder if people are just there for the sake of my ego and not for themselves. It’s lonelier than you think in here.” He gestures vaguely, maybe at his heart.

“I despise treating people like tools but… sometimes that’s what I do.”

She reaches into her pack and finds the small pocket mirror, plucking it out of the depths. She unwinds the shroud of fabric she keeps it wrapped in, to better protect it, and pops it open. The mirror reflects her arching her neck,  showing  her the mottled bruising, black and blue, and the angry red surrounding a fresh crescent-shaped bite, little flecks of smudged, dried blood surrounding it. 

Camellia, wearing a mixture of a smile and a grimace from the pain still as she reaches out to gently touch it,  notices that from the corner of the pocket mirror, Sosiel is looking at her again– no doubt having drawn attention to herself through her hiss. He has put his sketchbook and stick of charcoal aside; he’s frowning, and his warm brown eyes are focused on the raised bitemarks and bruises around her throat. His mouth is open slightly, his brow furrowing and nose wrinkling in concern like he is trying to bring himself to say something. 

She snaps her pocket mirror shut, the noise cutting through the quiet. “Well, out with it, then.” 

He moves a little closer to her,  lowering his voice. “I understand why Valerius chose you, Camellia. You’re beautiful, your manners are impeccable – and many people could only dream of having a lady like you on his arm, but–” he casts a furtive glance towards Valerius’ tent and lowers his voice even further, “I see you almost every morning with those marks and I fear Valerius might not be treating you as you deserve.”

Camellia considers schooling her face into a perfect mask of fond concern, but instead she laughs once, her words surprisingly joyous for first thing in the morning. “Oh, Sosiel, your concern is entirely misplaced. It would be utterly crass of me to divulge too many details, but the Commander has certain needs, and I happen to enjoy accommodating them.” She reaches out to pat the cleric’s hand once. 

“That is reassuring to hear, but… if you wish to talk about it, you can always tell me in confidence. Not as a cleric, but as a friend.”

“I shall remember that, thank you.” Camellia withdraws her hand, placing it neatly in her lap. As their conversation falters, Sosiel picks up his sketchbook once more and goes back to the landscape he had been working on. Her gaze flickers to Valerius’ tent, where from within she can hear him already stirring. Her lips curve up into a smile as she imagines his muscles becoming taut as he stretches out, stiff from sleeping so still all night, the tousled hair from where she’d tightened her grasp on him as she’d ridden his face.  If only he knew how many of those bitemarks and bruises she’d gotten from their illustrious Commander were all over her body – the gentle cleric would have a heart attack.

“And Sosiel, my friend..?” she begins, with that in mind. He looks up and her smile grows wider, predatory. “I meant to say – I hope you also find a worthy companion, some day. Someone from your side of the social gulf that yawns between us.”

He is about to respond when Valerius leaves the tent, the quilted jacket he wears underneath his plate still mostly untied to reveal her bone amulet - his lady’s favour, he’d called it once before – and his pallid crystal nestled against his bare chest. Sosiel ducks his head back down as Valerius acknowledges him, murmuring a quiet ‘good morning.’

Camellia moves her pack aside so he can sit down next to her, the Commander swiftly coming to wrap his arm around her and pull her in for a kiss the moment he is close; his cool breath already a balm to the rising temperatures of the Worldwound’s sweltering summers. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up before me,” Valerius murmurs when they pull away, his finger tracing her full lips, the curve of her jaw. Her own fingers play with the laces of his gambeson, twisting the grey fabric around each one. 

“I feared if I remained, we’d never leave the tent,” she replies, biting down on her lip, “and as sorely tempting as that is, I’d much rather we wait now until we are back in Drezen. Anticipation, darling –”  She reaches up to tap him once on his mouth, “will make the date I have prepared for us all the sweeter.”