Before Ethel could fly from the dangers of the fox, his jowls were upon her, his fingers laced to snare her hand in a vice that was gently persuading. He held her with fingers that were calloused from years of arduous labour, fingers that were there, each digit corporeal and warm and not rotting in some God's forsaken place. She turned to face him against her own conation; she had wanted to run. She wanted to flee far, far away from the entity that made her blood freeze beneath the skin - that made her stomach sink to her toes. Fear. Galled and afraid. Not of him, of course, but the words he'd speak and the answer he'd give. I shouldn't have asked. I shouldn't have! In the end, why did it matter if it was her that caused him to keep his distance or if it was some other device that kept him away? He owed her nothing and she the same. Though they shared a name, it was nothing more than a show. A circus. Why care if he stayed? Why care about this stupid answer? She swallowed the lump in her throat when he sighed softly and finally gave a response. "I don't blame you. I never have." Relief rushed over her like a barreling wave crashing on the frayed ends of her tattered nerves. Had she been shaking? She couldn't tell; couldn't care. Though she'd wanted to search his face for the truth, his palm fell over her eyes like a visor. There'd be no struggle beneath it, only compliance, only listening as he mulled his words and offered them with tones of sincerity. The corner of her mouth rose into a crooked smile when his hand fell away and she could finally see the faint remainder of pink stretched across his cheeks. Her hands rose to soothe the ruffled tresses teased by his mussing. "You've been gone more often than not is all." Ethel murmured almost demurely. "So I thought..." Silence, brief, followed by a dismissive chuckle. "Doesn't matter. Let's get that food 'for you wither away." It wouldn't take her long to reach the pantry and withdraw a few of its contents. On a tray, she'd place a few strips of dried venison, sliced apples and some cubed cheese that she'd nibbled from slightly the night before. In a glass, she'd pour some lemonade that she'd made just that morning with crushed blackberries sunk at its bottom. A delightful refreshment on a nice, warm spring day. It wasn't much compared to the fares of the upper class, but it was enough to sustain them at least. That's what she hoped, anyway. With balled fists settled on either hip, there was a beaming smile of pride plastered on her face and in the way she held both chin and chest up high. ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN. . .

She smiled, and his cheeks would further ignite, fully looking away from her as her own worries seemed to lessen, her demeanor brightening softly. She raised her own fingers to comb through the tousled strands of her locks and affix them to their rightful order. "You've been gone more often than not is all." Fingers tucked themselves into his pocket, wounded right arm lingering indecisively at his side, a common plague with listless thought. "So I thought..." She laughed then, not the characteristic and merry chuckle she would often give, but faint, empty. Then, she was leaving. "Doesn't matter. Let's get that food 'for you wither away." Her departure left him in the darkening living room with only the buzzing thoughts within his skull. Once again, he found himself sinking into the softness of the sofa, hand withdrawing from his pocket to instead run through his ivory hair and across his features, allowing his palm to settle there with a heavy sigh.

He remembered it with an unfortunate amount of clarity. He recalled that the first thoughts to enter the clouded judgement of his mind in that uncertain lapse of memory had been of her. Had he been far enough away from Sanctuary? Had he actually been merely sleeping and the plague of nightmares merely tortured him in the fevered hellscape? He recalled wondering if she was among the cacophony of screams he was certain surrounded him. He recollected sharply how badly he'd wanted to ask after her, to just know, and yet he hadn't been able to. His own self-preservation was far from the forefront of his thoughts, not an uncommon blight on his mentality, but he had been.... uncertain of her own.

He remembered more than just what scattered musings he could have fathomed. He remembered the cold pit that had formed in his gut. He remembered the tense feeling that had felt like electricity devouring the blood within his veins. Akin to the sear of adrenaline, but something that had threatened to leave him far shakier than a simple surge of energy and instinct. This had been something else in its entirety, a thing he had no name for. An expression that was entirely foreign and unknown to him. Something that had set his teeth on edge. It had been a cretin buried in his bones, a serpent slithering like a cold wind down the length of his spine. Something akin to uncertainty, but by far more intense and rattling. He remembered the way she had fearfully brandished the dagger within her hands as he had first entered the abode. He remembered the concern within her wide eyes. The way she had beheld him. Was he still a beast, shed the form of man? He remembered that the only inclination he could muster was a distorted sense of gratefulness that she had been spared. That she really was there, waiting. The effects of that night, or nights, he could no longer piece them together, were dull upon him. The temporary loss of function in his hand, while beyond frustrating, would be dealt with, coped with. But if he'd lost her... If she hadn't been here... Yet he had made her a promise, word that she would maintain her freedom. A swear he was not keen to break. Words he didn't know how to phrase, felt as though he had no right to do so or it would sunder that vow. Another elongated breath departed him as he finally lowered his hand, eye staring up at the dimly illuminated ceiling.

