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Ethan walked the sunlit hallways of the castle, marching with two men that followed constantly behind his feet -- silent and stoic as they were told to be. The king crafted a frowning figure on his face, his brows moved together as his fingers laced his collar to a perfect fit. Finding refuge in the throne room allowed him only to have a change of clothes once Anna was to rid herself of the bedroom, and once she was nowhere within that vicinity, he would enter to bathe luxuriously and before dressing into freshly-pressed tailored wear fit for a king of his kind. Avoiding Anna has stretched to an extent, peaking a point where being found in the bed chambers at the same time as her was an error. He knew he could not avoid her for too long -- he would not be able to resist her for too long. But what answers can he give her?
"Your Highness," the guard behind him whispered in words only he could hear, riddled in a rhythm that almost felt like a warning, "Your Majesty the Queen is having an afternoon gathering in this area of the castle gardens."
"So she is."
A compelling feeling stirred within his frozen chest, a sensation which promised the next time he was to talk to his wife outside public affairs and keeping faces, it was the time he had nothing but the truth. He would have to tell her the truth. But right now, with so much stirred within his mind and the thought of that imprudent Julius still roaming around this castle -- it was all too risky. Even when dethroned, Julius had all the power he needed to create the perfect commotion for doubt. He had done himself the best to keep the old man quiet -- even if sometimes it required Morgana's specialties -- but he had to keep the old fool sane enough to be able to animate himself in front of his daughter. As much as he hated Julius, the only reason he lived was because of Anna.
But he was more than sure that his trusted advisors -- like that of Morgana, Marius, and other faithfuls of the council -- would have probably wished him dead.
At the far distance, a wave of fabric of colours entered, and for not more than a second Ethan caught sight of his wife in what seemed to be a extent of time. He felt his chest tighten and his jaw clench, his pace of walking slowed and his eyes glittered its predatorial gaze. He kept his distance even in the sound of echoes, his hands folded behind his back, keeping little chance of colliding into thick tension with his wife. From the spectacle of black he could see hovering above the green at the nearby window, a situation has occured, and as Anna and the trail of her other family disappeared into murmurs, he resumed his pace towards the open doorway of the garden.
Morgana had been occupied -- too occupied -- to find any immediate company in Marius at the consistent scrutiny the Romanian royals had reserved for her. They overwhelmed with words, words that she expected to blossom from the poison she had fed into their tongues. Morgana embraced the unpleasantries, engulfing herself within their words as she absorbed herself with her tea. It was not as frustrating as it was before, or maybe it was because of the desire to protect her child that purged her to choose better battles. She only had so much strength to compete with a small army of feisty human women -- and as much as these words took shreds of her dignity, Morgana held her anger in. She was not risking her child for an elaborate public scene.
Let them call her a witch, and a witch she really was. Even more.
They left her shortly in flocks like sheep, with the fabrics of their dresses raising against the sunkissed wind -- waving a melody of colours that glittered against the deep green gardens. Morgana kept without care, absorbing even the last of their filth, smirking slightly at the thought of Anna's sentiments. Her words, like her relatives had echoed, pierced its own blade but at the same time -- the Viscountess could not ignore the bitter loneliness that filled the Queen's words. Ethan had found himself a habit of keeping almost everything a secret, in which he thought even the most valiant of his charms was to be strength enough to sway his wife every time.
Anna was growing immune, and Morgana would be more than surprised if he had not noticed. It was Tristan -- the seed of a vampire that grew inside her -- gave her that resistance, that strength, and slowly there was little of that Anna who flustered at the sight of her father's handsome right hand. The Queen was smarter than that now, but unlike that of her -- and maybe even Marius -- who found contentment even in Ethan's secretive nature -- Anna was an inquisitive mind. She would have questions, and these questions bore little answers, and the person that could only give her the essence of the truth she's been deprived for so long chose to hide in the comfort of his throne. In Morgana's eyes, Ethan was no coward -- Ethan was a fool. A cautious fool. A man found darkness of the world.
"I despised her when I loved Ethan more than I hated myself, and I still despise her when I now love you more than anything else." Morgana spoke softly as Marius helped her rise to her feet, ignoring the cursed promises her lover swore on as he told her how he stood there all this time. She watched the trail of grass in which where they departed, breathing within her chest, feeling more human than immortal. "But she is lonely, bitter, and alone. Ethan married her because he was mesmerised and she was the princess, but refused to rid of her in any way and kept her by his side. Ethan has seen too much to be like you and I, but has he forgotten to love? No -- he loves his son. It cannot be. Perhaps..."
