#siladon

The day is cool, but still a thin sheen of anxious sweat dots Seladon’s brow. The Vapran guard that helps her into the carriage barely looks at her as she hoists her up into the object far too large for a creature of her size. Seladon has rarely mingled with other gelflings, and certainly not ones that are so far below her station, but as always there is still a pang of discomfort at the way that the guard draws back. She pretends to not know why the guard crinkles her nose slightly, brow furrowed - but Seladon knows. She only hopes that when they get to Ha’rar, her smell will be dismissed as a result of their long carriage ride, or perhaps a side effect of working in such close proximity to their lords.

She is in the carriage now, and she makes her way into the seat nearer to the front - the one in which the lords always make her sit. It feels far too large for her, especially since she practically has to jump to be able to get onto the seat - but thankfully, the guards are not paying her any mind now. They are assembling together the escort, the captain barking orders and assuring that his guards understand their tasks.

Now seated firmly in the carriage, hands posed delicately and purposefully over one another in her lap, Seladon looks out of the window to the world outside, beyond the castle of the crystal. The journey to the capital will be less than a day, but it will nevertheless be long. That nervous feeling twists in her gut again. She wishes that one of the other lords would come as well, but she knows that they won’t. Only the Chamberlain seems interested in this particular trip, the rest of the lords of the crystal busying themselves behind doors that they will not let her through.

She understands. Truly, she does. As gelfling, she does not have access to all of the wisdom and plans of the lords, even if she is to be all-maudra one day. It stings every time the lords quiet their conversations when they see her approaching, but she understands.

Through the commotion outside and the smell of landstriders, a scent sharp and saccharine hits her nose, and Seladon feels her heart skip. Warmth rises in her cheeks, and she has to remind herself to look casually rather than whip her head around to get a glimpse. That sweet smell is the smell of the Emperor, after all, and it would not do to express untoward interest. She looks, eyes scanning outside perhaps a bit frantically though her face remains neutral and pleasant, her anxiety mounting as she does not see him. Then, the Chamberlain comes into view rather suddenly as he clambers into the carriage, his large robes hiding what she knows is a deceptively thin frame. As he enters, she catches the Emperor’s sweet scent coming from him, and her mouth twitches ever so slightly in disappointment. He must have been with skekSo recently, but the Emperor is not here now.

“Hello gelfling,” skekSil croaks with his best facsimile of a grin. His expressions seem so strange with his beak, but Seladon learned long ago which of his expressions correlate to emotions familiar to her. He seems in high spirits today, a smug kind of grin curling around his sharp, strange teeth. It is odd to her how strange the lords of the crystal look to her now that she sees them so often. She would have thought it would be more normal to her to see their toothed beaks and heavily adorned frames towering over her with such regularity, but seeing them outside of the spaces marked to her as familiar has made them even more odd to her. SkekSil is perhaps the oddest of them all.

She gives the Chamberlain a polite if terse smile, and bows her head to him. “My lord,” she greets, lifting her head once again. His eyes are fixed on her, and she can only hold his gaze for a moment before she has to pry it away. He always looks at her so long and so hard, and knowing his intentions only makes it all the more unnerving. “Are we ready to depart?” She asks, looking back through the door as the guards move outside, still talking amongst themselves as they pass along orders that she can only occasionally pick out amongst the rest of the commotion.

“Yes, waiting for armalig, then to Ha’rar,” he coos, leaning back against his seat. Seladon nods, and looks back out the window in the opposite side. A few moments pass in silence between them, and rather suddenly she begins to feel something uneasy creeping up her spine. Usually it takes quite a bit to get the Chamberlain to shut up, but he stares contemplatively out of the window as well, not even the slightest whimper curling out of his mouth. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, her hands curling into fists around her dress. Is he waiting until we leave? The thought brings her no comfort as it occurs to her that perhaps he has something to say that he does not want the gelfling outside to hear - or perhaps another lord that might find their way down to the dock at the wrong moment.

“Are you well today, my lord?” She asks in spite of herself, turning to look at him. He looks back to her as well, that strange, sly look still glinting in his eyes.

“Is princess concerned for Chamberlain?” He coos, and she cannot help but hear something mocking in his tone. It is just the way that he talks, she knows, but still it grates on her and makes her feel a flare of anger. Her fists curl tighter.

“I am not accustomed to your silence,” she says, and his grin seems to widen.

“Ah, but princess good at making skeksis unable to speak, hmm?” He laces his fingers together over his lap, talons curling menacingly in front of his chest. Seladon feels heat rising in her cheeks, and she looks down at some empty point on the seat next to him. She has no response for him - she never does when he so casually references the things that they do. He lets out that cloying, whimpering hmMMmm that he so often does, raising his brows and clicking his tongue. “Ah, now skeksis make princess quiet.” The mockery returns in his tone, and she exhales sharply.

“I do not know what you want me to say, my lord,” she says truthfully, taking care to keep her inner disdain out of her tone. As much as she does not know what to make of the Chamberlain and finds his presence disquieting, he is the one lord that pays her any mind. To the others, she might as well be invisible if she is not interrupting them or inconveniencing them.

