mirror image AU

[eiattu_pride]

He's been back - really back, Rogues gone, re-involved with the court back - for just over a week now. Already he's been spending too much time by the window, thinking about the stars and the people he's grown up with, too much time wondering if he's made the right decision. So you'll forgive him if he's up early this morning, face set in a slight frown that's pretty much second nature to him now, drinking from a mug of mostly caf.

The not-quite-caf bit may or may not be good whiskey, but no one needs to know that. He's got a state dinner tonight. He's allowed.

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[eiattu_pride]

Now this is just awkward. Rial's not sure how to respond to that, a very faint flush creeping up his face as he hesitates and tries to formulate a response that isn't rude. It's just. She's the Countess Isplourrdacartha, he should refer to her by her proper title because that's the right thing to do. Isplourr's a nickname, and a childish one at that.

So he stands, and hesitates, and finally turns away to study the sky.

"It's a nice morning."

[fighting_mad]

Something settles in her face.

Isplourrdacartha's expression is implacable as she clasps her hands in the small of her back. "It is, Your Highness."

[eiattu_pride]

Rial nods, hesitates one more step, and then turns to set off for the stables, fast.

That was...uncomfortable.

[fighting_mad]

She's at his shoulder, walking just behind, keeping up easily and appearing perfectly comfortable with the situation.

[eiattu_pride]

They're at the stables soon, and Rial holds the door open for her, the perfect gentleman.

There's even a silent bow.

[fighting_mad]

She inclines her head graciously and steps past him, through the door.

Once she's through, though, she's turning, biting her lower lip, and she says, "Rial--"

[eiattu_pride]

Rial hesitates, halfway through the dor, and raises on eyebrow.

"My lady?"

[fighting_mad]

"Would you-- a moment of your time?" She gestures to a pair of hay bales, tucked off to one side of the barn.

[eiattu_pride]

"Of course." He steps over to the hay, out of the way, mostly invisible to anyone who would happen to pass through.

And then waits, of course.

[fighting_mad]

"Sit with me?" she asks, taking a seat on a bale and looking up at him.

[eiattu_pride]

He takes a seat next to her, folds his hands in his lap, silent. This has all the hallmarks of a Talk, and he's not exactly looking forward to it.

[fighting_mad]

"I do not know where we stand, Prince," she says quietly, turning a piece of straw between her fingers. "I believe that I have made it clear how I feel about you. I do know that you do not reciprocate those feelings."

That doesn't stop her from a split second's pause, though, hoping against all hope that he'll tell her she's wrong. She hates herself for it.

"What I am trying to say is that you are free to do as you will, Highness," she says, finally glancing up at him. "I want to make it clear: I will not hold you to some agreement that our parents made when we were children. You are not tied to me."

[eiattu_pride]

Oh.

Oh. Well then. Something he'd been expecting for a time, so that's okay then. Something to respond to the way he'd planned (except) something to respond to with dignity, being careful with her feelings (except he wants something else), something to respond to gently (except he wants to say no).

"Countess," he starts, and his voice should give her a clue as to how many thoughts are running through his head. It's hesitant, unsure, like he doesn't quite know how to phrase his ideas.

"Countess, I - oh, kriff it." And with that, he leans forward, turns to her, placing his hands on either side of her face and leaning forward to kiss her gently, momentarily, sweetly as a husband to his wife.

But in the end he pulls back and shakes his head, looking away.

"I'm sorry."

[fighting_mad]

Her eyes widen and a sharp thrill runs through her as she sees him lean in, as he touches her cheeks, and then his lips brush hers and her eyes flutter closed and she kisses him back, soft and sweet and a little clumsy. She hadn't allowed herself to imagine that he would kiss her, that he would want her-- There's love, in her kiss, and the astonished joy beginning to fill her chest and make it feel as though her heart may burst --

She doesn't register that he has pulled away, for a moment, and she leans after him an inch or two. But he doesn't kiss her waiting lips again, and his callused hands are no longer cupping her face, and her eyes snap open.

Isplourrdacartha stares at him for a long moment, stricken, the color high in her cheeks swiftly fading. Then she sits up straight and shoots a determined look--determined not to cry, not to show anything unbecoming--at her left boot.

"Yes, Your Highness." She rises, brushing hay from herself. "This will not affect anything, Your Highness. You will still have my counsel, if you wish it."

[eiattu_pride]

He rises as well, but turns in the other direction, towards the stable doors. There's guilt twisting a knot into the pit of his stomach, because he's gone and kissed a woman he doesn't love, a woman who loves him, and doesn't that mean he's just the worst kind of person ever? Because maybe, for a second there, she thought that it meant something it didn't.

"If you will excuse me, Countess." He offers her a bow, eyes quiet, face unreadable. "I should return to my quarters. There is much to be done today."

[fighting_mad]

She inclines her head, the picture of gracious dignity.

Even if the split second's pause before the nod gave her away.

"Of course," she says, and she curtseys, low and deferential, without a skirt. "Your Highness."

[eiattu_pride]

Rial turns to go, a murmured "My lady" hanging in the air even as he sweeps away, head full of new and confusing thoughts.

Well.

That could've gone better.

[fighting_mad]

Isplourrdacartha looks over her shoulder, once, to be sure he's gone, and then she walks through the stables, steps slow and measured. Her thak waits eagerly in his stall, straining his neck over the door, and the countess smiles at him and feeds him the bits of bluefruit she'd saved from breakfast. Treats shared, she slips into the stall with a saddle, and she sets it atop the thak's broad back.

Halfway through tightening the cinch, her hands begin to shake. She tucks her forehead against the thak's shoulder and silently sobs, her arms around the beast's neck.

The thak worriedly noses her hair.