Moonlit Musings Articles / Haven Date: Nov 07, 2003 - 08:06 AM A quiet hush fell over the palace as the soft rays of the moon bathed the structure in gentle silver light. The normal night-sounds drifted through the immaculate gardens, a sleepy owl called to it's mate, soft footfalls and light laughter wound from one remote garden. The lone observer to this had the decency to blush and turn her back on the night sky as she reentered the room, closing the large glass doors behind her. Dark violet eyes looked up at the sound of the door closing and a smile played along sensual lips; "I thought you preferred to leave the doors open at night love?" His voice was soft, husky and never failed to cause a thrill up her spine. "Yes, normally I do, but I do have some grace, Tri, and I did not wish to intrude on the Captain of the Guards’ tryst with your brother's scribe,” was the soft reply. Then with a boneless grace, she dropped to a cushion on the floor near his feet. Laughter shone bright in the man’s violet eyes and he ran his fingers through the polished ebony of his wife’s hair. “Is that jealousy I hear love?” his tone was teasing and gentle. A snort of indignant laughter was his only reply. Knowing better that to tease her further he turned his attention once again to the sheaf of papers that his brother Obsidian had wanted him to look over before Yule court started. He kept one hand buried in the silkiness of his wife’s hair and found himself smiling in pure contentment. He glanced sidelong, down at the form of the lady at his feet, and found she too was buried in a book as well, thought it seemed for the lettering to be one of old healing magic. Thinking she was looking for a cure for their daughter’s allergies, he let his fingers continue to stroke her thick mane and turned his mind once more to the intricate dance that was high court politics. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Syriana purred absently as Demitri’s fingers wound through her unbound hair. She tried to keep her mind on the text before her, but it was difficult. It was written in an old forgotten language that she had to decipher as she went and often felt as if the words were deliberately trying to rearrange themselves as she read them. She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned her head back to rest on her husband’s knee. “Face it girl, it’s not the book that is keeping you distracted,” she mentally berated herself. Truly, it was not the book, but her darkly turning thoughts. Leaning her head on Demitri’s knee fully, she gave up all pretense of reading and looked to the fire instead, letting her thoughts drift where they would. She had not journeyed out of the boundaries of Haven since the siege of Ravnglade and her subsequent fight with Firebrand. After that battle, she had limped home and then fought along side her husband and the rest of the forces of Haven until the Scion had relquenished its hold on the captial and retreated to the steadfastness of the Wood. They had returned then, in a flurry of activity to protect the city and its inhabitants. Then, as quickly as it had menaced them, it retreated, leaving them in relative safety. Unable to believe in their good fortune, everyone had returned to the palace and the routines of daily life. Court was busy this time of year with Yule festivities and the children especially were looking forward to a time of peace and family togetherness. “That is not what is bothering you either, and you know it,” came the traitorous whisper in her mind. She touched on the source of her mental discomfort like someone rooting at a sore, loose tooth with his or her tongue. It was as if she could not help herself. “He isn’t a bit like his father. So I can’t love him for being his father, now can I?” There, it was out in the open, even if the open was only the confines of her mind. She had heard the gossip that had been floating through the palace, and elsewhere. She’d heard the thoughts of his brothers mirrored in the their eyes, all but Stryker, lady bless, he at least seemed to realize, or think that the love she shared with Demitri was real and not based on false pretenses. “How to fight such small-minded rumor though? What can I possibly do to convince the world that I am not still in love with Vorador, or just with his son to drive the knife deeper into his heart? How do I convince myself of it?” With a sigh and stretch, she basked in the warmth and light of the fire, her head still resting comfortably on her husband’s leg. Yes, that was the root of her worries, not Firebrand or his need of vengeance, not the faint echoing that told her Mephysto and Omen had returned to the realms, not even the bitter death of her friend Lunasilva could shake her mind from it’s black torment and self-inspection of what she really felt or thought she felt. She could not even think on how to free the Dream Lord from his prison in the mists, or how to free her adopted daughter of her allergies that threaten to burn down the palace around them. Darshu’s words came unbidden to her mind, “It would be easy to seduce you from your husband dreamwalker, and truly it would free you as well.” Did she love her husband? Of course she did! She mentally chided herself. How could she not? He was everything anyone could ever want for in a mate. He was strong, but gentle. Compassionate but commanding, loving, but could be ruthless if pressed. He had few weaknesses and many strengths. Truly, any woman would have been happy and counting her blessings to be with such a wonderful man. So why the self-doubt? Why the niggling worry that she was doing /him/, her lover, her husband, a disservice? Her thoughts took a darker turn as she opened her eyes again and stared into the flames. It felt almost as if someone was trying to manipulate her feelings for her beloved and cause yet another reason for strife within the seemingly peaceful walls of the Palace d’Emeraulde. Surely, none in Sym’fyhael had the power to try to weave her feelings against her. Besides who would benefit from it? Her thoughts continued their ever darkening and ever inward-spiraling path until she dropped into a weary sleep, still curled up at her lover’s feet. This article comes from Dark Reflections http://darkreflections.us/rosha/ The URL for this story is: http://darkreflections.us/rosha/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=7