[ He squeezes her hand back, flashes her another one of his smiles, and starts moving. He isn't the only one whose wards have grown particularly attached to their temporary guardians --
-- 'temporary'. That's an interesting word at the moment.
There is no fanfare for the Nalimutan when they step through the massive gates of the Capital, but the subjects of the kingdom do turn to watch their progress towards the castle. There are respectful nods in all directions, as if they were all simply soldiers.
Everyone in the city knows better, save for the tributes they are guiding.
The girl will note that the cold castle she was in for years is remarkably different from the one that they appear to be moving towards. The people of the land are also different: pale, stunning in their beauty, strange in their dress.
There is much to distract her, all the way up to when the entire contingent stops in the throne room. The Daughters of the Blade King are there. The wolves that had accompanied the party move away, and scatter in all directions. All of them turn into subjects of the Lightless Lands.
The First Daughter - a woman whose kimono has moving keys across its surface - is standing closest to the throne, one arm folded over her chest, the other bringing a pipe to her lips. She looks bored. The Second Daughter sits a little further down, her long-nailed fingers plucking away at the stringed instrument stretched out over her lap. The Third Daughter is at the foot of the steps, smiling at the soldiers; there are flowers growing out of her hair.
Curiously, the throne - a chair that seems to made completely of blades - is empty.
The soldier who has protected you, child, is squeezing your hand again, and catching her gaze. ]
no subject
[ He squeezes her hand back, flashes her another one of his smiles, and starts moving. He isn't the only one whose wards have grown particularly attached to their temporary guardians --
-- 'temporary'. That's an interesting word at the moment.
There is no fanfare for the Nalimutan when they step through the massive gates of the Capital, but the subjects of the kingdom do turn to watch their progress towards the castle. There are respectful nods in all directions, as if they were all simply soldiers.
Everyone in the city knows better, save for the tributes they are guiding.
The girl will note that the cold castle she was in for years is remarkably different from the one that they appear to be moving towards. The people of the land are also different: pale, stunning in their beauty, strange in their dress.
There is much to distract her, all the way up to when the entire contingent stops in the throne room. The Daughters of the Blade King are there. The wolves that had accompanied the party move away, and scatter in all directions. All of them turn into subjects of the Lightless Lands.
The First Daughter - a woman whose kimono has moving keys across its surface - is standing closest to the throne, one arm folded over her chest, the other bringing a pipe to her lips. She looks bored. The Second Daughter sits a little further down, her long-nailed fingers plucking away at the stringed instrument stretched out over her lap. The Third Daughter is at the foot of the steps, smiling at the soldiers; there are flowers growing out of her hair.
Curiously, the throne - a chair that seems to made completely of blades - is empty.
The soldier who has protected you, child, is squeezing your hand again, and catching her gaze. ]
I have to go now.