She was ruining him.

The pantry door shut, drawing his attention to where he could glimpse the curve of her back. He stared at her for what felt a long moment, a small tick working in his jaw as he continued to mull his musings. Perhaps it was because she was kind to him. Perhaps it was because those prior in his life had been far from it. Maybe it was the relief that she was still here. That she... He got to his feet, shaking his head gingerly as he made his way to the kitchen. To where she stood. If she would allow it, he would turn her to face him, albeit he didn't meet her stare at first. "May I be selfish?" he inquired, the askance low, soft, like a secret he shouldn't be murmuring. It was only after the words left him that he brought his stare to her own, expression blank as he searched her features, seeking the reaction that she may otherwise seek to hide.

!

. . . THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND

It'd been determined that this night would be spent holed away behind the walls of the cottage whose meek exterior was veiled by the various species of oaks and ash. Woods where their little home had seen the fire flickering against the glint of a needle passing through a torn shirt. This home bore witness to the bold shimmer of a blade beneath the polishing cloth. Events that had become far and few after their arrival. Tonight, Ethel had every intention to sit on the couch with her books, her favourite bottle of wine in hand, and waste the hours away delving into the hidden lives of a romantic adventure. A fantasy beyond her childish fathoming of what such intricate feelings truly meant. There'd be no needle. There'd be no sword. There'd be no wolf curled at the door. There'd be no Dimitris to keep the hissing shadows at bay. No Dimitris to give her that warm stare that made her feel safe in a world that was not. Despite her misgivings about the man upon their initial encounters, she'd become - daresay - fond of his presence. These weeks without him had made her realize that; made her realize just how much she missed him. Or maybe it was the wine that made her feel that. As she stood at the kitchen counter, proud of her display, her fingers unconsciously roved above where the warm silver of her wedding band laid hidden beneath the ivory chemise. She'd been so enveloped in her musings that she didn't hear the creaking of the wood floor nor did she hear the way his footfalls grew closer and louder until the warmth of his hand disturbed those solitary thoughts. She was facing him now, a faint blush stretching across her cheeks at being caught so unawares, a fading warmth that was replaced by bemusement. Why didn't he look at her? "May I be selfish?" It wasn't like him to seem so discreet, as if he bore some great sin that only she could cleanse. For a moment there was concern lacing the line of her brow, worriment that was quickly replaced by a warm smile. She was overthinking again, wasn't she? "Of course! I'm sure there's more jerky if you'd like. Might even have some pastries instead if that's what you're wantin'." She didn't move away from him, didn't seek to bring distance between the broad heat of his body and the more delicate stature of her frame. To say that it didn't make her heart race would be a lie. To say that it didn't make her want to lean in closer would, also, too, be yet another lie. But she was patient, eager, in awaiting his answer. ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN. . .

She’d seemed taken aback at first, a slightly harsher exhale released from her lips as she turned to face him. He didn’t face her at first, keeping his stare down towards the floor at his feet, at the empty space marked by the minute gaps in the planks between them. Only three, perhaps a half separated them, and he was all too aware of that. He could smell the faint traces of her chosen drink upon the air here. Not overwhelming, but soft, just overly ripe berries.

She obliged him, of course, but she continued before knowing what it was that he was going to ask. It gave him room to escape the conviction he’d had mere moments ago. There was a part of him that wanted to take that chance, to just agree that it was only food he spoke of and simply leave it at that. ”Well, that’s not what I was talking about…” he began, a slight frown tracing the curve of his mouth.

”I just… I made a promise to you.” Again, he halted again, berated by the sudden inclination, that had become familiar since his arrival, that he shouldn’t have said anything. That he shouldn’t have been standing here to begin with. He said it himself, he knew he had made her a vow, that he wouldn’t impose on her freedom. Yet in the same breath, here he was. Then there was the horrible feeling sinking deep into the berated cage of his ribs that not only would this most likely be overstepping that word, but that it would be entirely unwanted. That she would be disgusted, abhor the notion. He supposed that would be alright, in the long run. A fortunate side effect of his muted personality, and the faint ideas of emotions he possessed the tatters of.

