AND I WON’T BE DENIED BY YOU.
The man before her assumes her fragile; see’s the white of her eyes and coo’s at how utterly HUMAN she is. A practiced facade, to keep her life within her veins and praying for the day she can see the man she loves, even if it’s for the last time. With each stray touch, each moment Ardyn is too close, she breathes her patience in stroves of closed lipped smiles and broad shoulders, her back straighter than an arrow. Under her skin she burns, bristles at each movement– he must know, because his amusement peaks when she shifts, like he loves to see her squirm.
The day’s pass in languid moments of her silence, sickening under the watchful glare of Ardyn and the Empire. Ravus worries as he always will, but she is made of fire. For each moments her fire dims, there will be kindling to relight her flames; every case is any moment she can catch glimpses of her to-be king, or a moment with her brother when he doesn’t grow sour in his current position.
One such day comes, a day she is quiet in her gardens and her eyes focused on the tree’s and sky, glazed in sickness and weakened body. A hand touches her shoulder first, passing across her shoulderblades to rest on the other side, and he sits beside her. For once she does not stiffen, unbothered by his presence for the moment, which seems to upset him. Looks at her, frowning in his annoyance, before shifting to look where she is staring. There is of course, nothing of interest; she is merely tired, but sleeping would mean leaving herself open. It does not sit well within her stomach.
There they sit in their silence, calm and peaceful. Lunafreya is more than aware that he is not biding his time, not waiting for something. He can be at peace, but he wears war better, as if it was built for him. Comes as no surprise that a man born again in mankinds evil would find peace in violence, but she wonders how he can take comfort beside her.
Surely, her presence is nothing short of a tiresome ordeal? But he seems amused by each movement, each stray hair.
Barely realizes he’s staring at her until one hand roughly takes her chin, forcing her gaze to him. No resistance follows, and again she see’s the deepset frown marring his face, uncomfortable with her sudden compliance. Takes a moment to think, to wonder silently, before he speaks– a strained thing, too.
“ i can see why HE loves you so; so pretty, so … angelic. “
Looks at him a moment longer, tearing her face too easily from his hold and, softly, laughs at his remark. It’s petty, to be so inlove with the idea of her because having her means killing Noctis ( to him that is what this means. ), and worse still that he pelts forced compliements in order to try and win her favor. Everything in her lives for her king, and will die for him, if needed.
So she smiles and tilts her head, humming.
“ i am the moon, chancellor. and he is the night. does it not stand to reason he is infatuated with his eternal companion ? “