Post by luinae on Nov 19, 2010 16:29:25 GMT 10
Title: Vanilla and Almond, Leather and Tea
Summary: Kalasin, about to leave for Carthak, realizes that she never thanked Wyldon for saving her brothers and sisters.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Warnings: Odd pairings
Author's Notes: I wrote this for PPF, but then never published it. But I think it fits for Wyldon Winter, so here it is!
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The girl leaves for Carthak in a fortnight. Her parents know this. Her brothers and sisters know this. Wyldon knows this. Actually, the whole palace probably knows this, the way gossip gets around.
Does it surprise him when, working late one night, the oldest Conte princess appears in the doorway of his office? Of course it surprises him, a voice growls. He’s the training master; she’s the girl who wasn’t allowed to live her dream. They have nothing in common besides the fact that they’re both doing something they hate to please the king. And they’re both doing it without a word of complaint.
But does it really surprise him?
“Did I ever thank you?” The voice is surprisingly like Thayet’s, but Kalasin’s voice is a girl’s voice, not a woman’s, and it’s full of a desire Thayet has long since learned to hide when speaking to anyone but Jon.
“Thank me for what?” She’s a Conte princess through and through- coal black hair, sapphire blue eyes, fair skin. Kalasin has Jon’s nose, but she has her mother’s cheekbones and clear, level eyes. She’s beautiful as well. A waste, Wyldon thinks. A waste that a Conte princess will be wasted on a nation of barbarians.
“You saved Jasson,” she reminds him. “And Liam, and Lianne.”
No, he thinks. You never did thank me. Thayet thanked me, and Roald, and Jon, and all your younger brothers and sisters. You never thanked me. You hung back, and peered at me with disconcerting blue eyes. Out loud, he says something different.
“Of course you thanked me,” he says, staring at her, willing his eyes to move away, but somehow they aren’t connected to his brain. “Everyone did.”
“Really?” she says, leaning on the doorframe so the dress she’s wearing emphasizes her curves.
It’s a woman’s body, Wyldon suddenly realizes. Not a girl’s.
Sensing the change in the room, she pulls one shoulder of her dress down, and unpins her hair. Coal black curls tumble over ivory skin. “That’s not how I remember it,” she says. “And I was taught we should always thank people when they do things for us, and that we shouldn’t have debts.” She walks forward until she stands in front of his desk. Kalasin sighs and smiles before speaking. “And how will I repay a debt if I’m in another country?”
“It’s not a debt,” he says. The words are slow and sticky on his tongue. “I did it for my country.”
“We all do things for our country,” says Kalasin in response. “You did this for my family.”
“Did I?” asks Wyldon. Kalasin doesn’t respond to the question, but she smiles in a way where her eyes crinkle up slightly and they gleam. “I did it for you,” he says. It’s not true, and Kalasin knows this. He did it for his country, because the Conte’s are the country. But he can’t pass up the opportunity, not standing this close to a Conte princess, not when she’s looking up at him with beautiful blue eyes. Not when she’s leaving in a fortnight for a country he’ll never go to.
“I know,” says Kalasin. Like him, her words are a lie. Like him, she doesn’t care. And like him, she is taking this opportunity because she knows they won’t see each other again.
Slowly and deliberately, Wyldon leans over his desk. The girl smells like vanilla and almonds, coconuts and orange. He smells like mint and sweat, leather and tea. Long lashes almost cover the view of startling blue eyes.
“And how are you going to thank me for saving your brother’s and sisters?” His voice is low and warm, like a fire whose embers have been banked but have not quite gone out.
Kalasin tilts her head fully upward to look at him. She smiles slyly, and cocks her head to one side. “How do you think, silly?” she says, and pulls him in for a kiss.
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Thoughts appreciated!
Summary: Kalasin, about to leave for Carthak, realizes that she never thanked Wyldon for saving her brothers and sisters.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Warnings: Odd pairings
Author's Notes: I wrote this for PPF, but then never published it. But I think it fits for Wyldon Winter, so here it is!
------------------------------
The girl leaves for Carthak in a fortnight. Her parents know this. Her brothers and sisters know this. Wyldon knows this. Actually, the whole palace probably knows this, the way gossip gets around.
Does it surprise him when, working late one night, the oldest Conte princess appears in the doorway of his office? Of course it surprises him, a voice growls. He’s the training master; she’s the girl who wasn’t allowed to live her dream. They have nothing in common besides the fact that they’re both doing something they hate to please the king. And they’re both doing it without a word of complaint.
But does it really surprise him?
“Did I ever thank you?” The voice is surprisingly like Thayet’s, but Kalasin’s voice is a girl’s voice, not a woman’s, and it’s full of a desire Thayet has long since learned to hide when speaking to anyone but Jon.
“Thank me for what?” She’s a Conte princess through and through- coal black hair, sapphire blue eyes, fair skin. Kalasin has Jon’s nose, but she has her mother’s cheekbones and clear, level eyes. She’s beautiful as well. A waste, Wyldon thinks. A waste that a Conte princess will be wasted on a nation of barbarians.
“You saved Jasson,” she reminds him. “And Liam, and Lianne.”
No, he thinks. You never did thank me. Thayet thanked me, and Roald, and Jon, and all your younger brothers and sisters. You never thanked me. You hung back, and peered at me with disconcerting blue eyes. Out loud, he says something different.
“Of course you thanked me,” he says, staring at her, willing his eyes to move away, but somehow they aren’t connected to his brain. “Everyone did.”
“Really?” she says, leaning on the doorframe so the dress she’s wearing emphasizes her curves.
It’s a woman’s body, Wyldon suddenly realizes. Not a girl’s.
Sensing the change in the room, she pulls one shoulder of her dress down, and unpins her hair. Coal black curls tumble over ivory skin. “That’s not how I remember it,” she says. “And I was taught we should always thank people when they do things for us, and that we shouldn’t have debts.” She walks forward until she stands in front of his desk. Kalasin sighs and smiles before speaking. “And how will I repay a debt if I’m in another country?”
“It’s not a debt,” he says. The words are slow and sticky on his tongue. “I did it for my country.”
“We all do things for our country,” says Kalasin in response. “You did this for my family.”
“Did I?” asks Wyldon. Kalasin doesn’t respond to the question, but she smiles in a way where her eyes crinkle up slightly and they gleam. “I did it for you,” he says. It’s not true, and Kalasin knows this. He did it for his country, because the Conte’s are the country. But he can’t pass up the opportunity, not standing this close to a Conte princess, not when she’s looking up at him with beautiful blue eyes. Not when she’s leaving in a fortnight for a country he’ll never go to.
“I know,” says Kalasin. Like him, her words are a lie. Like him, she doesn’t care. And like him, she is taking this opportunity because she knows they won’t see each other again.
Slowly and deliberately, Wyldon leans over his desk. The girl smells like vanilla and almonds, coconuts and orange. He smells like mint and sweat, leather and tea. Long lashes almost cover the view of startling blue eyes.
“And how are you going to thank me for saving your brother’s and sisters?” His voice is low and warm, like a fire whose embers have been banked but have not quite gone out.
Kalasin tilts her head fully upward to look at him. She smiles slyly, and cocks her head to one side. “How do you think, silly?” she says, and pulls him in for a kiss.
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Thoughts appreciated!