( she'd been surprised, to say the least, when it had been brought up during one evening meal moments after the staff had cleared out and left them alone. traveling — together. leaving the secluded residence so he could return to acacia. while feyre suspected that he still didn't fully trust her, and she couldn't blame him, she also had a feeling that he didn't want to leave her completely on her own. not that she'd be alone, that older woman who'd been assigned to her since her arrival would keep close, though feyre couldn't be too sure on how close once the royal presence was out of the picture.
and so here she was, left to her own devices while his royal majesty was off doing whatever he needed to tend to now that he was back home.
for a better part of her stay since they'd arrival by carriage late in the evening, she'd wandered the halls the same as she done in the spring court whenever tamlin would leave her to patrol his borders with lucien. familiarized herself with as much as she could as neither she nor constantin knew of when she might be able to return to her own world — if she could. the decor and splendor of it was what she admired the most, poking her head into any room she came upon; there was no way she would be able to see all of the 1,500 rooms the palace housed.
by the end of the week, feyre grew restless while being a busybody. it was a feeling she detested more than anything else. restlessness and the unknown. she'd tried not to grimace whenever her personal assigned maids would bother her in the mornings to help her dress and do her hair; she was quickly becoming to loathe the high-collared dresses, the fussing, the braids and curls. oh how she longed for pants and was in half a mind to make the one and only demand of constantin: clear her wardrobe of the dresses, put pants and leathers in their place.
she wondered how scandalized her maids would be should she walk out of her chambers in the illyrian leathers she'd worn upon arriving in this world, the leathers and her weapons and the heavy hooded cloak all that she'd had on her when the king had crossed her (unconscious) path.
ignoring the hushed whispers as she passed (whispers only so bold when she was alone), the heavy skirts of dark gray rustling with her steps down the wide hall that would lead her out into the back gardens she'd spotted out among the sprawling and well cared for lands. it took a matter of moments for her to reach the tall hedges, not daring a look back in case someone followed her before she stepped one foot forward and let her curiosity take her.
a half hour later and she found herself in what appeared to be a dead end, a more secluded section complete with a small fountain and seating. birdsong, trickling water — peaceful. she let out a soft sigh, shoulders dropping. solitude. no whispering servants, no guards side eying her as she passed by or their gazes following her every step, no upturned noses (how dare this unknown young woman with zero status take up residence in the king's palace).
a slow breath released as she sat on the edge of the fountain, shifting until she was comfortable with all the layers. sitting in absolute silence, her eyes closed, face turning up to the breeze, taking the moment to listen, to hear its whisper. the corners of her lips turn down in a faint frown. nothing. no words whispered sweetly into her ears, no gentle caresses. was this world truly so different? a pang squeezed in her chest and she had to lift a hand to press over it as she continued to frown to herself.
how she longed to leave, to return to her world. but how? where to start? she could never be disrespectful to the king who'd helped her when he could have simply carried on and left her in the ditch.
feyre leaned over, hand lowering to the cold water. fingers trailed through it, swirled, and, a knit in her brow forming, thin tendrils rose up. moved together, intertwined. the actions, though appearing easy, straightforward, brought out a heaviness pressing in against her breast that she ignored in favour of continuing with her attempting to access her magic. it was a pressure that she assumed was due to the corset strings drawn in too tight, nothing more. )
good god, if i miss anything world wise or mess it up, give me a shove and be like LISTEN HERE
and so here she was, left to her own devices while his royal majesty was off doing whatever he needed to tend to now that he was back home.
for a better part of her stay since they'd arrival by carriage late in the evening, she'd wandered the halls the same as she done in the spring court whenever tamlin would leave her to patrol his borders with lucien. familiarized herself with as much as she could as neither she nor constantin knew of when she might be able to return to her own world — if she could. the decor and splendor of it was what she admired the most, poking her head into any room she came upon; there was no way she would be able to see all of the 1,500 rooms the palace housed.
by the end of the week, feyre grew restless while being a busybody. it was a feeling she detested more than anything else. restlessness and the unknown. she'd tried not to grimace whenever her personal assigned maids would bother her in the mornings to help her dress and do her hair; she was quickly becoming to loathe the high-collared dresses, the fussing, the braids and curls. oh how she longed for pants and was in half a mind to make the one and only demand of constantin: clear her wardrobe of the dresses, put pants and leathers in their place.
she wondered how scandalized her maids would be should she walk out of her chambers in the illyrian leathers she'd worn upon arriving in this world, the leathers and her weapons and the heavy hooded cloak all that she'd had on her when the king had crossed her (unconscious) path.
ignoring the hushed whispers as she passed (whispers only so bold when she was alone), the heavy skirts of dark gray rustling with her steps down the wide hall that would lead her out into the back gardens she'd spotted out among the sprawling and well cared for lands. it took a matter of moments for her to reach the tall hedges, not daring a look back in case someone followed her before she stepped one foot forward and let her curiosity take her.
a half hour later and she found herself in what appeared to be a dead end, a more secluded section complete with a small fountain and seating. birdsong, trickling water — peaceful. she let out a soft sigh, shoulders dropping. solitude. no whispering servants, no guards side eying her as she passed by or their gazes following her every step, no upturned noses (how dare this unknown young woman with zero status take up residence in the king's palace).
a slow breath released as she sat on the edge of the fountain, shifting until she was comfortable with all the layers. sitting in absolute silence, her eyes closed, face turning up to the breeze, taking the moment to listen, to hear its whisper. the corners of her lips turn down in a faint frown. nothing. no words whispered sweetly into her ears, no gentle caresses. was this world truly so different? a pang squeezed in her chest and she had to lift a hand to press over it as she continued to frown to herself.
how she longed to leave, to return to her world. but how? where to start? she could never be disrespectful to the king who'd helped her when he could have simply carried on and left her in the ditch.
feyre leaned over, hand lowering to the cold water. fingers trailed through it, swirled, and, a knit in her brow forming, thin tendrils rose up. moved together, intertwined. the actions, though appearing easy, straightforward, brought out a heaviness pressing in against her breast that she ignored in favour of continuing with her attempting to access her magic. it was a pressure that she assumed was due to the corset strings drawn in too tight, nothing more. )