675-11-18 - A Cold Morning

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A Cold Morning
Summary: Prince Zephan and Pureal start off the day with some conversation that is striking in its lack of warmth.
Who: Pureal and Zephan Onimus
References: re:Jerrick Onimus
When: November 18th, 675
Related Logs: None
Date of RP: 25/11/2014
Where: Zephan's Room - Castle of the White Dove, Isle of the Crown, The Isles
Room Desc: The room is lavishly furnished and moderately lighted during the day through a pair of stained-glass windows, that depict the royal coat of arms of House Onimoria. First of all there is the bed in the center, big enough for two, covered with the finest sheets of purple and a blanket in a darker shade for colder nights. The bed is orderly made. A chest in the corner, holding the personal belongings of the Prince, gleams in the daylight, golden decorations blinking rather obtrusively. On a small table is a flagon of red wine and two glasses. All pieces of furniture have been carved from dark red cherry wood. In a corner stands a dummy carrying the armor of the prince, well polished and showing reflections of the colourful light, shed through the stained-glass windows.


At the crack of dawn Pureal wakes, curled up beside the prince. She looks around the room slowly and carefully untangles herself from the man to slip out of bed and pulls on a light robe. Silent feet carry her around the room, tucking away the empty glasses, and bottles, going to the door to get breakfast from the servant. She sets it out on the table and pulls out his clothes for the day.

Only with the room prepared does she crawl back into the bed, her fingers walking lazily along his side. She watches him sleep… it would be so easy to curl her fingers around his hung over throat, to tighten them. Instead she forces on a smile as she does every day and leans down to kiss his shoulder lightly. “Your Highness….”

A low grunt comes from the prince in reply to her address, and Zephan shifts a little in his sleep. Pureal would certainly know that he does look innocent in his sleep - like everyone else. And it would have been in his sleep that she has once witnessed a most genuine smile of happiness - a thing that actually never occurs when he is awake.

Alas, the prince is already roused from his slumber, his eyes that have that steely blue tone are open and linger on Pureal, as his hand is moving to his forehead. This is not the first morning that starts with a headache, and another low grumble affirms that. “Pureal.” His mouth twitches into a shadow of a smile, while his tone expresses weariness as well as a hint of an emotion - sadness maybe. “Time for breakfast…?”

One hand is extended to pull her close for a good morning kiss, executed with the same casual manner as one would take a sip from a goblet of wine. Another sigh comes and the prince rises, emotion leaving him the further he proceeds in getting dressed, choosing a shirt of light blue, and breeches of a darker shade, and not even bothering to splash some water into his comely yet so haughty face.

Pureal returns the kiss, dutiful and pliant as ever. She leans back to lay on the bed for a time while he dresses, not worried about her own state of dress or undress, after all her wardrobe is ‘barely clothed’ at best any how. She slowly rises as he’s finishing his preparation for the day and move to the table to pour his tea for him, adding a splash of strong alcohol to help take the edge off his head ache. She takes a piece of fruit for herself before she moves away from the table to let him eat.

Zephan rolls his shoulders in an attempt to loosen those tense muscles, and he turns, studying Pureal with a detached smile, not exactly staring at her as he should already be well acquainted with her looks after all these years. His gaze will follow her though as she rises, a slight twitching of his lips coming when he sees her pour /something/ into the cup of tea. “You don’t mean to poison me, do you.”, he jests although the expression in his eyes is distant and cold, as if he did not give a fig if that were the case. “Whatever it is… it will make that damned headache go away.”

The slave girl has, of course, contemplated it many times, poisoning the prince, watching him die in a pool of his own vomit as he likely deserves. She pulls her thoughts back to her lost boy though every time she gets preoccupied with such things. Her smile never waivers in the least. “Of course not Your Highness, it is only medicine… for your head.” She demures and rises from the best. “Is there anything else I should prepare for your day?”

The most likely reason for not poisoning him being the fact that a dead prince might cause some trouble for the female slave. Zephan moves over to the table at a leisurely pace, his attention on the hot beverage held out to him by Pureal. “Of course,” he echoes with faint amusement, before his eyes flit up from the cup in his hand and he gives her a cold assessing glance. Then taking a careful sip from the tea, with his gaze locked on hers. “I haven’t made up my mind yet on how I will spend my day,” he says, his voice casual and devoid of emotion. “Who knows… I might go into town and check out what the Night’s Dream has on offer.”

Not that he expects her to be offended by such an admission.

Nibbling on her fruit, she watches him silently, “If you wish My Prince,” she purrs softly as she resettles on the end of the bed, curling up rather cat like onto herself. It’s a lazy sprawl, but then there are plenty of lazy days for Pureal when the Prince is occupied elsewhere.

“Would you like me to accompany you?”

She casts a lazy glance to her smaller case of belongings… to get dressed to day or not, from the outside it’s a rather blessed looking life when these are her worst problems.

Zephan continues to sip from his tea, the headache already subsiding from the shot of ‘medicine’ Pureal has applied to it, his eyes narrowing a tad as he follows her with his gaze, observing that lazy sprawl with faint interest. The suggestion has his brows lift and he shakes his head with a dry chuckle. “Not today, no. Although… I’d like to take a stroll about the castle first maybe - with you.” Few slow steps are required to take him over to the bed, the free hand stretching out for the back of her neck, fingers tightening their touch momentarily as if contemplating to break that slender neck of hers. The touch turns into a carelesslike stroke before his hand withdraws. “Soon, Pureal, we will return to the sea,” Zephan remarks, and as usual his lips curl into a smile and that hint of longing enters his features. “I abhor these weeks I have to spend here, alas, mother requires it of me…”

Inwardly she shudders at the thought of weeks spent in their small cabin, but her smile seems to broaden and she leans into his touch as a cat might, “I will be pleased when you are pleased my Prince…”

She draws herself up slowly and stretches before sliding off the bed, shedding the light robe and letting it fall to the floor as she moves to her chest, pulling free a small, near sheer dress which she draws up over her head. A few simple golden combs are dragged through her hair to untangle it, and then hold it back from her face and a spritz of what ever scent he likes best on her. She turns back to him with an adoring smile.

“Too bad you will spend your days in misery then,” the Royal twin remarks, as that smile that had appeared when he spoke of the sea vanishes as quickly as it came. He will empty the cup and put it onto the table with a pang, and then move over to the wall and lean against it, arms crossed before him, as he watches her getting dressed. “That is as long as we are stuck here in this castle,” this added as his gaze drifts towards the window, to linger on the view for a moment.

“It won’t be long,” She moves towards him slowly, her arms extending to him, “And we’ll be back on the sea… away from this… cage.” Even if inwardly she sighs, and back into her own cage. “Perhaps we can go hunting one of those wild cats on one of the islands?” She offers.

“Maybe,” Zephan replies, looking not too enthused about it. “It would depend though, on whether I can interest Jerrick in coming with us.” His eyes take in the view of the ocean beyond the harbor of Deavel for a moment longer, before they shift back to Pureal. “I will go and see if I can find him, in the Great Hall, or,” and here he smirks, “in the Place of Arms.”

She nods and offers a gracious smile though she doesn’t know why or care why he would want his brother to accompany them. She steps instead to the door to hold it for him.

And neither would Zephan care to explain his motives to a slave, even if it is the female bedwarmer he had been fond enough of to get her back out of the dungeons after she fell into disgrace. But that is another story, which will be told another time. The prince will step through the door, outwardly not really caring if Pureal follows or stays behind - but perhaps expecting her to come along nonetheless.