Post by Muse on Mar 18, 2011 2:13:49 GMT 10
Title: Dancing
Rating: G
Word Count: 506
Pairing: Kalasin/Wyldon
Round/Fight: 1/C
Summary: “If I were a boy I would turn off my phone; tell everyone it’s broken so they’d think that I was sleeping alone.”: (“If I Were a Boy”—as sung by Reba McEntire. Part 4.)
Sixteen came and went with the expected fanfare throughout the palace. Kally did her best to enjoy herself at the parties and banquets held in her honor, and her laughter rang true through the halls as her brothers and sisters showered her with their affection on her birthday (and a little mischief too).
She iss as glad to be home now as she was to be sent off to King’s Reach four years ago.
“Come on; no one will notice if we slip out,” Faleron whispers into her ear during a waltz, breathing the words in time with the music.
“But we can’t leave together; that’s hardly proper,” Kally reminds him during a promenade.
“I’ll see you in five minutes, then?” Faleron asks as they join hands briefly in a country jig, and he passes her off to her next partner and slips away.
Kally allows the dance to carry her off the dance floor and towards the door, her skin tingling with the idea of the unknown and the forbidden. She slides into the hall like Uncle Gary taught her when she was small; though he would absolutely not condone the use she puts this particular skill to.
The sigh of lovers beyond the low garden walls remind her of why the music of the party—her party—is behind her. She has almost made it, heart beating quickly, to the hall where Faleron had stolen kisses from her at Midwinter when a figure steps out into the moonlight and greets her with a bow.
“Princess.”
Kally curtsies politely, recognizing the voice. “Lord Wyldon.”
Somewhere between the ages of twelve and sixteen, in the miles between King’s Reach and Corus, Kally had dropped the title “milord” and reverted to the more proper and established “Lord Wyldon” when addressing the man who would have been her training master. She knows he catches this, and the set of his head, the faint trace of a smile says that he understands.
“Are you quite alright, your highness?”
Kally feels herself nod regally, but her mind wanders off down the hallway at Lord Wyldon’s back. “I’m fine, thank you. Just out for some air.”
Wyldon only allows his eyebrows to move the slightest bit higher, but Kally catches his expression.
“Ah,” he mentions, and speaks volumes in that short syllable.
“I can look after myself,” she says mulishly, “I am sixteen.”
Wyldon shrugs, and then simply states, “I am in no position to stop you, your highness. But I have daughters of my own, daughters your age—“ images of his girls fill Kally’s mind, and she knows inside that he is right, “—and I simply was looking after your wellbeing as I would theirs.”
Kally nodded. “If that is all?” she asks, though it comes out as a statement instead. Wyldon levels a long look at her, but nods.
Kally’s feet carry her away down the hallway, but losing herself in Faleron’s embrace is hard to do, and now her heart beats fast with anxiety, not passion.
QC: by Cassandra
Rating: G
Word Count: 506
Pairing: Kalasin/Wyldon
Round/Fight: 1/C
Summary: “If I were a boy I would turn off my phone; tell everyone it’s broken so they’d think that I was sleeping alone.”: (“If I Were a Boy”—as sung by Reba McEntire. Part 4.)
Sixteen came and went with the expected fanfare throughout the palace. Kally did her best to enjoy herself at the parties and banquets held in her honor, and her laughter rang true through the halls as her brothers and sisters showered her with their affection on her birthday (and a little mischief too).
She iss as glad to be home now as she was to be sent off to King’s Reach four years ago.
“Come on; no one will notice if we slip out,” Faleron whispers into her ear during a waltz, breathing the words in time with the music.
“But we can’t leave together; that’s hardly proper,” Kally reminds him during a promenade.
“I’ll see you in five minutes, then?” Faleron asks as they join hands briefly in a country jig, and he passes her off to her next partner and slips away.
Kally allows the dance to carry her off the dance floor and towards the door, her skin tingling with the idea of the unknown and the forbidden. She slides into the hall like Uncle Gary taught her when she was small; though he would absolutely not condone the use she puts this particular skill to.
The sigh of lovers beyond the low garden walls remind her of why the music of the party—her party—is behind her. She has almost made it, heart beating quickly, to the hall where Faleron had stolen kisses from her at Midwinter when a figure steps out into the moonlight and greets her with a bow.
“Princess.”
Kally curtsies politely, recognizing the voice. “Lord Wyldon.”
Somewhere between the ages of twelve and sixteen, in the miles between King’s Reach and Corus, Kally had dropped the title “milord” and reverted to the more proper and established “Lord Wyldon” when addressing the man who would have been her training master. She knows he catches this, and the set of his head, the faint trace of a smile says that he understands.
“Are you quite alright, your highness?”
Kally feels herself nod regally, but her mind wanders off down the hallway at Lord Wyldon’s back. “I’m fine, thank you. Just out for some air.”
Wyldon only allows his eyebrows to move the slightest bit higher, but Kally catches his expression.
“Ah,” he mentions, and speaks volumes in that short syllable.
“I can look after myself,” she says mulishly, “I am sixteen.”
Wyldon shrugs, and then simply states, “I am in no position to stop you, your highness. But I have daughters of my own, daughters your age—“ images of his girls fill Kally’s mind, and she knows inside that he is right, “—and I simply was looking after your wellbeing as I would theirs.”
Kally nodded. “If that is all?” she asks, though it comes out as a statement instead. Wyldon levels a long look at her, but nods.
Kally’s feet carry her away down the hallway, but losing herself in Faleron’s embrace is hard to do, and now her heart beats fast with anxiety, not passion.
QC: by Cassandra