another snip of story
I'm still struggling through my stuck place with this story, but it's moving a bit.
I've been reading paranormal romance in an attempt to get a grip on the thing. Must work a bit more on evoking the hidden darkness in them both. But for now, here's some fun stuff.
Rhean had just managed to locate his bootjack when a gong sounded, loudly enough to send the jack flying and Rhean running for the stairs, wishing he knew where the servants had stowed his weapons. "Ilenea!" he shouted up the stairs. The gong sounded again, echoing through the tower stones.
She appeared on the stairs above him, and came down slowly, lips twisted into a smirk. "That's the dinner bell."
"Twelve gods, woman, you could warn me."
"What fun would that be?" He reminded himself that she was his wife and he would be committing a grave sin by strangling her. Besides, she had no way of knowing how the gong would affect him. This castle was not on a hostile border, and had no fear of unseen raiders.
As his heart rate slowed to normal, she reached his level and brushed past him to the next set of stairs. He followed when he thought he could deal with the meal without snapping. She did not yet fear the Madman. Best keep it that way for as long as possible.
The meal had been laid Ukeni style, on a low, round table with cushions on the floor. A fire now roared in the hearth, and candles burned in every sconce along the wall as well as on the table. Ilenea had taken the dominant place beside the ceramic carafe presumably containing honey wine. Rhean folded his legs under with some difficulty, and no little grumbling. "Do you own any chairs?"
Ilenea looked into the hearth for a long moment, then turned to face him. There was no humor in her face now. "After Domenic walked home from the Saliarc, I burned all the chairs in this room."
Rhean shook his head. She had her own brand of madness, it seemed. "Your guests must enjoy that."
"I have no guests."
And there ended that stab at conversation.
Ilenea poured the water and the wine, and served herself before passing the plates to Rhean. He saw no sign of the servants who must have brought the food from some unseen kitchen. He had seen no sign of her attendants, either.
"Have you no servants at all?"
Ilenea looked him right in the eye as she slowly chewed and swallowed not one but three bites before answering. "I get by without too much intrusion. I have learned not to depend on people."
Rhean felt a deeper, sharper unease. "I will require my valet, at least."
Ilenea raised her eyebrows. "The great prince cannot dress himself?"
Rhean swallowed a defensive reply, sipping carefully at his wine. Once he felt his voice would betray no stress, he replied. "The great prince has not his wife's skill with a buttonhook."
I've been reading paranormal romance in an attempt to get a grip on the thing. Must work a bit more on evoking the hidden darkness in them both. But for now, here's some fun stuff.
Rhean had just managed to locate his bootjack when a gong sounded, loudly enough to send the jack flying and Rhean running for the stairs, wishing he knew where the servants had stowed his weapons. "Ilenea!" he shouted up the stairs. The gong sounded again, echoing through the tower stones.
She appeared on the stairs above him, and came down slowly, lips twisted into a smirk. "That's the dinner bell."
"Twelve gods, woman, you could warn me."
"What fun would that be?" He reminded himself that she was his wife and he would be committing a grave sin by strangling her. Besides, she had no way of knowing how the gong would affect him. This castle was not on a hostile border, and had no fear of unseen raiders.
As his heart rate slowed to normal, she reached his level and brushed past him to the next set of stairs. He followed when he thought he could deal with the meal without snapping. She did not yet fear the Madman. Best keep it that way for as long as possible.
The meal had been laid Ukeni style, on a low, round table with cushions on the floor. A fire now roared in the hearth, and candles burned in every sconce along the wall as well as on the table. Ilenea had taken the dominant place beside the ceramic carafe presumably containing honey wine. Rhean folded his legs under with some difficulty, and no little grumbling. "Do you own any chairs?"
Ilenea looked into the hearth for a long moment, then turned to face him. There was no humor in her face now. "After Domenic walked home from the Saliarc, I burned all the chairs in this room."
Rhean shook his head. She had her own brand of madness, it seemed. "Your guests must enjoy that."
"I have no guests."
And there ended that stab at conversation.
Ilenea poured the water and the wine, and served herself before passing the plates to Rhean. He saw no sign of the servants who must have brought the food from some unseen kitchen. He had seen no sign of her attendants, either.
"Have you no servants at all?"
Ilenea looked him right in the eye as she slowly chewed and swallowed not one but three bites before answering. "I get by without too much intrusion. I have learned not to depend on people."
Rhean felt a deeper, sharper unease. "I will require my valet, at least."
Ilenea raised her eyebrows. "The great prince cannot dress himself?"
Rhean swallowed a defensive reply, sipping carefully at his wine. Once he felt his voice would betray no stress, he replied. "The great prince has not his wife's skill with a buttonhook."