“No need for princess to say anything,” he says. “Just as no need for skekSil to say anything.” Perhaps it is true. She offers him a quiet yes, my lord, and then returns to looking absently out of the window. The carriage rumbles as the armaligs wriggle into their slots, and the captain comes to the door.

“We are ready to depart for Ha’rar, my lord,” he says to the Chamberlain. He does not even look at Seladon.

“Depart then,” skekSil says, waving the captain away as he grabs the lever on his right side. He allows for a few moments to give the captain time to reach the front and mount his land strider, and then switches the lever. With another jolt, the carriage raises slightly as the armaligs curl into wheels, and the carriage begins its descent down the long slope. They barely have left the shadow of the castle when skekSil speaks.

“Princess did not visit last night,” the Chamberlain says rather suddenly, and Seladon looks back up at him sharply as she feels her heart flutter. She had known at the time that keeping to her chambers was a mistake, but she had in truth wanted the time to relax before the stresses of the trip took over. Besides, there is a certain anxiety she feels now when she is alone with him.

“No, my lord,” she confirmed as if he didn’t already know. “If I may be honest for a moment, I was quite tired and nervous about this journey.” A partial truth, but perhaps more of a truth than he would ever share with her. He nods thoughtfully.

“Why nervous?” He asks.

“My lord, I-”

“Tell Chamberlain, please,” he coos out. “Am friend.”

Am friend. Am friend. Am friend.

She can feel something sick crawling up her throat.

“My lord, it is not anything to-”

“Please,” he insists, and she swears that she can see him lean closer. The alarm in her gut claws harder.

Am friend. Am friend. Am friend.

“It has been many a moon since I have seen the all-maudra last,” she says finally, clasping her hands tightly together. “I... worry that she will find my progress lacking.” She hates speaking those words aloud. She hates him knowing her thoughts at all, but she knows that he will find a way drag them out eventually and that it is much easier to comply.

“No other reason?” he hums, cocking his head. A lurch, and she’s uncertain if it’s in her gut or if it’s the carriage.

Am friend. Am friend. Am friend.

She hesitates.

“No, my lord.”

Another whimpering, contemplative hmMMmm as he leans back again, looking her over. He falls silent, and there is little more she can do than look back at him, mouth pressed into a firm line. He looks out the window as they turn, and the Castle of the Crystal comes into view in the distance, still foreboding and massive though it shrinks away from them. “Is long ride to Ha’rar,” he says after a moment, his voice carrying that note that she is oh so familiar with. She can already feel the whisper of cloth under her fingers, his breath on her hair, the purr of his voice in her ear as she slides her hand along his chest, towards his wet itch. Am friend.

Somehow, each time he says that, with his taloned hand curled around her wrist as he presses her soft fingers inside, it sounds more like a lie.

“There are many eyes in our escort,” she says, as if the words have any meaning, as if the gelfling cannot already smell the stink of him all over her, even when stale. “And I brought no gloves.” He glances down to her fingertips, the pink staining paled enough that it seems little darker than her natural flush. He nods, although she can see the disappointment on his face. She’d be relieved if she didn’t feel so anxious.

“Sad,” he says before looking back out the window. “Perhaps when return to castle.” She inhales sharply, squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, and then looks back up at him with a pleasant smile.

“Of course, my lord,” she says. “Anything for a friend.”

He’s silent for a long time, his quiet somehow even more unnerving than before, but she says nothing of it this time.

“Piece of advice for princess,” skekSil says suddenly, and Seladon is quick to look back to him. He watches her closely, eyes narrowed to little more than slits. Her heart leaps. “If gelfling want more skeksis friends, gelfling always prepared.” She feels a flash of irritation.

“Yes, thank you my lord,” she says curtly, looking away from him. “But I rather think that you are the only lord that has any interest in my friendship.”

“False,” skekSil says. “Emperor visit last night, ask about princess.” Seladon’s brows raise in surprise, and she feels her cheeks grow warm.

“He did?” She asks before she can stop herself, and skekSil smirks.

“Yes, Emperor did,” he confirms, slipping his hand into his robes, rifling through some inner pocket. “And Emperor have many itch to be scratched - does not trust skeksis.” Pulling his hand back out of his robes, he holds aloft a pair of small gloves, light blue and perfectly sized for gelfling hands. Seladon feels her stomach drop at the sight of them, but her groin feels hot at his words and she can feel her fingers twitch at the thought of slipping them inside the Emperor’s deep, wet warmth, the groan of pain she once heard him make warped into something else. She stares at the gloves for a long time, contemplating his words while he stares at her with a look that says he knows he has already won.

Am friend.

She slides off of her seat and crosses the short distance to his, using his robes to help hoist herself into his lap. He grunts as she puts a hand at his throat and pushes his head back, her other hand deftly working the fasteners on the front of his robes, peeling away layer by layer until she reveals the skin beneath, and the three orifices on his chest glistening a wet red-purple with what she has known for a long time is arousal.