675-09-30 - The Drunken Prince
The Drunken Prince | |||||||
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
Summary: Prince Zephan awakens with an empty flagon of wine and a beautiful woman in his arms - and has an encounter with Nimoria. | |||||||
|
The rays of the rising sun paint the trees and plants of the garden at the castle in a hue that is somewhere between pink and orange. It is still early, the only sounds of activity coming so far from within the castle. Little of that bustle is present in the green tranquility of the garden. Oh yes, there is the low babbling of the fountains, the merry chirping from the birds in the trees.
And snoring as well.
There beneath a tree, almost hidden by some rose bushes, is the form of a man who is obviously asleep, in one hand an empty flagon of red wine, as some stains on the sleeve of his light blue shirt suggest, while the other arm is wrapped about some other form curled up against him. Where his hair is blonde and his skin is light, that of the woman is slightly darker, of an olive tinge, black hair spills about her shoulders. A skirt of flowing dark red fabric, slitted at the front charms her hips and legs, whereas the ample curves of her breasts are at least in part covered with a piece of fabric that is wrapped about her chest leaving her slender waist and her flat belly bare. There is a collar about her neck marking her as a slave girl. She is asleep as well, but silently so.
It is he who snores. His shirt is in slight disarray, hanging losely about his shoulders and over the pair of black breeches he wears. Shifting a little in his sleep as his right hand opens and the flagon drifts from his grasp, his left hand finds a curve and gives it a gentle squeeze, his lips curling at that, and one eye after the other opens a tad, enough to cast a half-lidded glance to the slave girl, raising his head a little.
Soon to be followed by a groan, as his head falls back against the pillow of moss on the ground it had rested on.
Nimoria is standing on that small road. She keeps her hands crossed on her abdomen. The woman's gaze rests on the pair, while a small breeze plays with a strand of her tress long pale hair. She keeps her head turned to the side a bit.
Her daring sheer mesh dress has a high neck closure and is trimmed with diamonds decor. The long and wide sleeves are made out of the same pale mesh. A bit of coarse texture white mini skirt with flowing till the ground meshy folds completes this unique and not so proper gown. Though, at least the most private parts of the young woman's body are hidden under not lucid white fabric. Her tattoo on that flat belly is perfectly seen.
She does not say anything for now. Just continues to watch thoughtfully.
Another grunt comes, when his blue eyes close and his right hand comes up, to rest with its back against his forehead. "By Onimoria's teats! Damn!" Prince Zephan mutters, as his eyes open again and his arm slips away from the slave girl, and he shifts into a kneeling position, slowly rolling over to his side and straightening. His gaze brushes Nimoria and he blinks, maybe mistaking her for some reflection of the sun. It is after he has risen that he will look her over with an almost impertinent stare.
"Now that is an unusual dress... and a fashion that is very much to my taste," Zephan comments after a while with a smirk, his gaze still half-lidded. "Now what do they call you? Whitehead?" The slave girl at his feet stirs a little, her hand reaching for his leg as if to steady herself as she brings herself into a seating position and eyes Nimoria warily.
Nimoria's eyebrow raises up slowly. She does not look at the slave girl. She does not look anywhere, but straight into Zephan's eyes. The corners of her lips twitch a bit, as if she would like to smile.
"Good, that you like my dress. You should get use to it, your highness. We will meet quite often now."
The woman has a very soft voice. If the man would be still drunk, he could mix her with some kind of a ghost or a vision. The breeze playes with her dress, making Onimoria to look as if she would be vibrant flag.
"What do you think, who am I?"
The breeze plays with Zephan's blonde and slightly scruffy looking hair as well, blowing it about his face, which does not quite manage to hide his stare as he assesses her, focusing on her body for now and paying less attention to her eyes. "Of that I'm sure," he grins, nodding appreciatively. "Funny, mother should allow you to roam the castle though." His tone definitely amused, his gaze is fixed on the dress as the breeze tears at it.
Hearing her question, the prince will look up. "One of the finest whores I ever saw," he chuckles. That coming from him must certainly be a compliment, in his opinion. His voice shows amusement but little emotion. In fact there is a coldness in the admiration of his blue eyes.
That hand at his leg may tighten a little, when Pureal tries to bring her own presence back to her master's attention.
Nimoria sniffs, "A whore? Finest whore you ever met?" She sniffs again quite ironically, "You should speak with your mother. Then you will learn, who am I and why your mother allows me to walk in the castle. Maybe, then you will understand better, why we will see each other more often."
Now her gaze finds Pureal. She stares at the girl for a moment. Though, then just shrugs and looks back at Zephan.
"Oh, did I offend you?", Zephan inquires, surprised at her reaction. "I was merely complementing you on your looks." He smirks. "You seem to know who I am, but... who are you? And mother..." There is a slightly annoyed sigh. "I haven't spoken with mother in quite a while. She always seems to be upset whe I'm around. I wish I knew why!" The irony is clear in his tone, especially in his latter remark.
