Finn beamed. When Arvælyn descended close enough to do so, the bard moved closer, as well, though he hesitated to be overly familiar. Sometimes it took a moment for him to shift from royal formality to loving familiarity and, in any case, Finn had carte blanche to manhandle him in private, so everything turned out all right in the end.
"Dragons may be jealous creatures," he said lightly and without judgment, "but she will learn not to threaten my dragon prince." One might not even detect malice in his voice had they not heard him pronounce a vendetta upon her. If he got to her before Solunarian justice got to her, well, it would be his version of desert justice.
As they walked toward the arch, he fell into step.
"Perhaps we ought to just find a comfortable room in the palace. To each their own libations, and then to each their own affairs afterward." That way, he hoped, Phocion could have tea and then go read if that was what he wanted to do, Raithen could have wine and then go paint the town red if that was his wont, and Finn could try to relocate the remains of the party, Arvælyn and himself, to their rooms.
Idly, he wondered what Valæra and Cithæra got up to together. Zalkyriax' bride hid plots within plots, and seemed to share even with her own children only what they needed to know in her estimation. At first, he had thought that Phocion was her favorite treasure house of shared secrets, but lately, he wondered if it were rather her only (known) daughter.
"Dragons may be jealous creatures," he said lightly and without judgment, "but she will learn not to threaten my dragon prince." One might not even detect malice in his voice had they not heard him pronounce a vendetta upon her. If he got to her before Solunarian justice got to her, well, it would be his version of desert justice.
As they walked toward the arch, he fell into step.
"Perhaps we ought to just find a comfortable room in the palace. To each their own libations, and then to each their own affairs afterward." That way, he hoped, Phocion could have tea and then go read if that was what he wanted to do, Raithen could have wine and then go paint the town red if that was his wont, and Finn could try to relocate the remains of the party, Arvælyn and himself, to their rooms.
Idly, he wondered what Valæra and Cithæra got up to together. Zalkyriax' bride hid plots within plots, and seemed to share even with her own children only what they needed to know in her estimation. At first, he had thought that Phocion was her favorite treasure house of shared secrets, but lately, he wondered if it were rather her only (known) daughter.
Please don't forget your moderator XP, Herr Pharaoh.