A deep breath in. Slowly out with the softly spoken admittance of his own condemnation, ”I think I like you.” They stung his mouth and made his lips burn, tasting bitter despite his monotone. Insignificant. As if he should have said more, but he couldn’t fathom quite what. Another inhale as he turned away from her, releasing his gentle, but firm,  grasp on her arm. ”I know I made a promise to you, though. And I don’t intend to break it. I just wanted to be honest.”

!

. . . THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND

It was uncanny the way he appeared to be a scorned child with that flagrant air of uncertainty as if he were caught with his hand in the jar. He seemed almost afraid, nervous, that she was some great beast that would eventually tire of his mortal trifles and snatch him from this living plane. Of course - she'd never openly admit it - there was a fondness for this more demure side of him. The side of him that was privy only in these private moments. Moments that belonged to her; tender moments shared between them. Memories that she'd tuck deep inside and withdraw only on those lonely nights when she'd wanted to mend one of his shirts or go on and on about some insignificant thing while he listened. He'd always been so much better at listening. Articulating his thoughts, however... Well, everyone has their weakness. "I made a promise to you." And though he'd turned away, Ethel still regarded him with a warm softness gleaming behind her gaze. Eyes that looked at him with quiet admiration and quivering anticipation while she searched for any inclination of his intentions. A promise for immortal freedom, to disallow the legalities of marriage to bog her down and tear away the simple joys found in the arms of dance. He'd mentioned it often enough and had respected that wish despite the turmoil that brewed in his heart. For a moment she felt pity, a sinking stone of solemn despair festering in her gut for being so selfish. Then, it was violent, a burst of emotion that had her heart racing and her stomach near leaping from her throat to expel the butterflies inside. It was a warm feeling, a delightful one, one that made her overwhelmingly... happy. "I think I like you." All she could do was stand there like a deer in the fog as he turned away and released the hold on her arm. She could only listen as he continued, could only smile boldly and reach up to the curve of his cheek - if he'd allow - and redirect his attention back on her. Look at me. Don't turn away. Ethel drew in a sharp breath, quiet, grounding, as she attempted to sort the flurry of words that begged to come out. "Dimitris." His name was a soft, endearing whisper. "Then let me break it for you." She rose up on her toes and swiftly pressed her mouth to his in a bold flare of passion that was very much unlike the kiss they shared that day at the altar. It was enamoured, heated, a kinetic surge of volcanic heat rushing throughout the entirety of her body. From mouth to toes, she was ignited, delighted, and overwhelmed by the scent of him, the soft curve of his mouth and the warmth it held. As quickly as she'd kissed him, she also let go, dropping back to her prior position with a broad, wry grin on her mouth and a bold flare of red dressing her cheeks. "I think I like you, too." She confessed. ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN. . .

She was quiet, almost unnervingly so as he spoke his piece, as non eloquent and blunt as it was. As uncertain as the words were, of their meaning and intensity. Words were of cursory meaning to him, perhaps one of the largest reasons that he had never bothered with pursuing conversations even when he was away from the chain and lock of his father's domain and control. He had always held preference to action, others could wield the mighty pen and spiel their grandeur speeches to rally spirits, but he was not among them. His tongue was not forged of silver, but those few things he did speak were of earnest intent. 

He cast her a glance from his peripherals as her fingers gently found his cheek, guiding his full attention back to her, and he did not resist the action. "Dimitris." She spoke his calling so softly and quietly that he feared he may have missed it if he hadn't been listening. However, it was her next words that gently lit the skin under her hand aflame once more, "Then let me break it for you."

Before he could offer reaction beyond the flush of his features, she had leaned up, her mouth pressing to his. His gaze widened slightly at the contact, one they had tersely shared before, but this one far different. This wasn't the same stiff formality, deadly replicated to appease and hastily dropped and forgotten. He hadn't the chance to whisper a hushed apology. He hadn't the warning of command and ceremony or any other of the feigned happenings that had broken the ice the first time. It wasn't cold and lifeless. Warmth. Heat. Accompanied it instead, and he was shocked from the action, from the significant change. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Fleeting and yet lingering in the same instance. He merely stared at her for a fractured moment as she reclined once more from the tips of her toes to her heels. The way the red speared across the porcelain of her façade. The impish grin customary to her countenance only wider than ever as she spoke once again.

"I think I like you, too."

A soft ah left him, the sound quiet and tentative as it departed along with the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. He hesitated another pulse, but leaned down, his hand gentle, overly so as he was forced to realize once again just how much smaller she was. How much more fragile she felt in his grasp. He knew her to be fire and sharp edges, but in a different way than himself. He knew those silver eyes could bite with sterling blades of steel, but not the same that had calloused his fingers and roughened the touch that sought to bring her closer. He'd asked if he could be selfish, after all. "If that's what you want." Was the soft rumble before his lips would gingerly claim hers once more. Tender and amiable, but holding a barely leashed, razing demand.

