Cracks in the Walls

Giovanni hadn’t always been a miserable drunk—once upon a time, he’d been a rake of a boy, charming and willing to kiss every young woman’s hand. But he’d never traipsed through the women of the land like they were merely there to please him, to provide relief, to give him a chance to forget—not back then, anyway. Back then, he’d amused himself with one girl in particular.

And that same girl was perched on his lap today, his fingers threading through her hair, enjoying the way her tresses felt as they slipped through his fingers. His smile was soft, slight, and hidden as he leaned to press his lips to the back of her head. He was awful at showing her how he felt, these days. It was easier to deny himself the one thing he truly wanted, and promise that when the kingdom was in a better position he might give in.

The kingdom would never be in a better position.

He’d never give in.

He couldn’t take his prize while his world collapsed around him.

So he filled his days with strangers, paid for their attention, and made her watch. Some part of him hoped that she’d leave; that he’d seen disgust in her eyes. Instead, he only saw jealousy warring with love in the eyes of the girl that he loved—though he’d never said nor would he say those words out loud.

But cracks were forming in his composure. Tonight, he was drunk, and had not summoned any paid bodies. Tonight, she and he were sitting in his room, at his vanity. He was braiding her hair, glancing at her face in the mirror as he worked.

You should wear a dress to the ball tomorrow, he murmured, his voice rough from overuse. It wasn’t a command, but merely a comment—a thought. His bed, freshly made by the servants that afternoon, was large enough for the both of them. And though he no longer bedded her, she often slept in his room, when he didn’t have visitors in the night. He liked his arms around her, remembering that she was still there—it was funny; a king with abandonment issues attempting to run the one person in his life that won’t leave, away.

One that shows your back, maybe?

@Naboru

The gown she wore barely clung to her shoulders. Naboru enjoyed these moments, even if stolen by alcohol. It brought her back to a simpler time, a time when crowns, kings, courts, and lies were but a flicker of a show cast by a candle. Her training taught her to be still, her love taught her to obey. So as she wore a silk gown that hugged her form as she perched like a beauty on his lap and had her hair braided, she let a faint smile cross her lips. Her hands pressed to the top of her thighs, clasped together with pained, talon-tipped nails.

When he spoke, her mind finally came back to the present. Not the past where she'd be running hand in hand with her friends. Laying in the grass, laughing up into the skies as the clouds above passed and the only worry was, what game would they play next. "Oh? If that is what you wish. The gold dress or the red one?" She asked to be sure she would please him.

The gold one, it made the tanning of her skin seem darker, the bleaching of parts of her skin seem paler, and gave into the whispers of demon and succubus... whore... But if his eyes were on her, words mattered nothing.

She wished this night would never end... they were so few to come by now.

Giovanni hummed, considering her in the mirror. The gold, if you promise not to dance with any other. It was the kind of request he'd never ask her sober; the kind of request the prince had asked but never the king. He rarely acknowledged how badly he wanted to be able to just focus on her—to just have her. His life was too much chaos, too many shifting roles and parts.

The red if you plan to dance with other men. It didn't look as good against her skin as the gold, it didn't earn the same kind of remarks as the gold and he knew that. But he also knew she wasn't some pet that he could order around; she was a person, the one person that he cared about more than he cared about himself.

Up, his hands slipped to rest against her waist, waiting for her to rise. Wanna see my handy-work, he twirled a hand lazily, indicating she should do a slow turn in front of him.