Pureal meanwhile changes her tactics, no longer gripping at Zephan's leg but stroking it gently instead and leaning her head against his thigh, while she returns the stare of Nimoria, her chin going up a touch, maybe in some kind of challenge?
"Your mother loves you," Nimoria answers seriously, "She is not upset nor with you, nor with your brothers or sisters. She almost died, while you were... fucking a whore..." Her gaze flops to Pureal for a second, but when she quickly looks back at Zephan.
"She is alright now," the woman explains, not waiting for any questions. Her voice becomes quite firm now. "You will meet with her, before your next journey. There are very serious matters you need to discuss." She may sound quite demanding now. The Fourth has the right to order to the children of the Queen. After all, the Fourth is second power after the Queen. Though, does Zephan knows, who she is?
"Your brother will be married soon. Likely, to the Princess of Two Rivers. Prince Nathan is away and we don't know if he will ever come back. Prince Abell is already married. The Queen needs grandchildren. So, you won't leave the Isles till you will do your duty for the Kingdom."
Zephan shifts a little in his stance. "She loves me," he echoes in regards to his mother, raising his brows as he suppresses a mirthless chuckle. "Pureal's no whore," he clarifies next, his gaze shifting downwards with a light flicker to where his slave girl sits. "She is mine. That's a difference." Again, little emotional attachment is to be observed when he speaks of his property.
The news needs a moment to settle in though. "Serious matters, eh?" the prince inquires, his eyes narrowing. "There's still Madalyn. She's the heir. And Jerrick /will/ marry a princess? I'll need to congratulate him on that. Sadly, any heirs we may produce will not be heirs of House Onimus," he adds next, shaking his head in mock desperation. "But heirs to the Houses of our wives. So. I will not marry. Never. You can go and tell my mother that."
Meeting her commanding tone with a similar authorative voice, as he obviously does not accept or even expect her to hold the office of Royal High Oni.
The remark about his youngest brother has Zephan raise a brow though. "What about Nathan? Where did he go?"
Nimoria laughs and shakes her head, "You will marry. Though, if you will bring a strong baby girl to the world, she will become heir of our Kingdom, your Highness. It's public knowledge, that the Queen doesn't think that princess Madalyn is proper heir, nor she wants to be the Queen."
Nimoria shrugs a bit, "If I were you, I would definitely find a wife for myself, because the Queen is old. She will die one day and your child may be still young. Don't miss a chance to become a King for a few years. So, off you go to the Queen's Chambers."
Nimoria gestures towards the door.
"Is it?", Zephan replies in regards to the 'public knowledge'. "It's definitely news for me. But then again, I've been away, back to the sea..." For a brief second a flicker enters his gaze, a rare moment of passion when his thoughts drift to the storm and the ocean. "It was a tempestuous ride, and such an enjoyable one..." There is a certain wistfulness about the sigh that leaves his lips now. But the moment is brief and soon his old cold demeanour is back again.
"Madalyn's an incompetent fool. But she's the heir. Does mother consider to leave her out of the line of succession? Really?" He snorts. "Take Abell's children then. Or leave it to Jerrick. Even cute little Nathan, mother's favorite! Anyone would qualify better than me for this... task."
Still hesitating, the prince stands there, as his hand moves to pat Pureal's head absentmindedly as if she were his pet - which she is, actually. While his gaze remains locked on Nimoria and he ponders: "You look... somehow familiar. If I follow your request to speak with mother, what will be my reward?"
Nimoria strightens quite proudly and haughtily, "You may be very sucessful in this task with the right person," she grins a bit. Her gaze slips from the man's head till his feet and back to his eyes, "Maybe you saw me in your dreams?" She asks quite cassually, but there is that self-confidence in her voice, very vivid one.
"Reward? Mother already chose you the bride. I am sure, that she will be your reward. But shhh..." She raises her finger to her lips, "Don't tell anyone. Your brother has to be married off first. So, she may keep her decision quiet for awhile. But deep in her heart, she already is carrying the answer to the question, who will agree to marry a drunkard prince, who fucks almost everything, what moves." Now she may sound really rude.
"Indeed, I have some experience...", Zephan admits with an ambiguous smile. His hand removes Pureal's hand from his thigh - it is a plain gesture that shows a surprising gentleness - and once he is free from her grasp he will take a step towards the white-haired beauty. "And no. I never dreamt about you, of that I am /quite/ sure.", he admits matter-of-factly.
"So? I'm to wait? Mother knows I have little patience. If she waits too long with telling me, I might be gone again." In fact, he may have a point there. That bluntness and vulgarity in her expression of the latter remark does amuse him rather than offend him. "True." The prince smirks. "Question is... when it will be your turn, right?"
Smiling down at Nimoria as he considers. And yes, his breath definitely smells of wine and other alcoholic beverages he may have had during the night, when he leans into her. "You know where my room is, don't you?"
Nimoria remains standing proudly, not moving even an inch, when the man comes closer to her. She just nods slowly, "Indeed. I do know, where your room is and if you won't present yourself to your mother this week, I will come to drag you there..." Then she offers a curtsy for the man, before turning to go back to the castle.