She took an angled glance towards Marius, before taking his arm as they walk, paving the grass slowly like rustles in silent wind. The sunlight prickled, but the heat was not murderous. Morgana kept herself in her thoughts, trying to be at peace even if her voice saddled itself upon the rage of their criticism that crawled to irk her. "...Perhaps he has forgotten to love her properly. Anna is important to him, and I say this even with my irritation of her, but how important is the more important question -- Ethan."
At an amiable distance, Ethan stood against the sunlight by the open doorway of the castle gardens. He looked stern as ever -- stronger, bolder, and harboured with secrets only a man like him could keep. Morgana could only imagine what more he had made all the time he is king of the land, the extent of his bloodshed, and the chill of his relentless ambition. They still haven't told him of the woman that visited them the night she found out she was with child, and in her mind Morgana debated if letting him know was the right thing to do. Fate was fate even if she wished for him his safety, whoever that woman was -- she was nowhere as important as the collapse of Ethan's marriage. A kingdom was only as strong as the people that stood for it.
"Your wife has a tongue and I will never like her, but she is lonely. This is not fair to her, Ethan. She swallows bitterness in your secrets, and you have been spending nights on your pedestal."
"Anna is a concern, but not an immediate cause." Ethan spoke like nothing broke him, and kept himself in perfect composure. Morgana did not see him stutter slightly, or his chest to ruffle at the edges of her words. "Morgana, do not concern yourself with my wife. She is stronger than what you think she is, and I refuse to marry anyone less."
"You would if it made you king, Ethan." Morgana crossed him, her arms folded and her cheeks in full bloom. The heaving pressure that embroidered her body was such a human sensation, and even in the slightest of her anger, her pale skin would tint colour seen even through the black veil. "But I'm not having that conversation, my concern lays on Anna. She cannot swayed, not anymore -- not even by you. You cannot keep yourself crumbling."
"Tell me something I do not know about, Morgana. 'Tis my marriage, my wife -- my family. I am well aware of what Anna is and what Anna was, but I cannot stop her from than now. I can only contain her. Now, if you know well for your child, the castle is at your leisure to be used for your rest." Ethan remained stiff as he spoke, allowing Morgana little to no cause to find fault in his words. They were everything cold in speech, driven by hidden emotions that refused to be read. She was more than sure Ethan knew she was trying to read him, and he too smart for that game -- maybe even too smart to blatantly confront his wife. But there was nothing for her to mend now, she was an end in advising him of her worries.
"Your Highness," the guard behind him whispered in words only he could hear, riddled in a rhythm that almost felt like a warning, "Your Majesty the Queen is having an afternoon gathering in this area of the castle gardens."
"So she is."
A compelling feeling stirred within his frozen chest, a sensation which promised the next time he was to talk to his wife outside public affairs and keeping faces, it was the time he had nothing but the truth. He would have to tell her the truth. But right now, with so much stirred within his mind and the thought of that imprudent Julius still roaming around this castle -- it was all too risky. Even when dethroned, Julius had all the power he needed to create the perfect commotion for doubt. He had done himself the best to keep the old man quiet -- even if sometimes it required Morgana's specialties -- but he had to keep the old fool sane enough to be able to animate himself in front of his daughter. As much as he hated Julius, the only reason he lived was because of Anna.
But he was more than sure that his trusted advisors -- like that of Morgana, Marius, and other faithfuls of the council -- would have probably wished him dead.
At the far distance, a wave of fabric of colours entered, and for not more than a second Ethan caught sight of his wife in what seemed to be a extent of time. He felt his chest tighten and his jaw clench, his pace of walking slowed and his eyes glittered its predatorial gaze. He kept his distance even in the sound of echoes, his hands folded behind his back, keeping little chance of colliding into thick tension with his wife. From the spectacle of black he could see hovering above the green at the nearby window, a situation has occured, and as Anna and the trail of her other family disappeared into murmurs, he resumed his pace towards the open doorway of the garden.
* * *
Morgana had been occupied -- too occupied -- to find any immediate company in Marius at the consistent scrutiny the Romanian royals had reserved for her. They overwhelmed with words, words that she expected to blossom from the poison she had fed into their tongues. Morgana embraced the unpleasantries, engulfing herself within their words as she absorbed herself with her tea. It was not as frustrating as it was before, or maybe it was because of the desire to protect her child that purged her to choose better battles. She only had so much strength to compete with a small army of feisty human women -- and as much as these words took shreds of her dignity, Morgana held her anger in. She was not risking her child for an elaborate public scene.