!

. . . THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND

There was incomprehensible strength hidden behind those hands whose calloused touch was velvet to her body, soft and gentle yet equally commanding. Come close. He physically beckoned and she hadn't the strength to disobey nor the will to do so. As if she were a frail flower - a delicate bud in bloom - his luring pull closed that unwelcomed distance between them. Rabbit's heart thumped violently against her ribs until Ethel was certain it would escape and expose every secret thought within. How long had she wanted to be this close to him? Close enough to smell the faint traces of soap on his skin. Close enough to feel the curves of his abdomen from beneath the button shirt. To feel each inhale, each subtle sway of sinew. Oh, how her cheeks burned a violent shade of red. If he knew her thoughts, would he still hold her so tenderly? Would he have kissed her so warmly? "If that's what you want." The way his voice rumbled sent a shiver down her spine and a flutter to her stomach. The way his mouth fell to hers had her reaching into him like a starved glutton who was offered nourishment for the first time. She wanted so desperately to stay like this, to remain bewitched by the power of his kiss and drown herself in him entirely. She wanted to explore this hidden part of him, explore this budding change and the emotions they were awakening. Hesitantly she pulled away. Ethel reached her hand back to the curve of his cheek, holding him, beseeching his gaze with her pleading stare and endearing smile. "But what do you want, Dimitris?" She spoke softly, briefly, before kissing him again with heated fervour. Dainty digits languidly fell to his shoulder where she held him close, unwilling to let go. ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN. . .

It was a dream, surely. One not unpleasant like his last, but of a demure variety. That's what he told himself despite the warmth he could feel, and the silken pressure of her skin, her touch. It was the only sense he could make of the situation, one that seemed wildly beyond the capabilities of their precarious reality. One in which he felt he had to distance himself in lieu of her happiness. To ensure he did not give himself this opportunity. How long had he carried such a burden now? How long had it endured before eventually it had come to the surface and he could no longer deny it? When he had asked her to leave with him, maybe. A task that had been much more of an undertaking than he had initially planned for, and to come back to his homeland in war and his own province butchered. In retrospect, his invitation may have simply been damning. He had sworn upon learning the fate of his family and people, and the current events of their world, that he would let no harm come to befall her. His efforts no longer need to lie elsewhere, his collar broken, along with the leash of allegiance. Dunmeath was no more. The Markai name an empty sound that held little to no meaning now, as many assumed the entirety of the line deceased. After all, he was no little princeling,  no lord.

That's why it had to be the conjured fantasy of a resting mind. The way that she relented, the startling rapid beat of her pulse he could nearly feel through the slip of her gown as she pressed close to him. Much too close, a part of him whispered in reprimand, a sense of control as his careful restraint yearned to snap and crush her to him. Refrain came as she separated them first, though her hands didn't leave him entirely, her searching fingertips leading up the curve of his cheek instead. Her cheeks were flushed with rose hue, dark and stained with her chestnut locks in disarray as well. Realization and reality seared his own as well, stare averting as she brought him to face her, her breathless inquiry bidding him release a quick breath. "But what do you want, Dimitris?"

Her words were soft, her slender hand dropping from his countenance down to the curve of his shoulder which rolled slightly beneath them in reaction to her touch. A low rumble reverberated within his chest as her lips pressed back to his own once more, now lacking the uncertainty of the first and with her own hushed demand, one that had him drawing her closer, still trying to remind himself to take care. His left hand coiled in her wild hair, his right pressed carefully to her back to hold her ever closer. What did he want? Just to be near her, perhaps. This seemed far too selfish, too much for her to simply entertain herself with.

He had to draw back, to catch his breath, to clear his mind. His stare trailed from her own, down to the pout of her lush lips as the calloused pad of his thumb gently smoothed over the porcelain of her cheek. His forehead pressed lightly to her own, allowing his eyes to close. The hive of buzzing thoughts and inclinations stilled, slowly, as did the heavy pulse that had thundered against the cage of his ribs. "I just... want you to be happy." A simple answer, but an honest one in the end.

!

. . . THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND

Stories aplenty were forged on the lips of lonely sailors docking for a few days' time. They were always eager to tell their tales and Ethel had always been ready to lap them up like a kitten with a bowl of milk. Those men were not the only ones coming through the doors of lady Lidget's - women, too, yearning to learn how to appease their high-born husbands. Horrors unwound through vibrant tongues; recollections of an unfortunate marriage. Misery was deeply etched in the fine lines of their age-worn faces that were, Ethel assumed, once beautiful and lovely. Perhaps that was where her fear of the oath was birthed. Then the vision of her mother with silver eyes devoid of sense and purpose flashed in reminder. That is what Ethel had feared the most when she stood in the ivory gown before the priest and his ominous book. She feared misery, the unknown; she was terrified of becoming her mother. Alone. Dimitris was not Jothan. From the moment they pledged their vows he'd kept that promise. At times she was grateful for it, solaced that he allowed her to continue exploring the passion of her profession without the crippling chains of wedlock. He did not control her. He did not cleave her precious freedom with acts of confinement nor cast her into a gulf of desolation. For whatever reason, the wolf stood watch ready to bear its fangs at any threat. Perhaps she'd always felt this way about him, this strong emotion fluttering throughout her breast, pulsing through her veins like boiling water. It wasn't until now that she was ready to admit it for all the fears that kept the revelation at bay were cast away with one simple statement. I think I like you. Over and over again. She wanted to hear it, feel it, wrap it taut against her savagely throbbing heart. Most of all, she wanted to drown in him. It was as if his fingers were made of static the way they roved throughout her untamed tresses, sending a jolt of shivers down her spine and rushing across her cold crept skin. Ethel touched him in kind. The hand on his shoulder gingerly rose to cup the back of his neck, holding him, feeling the warmth of his skin through her palm. He pulled her closer; she held her breath. He pulled back and she'd release it slowly, languidly, on a muted sigh. The touch of his thumb roused a smile to her lips, lips that ached for the taste of him, to feel the warmth of his mouth once again. She restrained it. Tucked it away for a time and instead settled on offering an endearing nuzzle, nose to nose. Then he offered her an answer, one that roused a light, airy chuckle from her breast. "I've never been happier than when I'm with you." Ethel allowed her eyes to close while she drew in a slow, steady breath. A futile attempt to ground herself and make sense of this emotional storm. "May I be selfish this time?" Her askance was soft, nearly a whisper against the shadow of his mouth. ‘All that we see or seem’, ‘Is but a dream within a dream.

Jahi

I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN. . .

He wouldn't be his father. A vow he took very seriously even prior to his knowing of her muted objection to the affair. he had held no intentions of caging another with vows and rings. The only promises that held sway to him were those exchanged on a personal note - like the one he had made her. He believed in no gods. He held no divinity that would force him accountable for any measure in which he swore in their name. Let alone any alter he would be forced to knee at. The very same words that had left him once upon a time to the man he had seen as a brother, after the dearly felt loss of his sister, another of his misbegotten oaths sworn unto the ears of another for them and them singularly.

He wouldn't cage her in a pit of loathing despair. He wouldn't force status and tradition upon her, he wouldn't hold her prisoner. However, as his thoughts strayed to his parents, there was a cold thrill of gratification that surged through him. Whatever their dealings had been: they were no null. Dunmeath was no more. His father was no more. Whatever Jothan had sold his daughter for, it ended with n o t h i n g. There was something just so unnaturally satisfying in that realization, to be in full knowledge that the hostage situation that had been their wedding would all merely fall apart like a rusted chain pressed far beyond its breaking point. He wondered just what the proud man looked like when he received the news, he wanted to be able to imagine what expression would linger on his confident, proud, smug countenance.

Would he try to retrieve her? Did he know she had already departed the borders of the country he sought to rule? To own? Did he know she was free from the oppression of his thumb and his watchful eye? Oh, how he wished he could be the one to deliver the final parting - to announce to him in his deplorable parlor the death of Lord Markai. He wanted to behold it, to watch the steel encase his eyes, or the light of dawning ignite behind those shrewd spectacles. The eyes of a hawk, a scavenger, just as much as he was a predator. A would be tyrant, one who's fledgling whims would have its wings clipped in finality, here and now.

The soft press of affection she bestowed upon him would deter the thoughts, drawing his full attention back to her, silencing the malicious musings. For now. "I've never been happier than when I'm with you." The confession was somewhat of a surprise, one that made the pale light of his crystalline stare sharpen on her. Her eyes drifted closed, and his thumb would trace slowly down her cheek, lingering softly upon the breadth of her lower lip as they parted in slowly drawn breath. "May I be selfish this time?" The quiet of her inquiry bid him tilt his head slightly, the path of his thumb traversing the line of her mouth, to the apple of the opposite cheek where it would smooth in likeness to the first. "What would you have of me?" came the low reverberation of his vocals, mirroring her low volume.

!

. . . THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND