( 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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. )
( lavender is heavy in the air as he exits the house and into the massive, winding garden outside. he remembers when most of the trees here were little more than saplings. now they tower over him, obscuring the moon and stars hanging above as he strolls past the rows of flowers into the maze. after some walking, he finds his minister of intelligence, monsieur de philippe, at the end. the harsh smoke from his cigarette mingles with the honeysuckle along the evening breeze as the man relates the doings in the capital.
"the interior minister is ill at ease. the general wants to send the army to retrieve you,"monsieur de philippe says languidly as though he speaks of the weather and does he not? constantin glances through the creeping wisteria vines above them to the dark sky. this is but a storm. it soon will pass and be a far-off memory. still, he takes his spymaster's words seriously when he describes the reactions of the other cabinet members. never before has the king been at his summer home for so long with so little communication or explanation. it's unusual for him to be gone for this long. there's an old saying that only the sun works as hard as the king does, so for him to be away on holiday after already being gone from the capital for weeks has sparked a concern within his cabinet.
constantin thanks him with a bow of his head and turns to leave. before he gets three steps away, monsieur de philippe's voice cuts through the air and asks for the lady's name. when his gaze swings back, the spymaster's slight smirk gleams in the faint red glow of his cigarette but it's impossible to gauge his expression in the darkness. constantin doesn't answer and instead wishes him a good night.
but in some way, the storm stays with him and he decides he must return to acacia. with feyre and without an explanation for her strange and sudden appearance in their country. a big reason why he's so hesitant to return is that he doesn't know how to explain her. what is the best way to present her to his people without stirring up fear and unrest? although the common ornefluerian is kind and affable, the common courtier is less so, at least from the onset. how would they treat her? if history indicates anything, it would not be well. but how would his cabinet react to this mysterious woman's pointed ears and magical powers? would they react well or...? the general's response of military force might be the most sensible of them all.
but there is no other choice and, this time two days later, the king is back in acacia. the next day, he holds a cabinet meeting to assuage them of his health and safety. a storm cannot bend him. the day after, there's another cabinet meeting. conferences and briefings take up his hours. life returns to normal, and there's hardly time for him to speak with his guest who wanders the hallways of the blue palace. but then there's hardly time for others to speak of her as well, even when he sees curiosity burning in the eyes of his interior minister and monsiuer de philippe. they are permitted to matters of the state not matters of the heart.
is it so wrong that after a century he grants himself a little spark of joy? that is what the people of ornefluer wish for their dear king, isn't it? to disallow that would be tantamount to blasphemy; a crime against the gods themselves. but, as pleasing as this small concession, constantin cannot forget that it comes as a cost for feyre. she is far from home; away from her family, friends, and everything she loved and knew. trapped in a strange world until... zhiva knows when. despite the fun she might have exploring the blue palace's fifteen hundred rooms, sadness will always overshadow the joy.
constantin knows what it's like to be far from home.
the long-winded minister of agriculture, monsieur reubens has been taken ill so his reports of ornefluer's cheese reserves and apple prices will have to be saved for another day. but now the king has a hole in his schedule. a rare scrap of free time floating in the air. will he let it fly away or will he catch it? he decides the latter.
although he hasn't hunted in some time, tracking is still in his bones. the ravninyraya is still in his blood. it takes little time or effort to locate feyre at the fountain in the royal garden behind the blue palace. it's not unsurprising that she's here โ it is a beautiful and serene place.
but it is her serenity sitting at the fountain that he debates interrupting. he hides behind the corner of a tall hedge. constantin knows what it's like to never have a moment of peace and privacy to oneself. so he decides to let feyre keep it and leave her to her thoughts. ultimately, however, he has no choice in the matter when his dog, a giant dustball with long legs, comes charging up behind him and around the corner. )
Ostanovka, Arakhis!( constantin shouts in his native language. arakhis's long tail escapes his grab and he bolts to the fountain and to feyre. )
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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 โ 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 โ 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. )
i am so embarrassed of myself ๐ฉ
"the interior minister is ill at ease. the general wants to send the army to retrieve you," monsieur de philippe says languidly as though he speaks of the weather and does he not? constantin glances through the creeping wisteria vines above them to the dark sky. this is but a storm. it soon will pass and be a far-off memory. still, he takes his spymaster's words seriously when he describes the reactions of the other cabinet members. never before has the king been at his summer home for so long with so little communication or explanation. it's unusual for him to be gone for this long. there's an old saying that only the sun works as hard as the king does, so for him to be away on holiday after already being gone from the capital for weeks has sparked a concern within his cabinet.
constantin thanks him with a bow of his head and turns to leave. before he gets three steps away, monsieur de philippe's voice cuts through the air and asks for the lady's name. when his gaze swings back, the spymaster's slight smirk gleams in the faint red glow of his cigarette but it's impossible to gauge his expression in the darkness. constantin doesn't answer and instead wishes him a good night.
but in some way, the storm stays with him and he decides he must return to acacia. with feyre and without an explanation for her strange and sudden appearance in their country. a big reason why he's so hesitant to return is that he doesn't know how to explain her. what is the best way to present her to his people without stirring up fear and unrest? although the common ornefluerian is kind and affable, the common courtier is less so, at least from the onset. how would they treat her? if history indicates anything, it would not be well. but how would his cabinet react to this mysterious woman's pointed ears and magical powers? would they react well or...? the general's response of military force might be the most sensible of them all.
but there is no other choice and, this time two days later, the king is back in acacia. the next day, he holds a cabinet meeting to assuage them of his health and safety. a storm cannot bend him. the day after, there's another cabinet meeting. conferences and briefings take up his hours. life returns to normal, and there's hardly time for him to speak with his guest who wanders the hallways of the blue palace. but then there's hardly time for others to speak of her as well, even when he sees curiosity burning in the eyes of his interior minister and monsiuer de philippe. they are permitted to matters of the state not matters of the heart.
is it so wrong that after a century he grants himself a little spark of joy? that is what the people of ornefluer wish for their dear king, isn't it? to disallow that would be tantamount to blasphemy; a crime against the gods themselves. but, as pleasing as this small concession, constantin cannot forget that it comes as a cost for feyre. she is far from home; away from her family, friends, and everything she loved and knew. trapped in a strange world until... zhiva knows when. despite the fun she might have exploring the blue palace's fifteen hundred rooms, sadness will always overshadow the joy.
constantin knows what it's like to be far from home.
the long-winded minister of agriculture, monsieur reubens has been taken ill so his reports of ornefluer's cheese reserves and apple prices will have to be saved for another day. but now the king has a hole in his schedule. a rare scrap of free time floating in the air. will he let it fly away or will he catch it? he decides the latter.
although he hasn't hunted in some time, tracking is still in his bones. the ravninyraya is still in his blood. it takes little time or effort to locate feyre at the fountain in the royal garden behind the blue palace. it's not unsurprising that she's here โ it is a beautiful and serene place.
but it is her serenity sitting at the fountain that he debates interrupting. he hides behind the corner of a tall hedge. constantin knows what it's like to never have a moment of peace and privacy to oneself. so he decides to let feyre keep it and leave her to her thoughts. ultimately, however, he has no choice in the matter when his dog, a giant dustball with long legs, comes charging up behind him and around the corner. )
Ostanovka, Arakhis! ( constantin shouts in his native language. arakhis's long tail escapes his grab and he bolts to the fountain and to feyre. )