Let them call her a witch, and a witch she really was. Even more.
They left her shortly in flocks like sheep, with the fabrics of their dresses raising against the sunkissed wind -- waving a melody of colours that glittered against the deep green gardens. Morgana kept without care, absorbing even the last of their filth, smirking slightly at the thought of Anna's sentiments. Her words, like her relatives had echoed, pierced its own blade but at the same time -- the Viscountess could not ignore the bitter loneliness that filled the Queen's words. Ethan had found himself a habit of keeping almost everything a secret, in which he thought even the most valiant of his charms was to be strength enough to sway his wife every time.
Anna was growing immune, and Morgana would be more than surprised if he had not noticed. It was Tristan -- the seed of a vampire that grew inside her -- gave her that resistance, that strength, and slowly there was little of that Anna who flustered at the sight of her father's handsome right hand. The Queen was smarter than that now, but unlike that of her -- and maybe even Marius -- who found contentment even in Ethan's secretive nature -- Anna was an inquisitive mind. She would have questions, and these questions bore little answers, and the person that could only give her the essence of the truth she's been deprived for so long chose to hide in the comfort of his throne. In Morgana's eyes, Ethan was no coward -- Ethan was a fool. A cautious fool. A man found darkness of the world.
"I despised her when I loved Ethan more than I hated myself, and I still despise her when I now love you more than anything else." Morgana spoke softly as Marius helped her rise to her feet, ignoring the cursed promises her lover swore on as he told her how he stood there all this time. She watched the trail of grass in which where they departed, breathing within her chest, feeling more human than immortal. "But she is lonely, bitter, and alone. Ethan married her because he was mesmerised and she was the princess, but refused to rid of her in any way and kept her by his side. Ethan has seen too much to be like you and I, but has he forgotten to love? No -- he loves his son. It cannot be. Perhaps..."
She took an angled glance towards Marius, before taking his arm as they walk, paving the grass slowly like rustles in silent wind. The sunlight prickled, but the heat was not murderous. Morgana kept herself in her thoughts, trying to be at peace even if her voice saddled itself upon the rage of their criticism that crawled to irk her. "...Perhaps he has forgotten to love her properly. Anna is important to him, and I say this even with my irritation of her, but how important is the more important question -- Ethan."
At an amiable distance, Ethan stood against the sunlight by the open doorway of the castle gardens. He looked stern as ever -- stronger, bolder, and harboured with secrets only a man like him could keep. Morgana could only imagine what more he had made all the time he is king of the land, the extent of his bloodshed, and the chill of his relentless ambition. They still haven't told him of the woman that visited them the night she found out she was with child, and in her mind Morgana debated if letting him know was the right thing to do. Fate was fate even if she wished for him his safety, whoever that woman was -- she was nowhere as important as the collapse of Ethan's marriage. A kingdom was only as strong as the people that stood for it.
"Your wife has a tongue and I will never like her, but she is lonely. This is not fair to her, Ethan. She swallows bitterness in your secrets, and you have been spending nights on your pedestal."
"Anna is a concern, but not an immediate cause." Ethan spoke like nothing broke him, and kept himself in perfect composure. Morgana did not see him stutter slightly, or his chest to ruffle at the edges of her words. "Morgana, do not concern yourself with my wife. She is stronger than what you think she is, and I refuse to marry anyone less."
"You would if it made you king, Ethan." Morgana crossed him, her arms folded and her cheeks in full bloom. The heaving pressure that embroidered her body was such a human sensation, and even in the slightest of her anger, her pale skin would tint colour seen even through the black veil. "But I'm not having that conversation, my concern lays on Anna. She cannot swayed, not anymore -- not even by you. You cannot keep yourself crumbling."
"Tell me something I do not know about, Morgana. 'Tis my marriage, my wife -- my family. I am well aware of what Anna is and what Anna was, but I cannot stop her from than now. I can only contain her. Now, if you know well for your child, the castle is at your leisure to be used for your rest." Ethan remained stiff as he spoke, allowing Morgana little to no cause to find fault in his words. They were everything cold in speech, driven by hidden emotions that refused to be read. She was more than sure Ethan knew she was trying to read him, and he too smart for that game -- maybe even too smart to blatantly confront his wife. But there was nothing for her to mend now, she was an end in advising him of her worries.