It seemed to Lucanus that the warmth in her cheeks was the first spark of a wildfire; set beneath her too-soft fur it was a gentle heat, but leapt then to his own cheeks as well before rushing, uncontrolled, throughout the entirety of his body. Much like the hues painting his body—deep dark against pure light—there mingled in his eyes two contrasting emotions: a fierce, hungry want tangled with a gentle, curious hesitancy.

Although inexperienced when it came to the fairer sex, the young Savante was not ignorant as to the desires he felt surging through his frame. It felt, though, that there was a vast stretch between where he stood now and where he wanted to be; that space between was a perilous expanse of mist which appeared both inviting and frightening. All that he knew was that in order to get there, he must take the first step into the unknown. I would love to hear more of them someday, she invited, the perfect lure to spur him forward.

I'll do you one better, his mind spoke as his eyes took a quiet moment to behold her face, his brow furrowed in thought, I will make you one of us and our stories will be your own. Do you have family in these lands? he spoke instead, his brow relaxing once more, though there was still deep thought clouding his eyes. Would there be anyone to protest the absence of their daughter, sister, niece from their family dens? Was @Caltáriel strongly bonded to the wintry lands she had mentioned previously?

How blissful a turn this chance meeting had, however strange it seemed. Time eased Caltáriel's nerves, the flirtatious back-and-forth serious and unserious both, yet neither could truly tell when and where it teetered to one side or the other. How content she would have been to remain here forever. She allowed herself the surrender of him, to let her eyes roam his body, to let the space between them grow hot with their breaths. She had grown more comfortable in their brief acquaintanceship, even if her girlish whims remained; and as his words drew from his mouth with a casual interest, Caltáriel quickly found her eyes once more lifting to meet the intense umber of his.

My cousin, Morrigan, is the Queen of the Summit, she informed him, a teasing little smile unfurling upon her lips. I suppose I am distant royalty, then? Would such a thing charm him, or would it frighten him away? Caltáriel could hardly claim she was anything close to being powerful; but at the very least, she'd kept their bellies full and their heads filled with only good ideas. So I have family in both Illyria and Vermeda. Though, as far reaching and vast as it seemed, Caltáriel had been oddly detached. Different, not quite so ambitious and well-versed in politics. Raised wild, unfettered, free.

I'm assuming you do? She suddenly shifted, her eyes alight with a playful curiosity. She sidled up to @Lucanus suddenly, closing more of that lingering distance between them. I could have sworn I've seen striped and speckled folks like you around. In fact, she was almost certain she'd gotten nearly crushed by one of them. How embarrassing it would be to encouter that man again.

It was less the idea of power than the knowledge of connection that piqued the young Savante's interest. From the little time he had spent thus far in these lands, it had seemed that power was a fickle god, but connection—those who would fight alongside you—that was a tangible commodity, a source of true power.

Most pleasing to his ears was the lack of the names of any known enemies of his kin, and that sweet pleasure revealed itself in the hint of a smile tugging lightly at the corner of his lips. Good. The fine details of why @Caltáriel's response was a positive one currently eluded him, especially as she sidled nearer, but he could only feel that in her words he had been led just a few more steps closer to where he so longed to be.

Yeah, we kinda stand out, was his grinning reply to her mention of 'striped and speckled folks', his eyes glinting again with pride at the mention of his blood. He'd attempted to do a quick tally in his head of just how many of them were now in Amaryllis, but he was too aware of the warmth of her body, nearer than before, licking heat against his chest, and found he couldn't seem to think past his father and brothers. We're based in Andal right now, but if I know my father, a rhetorical statement; he practically worshipped Alexander, he certainly knew him, it won't be long before he finds us a pride of our own. He had been peering down at her over the lower lids of his eyes, his chin held in a neutral position. Hers was an irresistible pull, and he feared that if he dropped his chin down once more, bringing them even closer, he would be pulled down into her orbit until he had erased whatever space was left between them.

Caltáriel could have amassed the sheer size of his family by the idea alone that she had come across a good few of them so far in her short stay within this country. The months had lulled and long past but she seldom had left the Summit until the winter drew closer, and with each encroaching step it took upon the hallowed doorstep of Illyria, the more weary she had grown of its bitter cold, and the more driven southward she had become, taking longer and longer hunting trips further and further away from the mountains.

We're based in Andal right now, he says, and a small smile immediately interrupts whatever straying thoughts she may be having. An ally, she breathes, but as @Lucanus follows up with the desire for his father to claim a pride of his own, an almost impish spark glitters in her eyes, her soft smile curling into a grin. So you'd be a prince? She asks, a delight threading through her tone; not that Caltáriel was one to crave for power and control, but more one who dreamed and delighted in such whimsical things: princes, heroes and all.

She reveled in the way their eyes met, the soft browns of her own contrasting against the brilliant orange of his. They appeared almost celestial, in a way; ethereal, untouchable. And though her words were filled with wonder and curiosity, she couldn't help but feel as if she were inclining closer; the subtle pull of it just enough for her not to notice until she could feel the warmth of his breath across her lips.

And then, all at once, she did notice.

She paused, though she did not withdraw. The contact of their gaze was broken, Caltáriel swiftly looking down at her paws as she cleared her throat. Well, I'll be sure to cheer him on whenever he does go for his pride. Though, the memory of such affairs was a bitter one, and Caltáriel was keen on keeping her neck from getting maimed by one Ecrosian King again, if she could help it.

A deeper flush darkened his already-warmed cheeks at the mention of becoming a prince, though it had little to do with the suggestion itself and much more to do with the sound of the voice that suggested it. Though Lucanus delighted, too, in the idea of such a title, his head filled instead with the lust for respect that such a position would surely win him. He would be worth something then, he thought. He would have the right to attach to his name a word that aptly described how he already thought about himself—at least on the good days.

But all those considerations paled beneath the tinge of delight in Caltáriel's voice. Need for respect, desperation for a feeling of worthiness... once powerful strongholds in his heart gave way to the growing need to please her. And if nothing else was clear to him from their heated, heady interaction, he would walk away with that truth: it would delight this lovely creature to see him a prince.

He turned his face down to her then, and was quickly reminded why he had resisted it. He felt it, too, her breath too sweet and gentle against his lips; felt the way his heart suddenly slowed in the quiet moment as if dragging behind to wait for hers so that they could beat together. The pull felt irresistible then as he finally laid down his defenses against it—and she looked away, clearing her throat.

Though she did not withdraw from their nearness, he did so reflexively, flinching back as if the simple downward turn of her eyes was instead a swat at his cheek; well-deserved, he thought, for fooling himself into thinking that it would be that easy. And it shouldn't be, he encouraged himself as he stood abruptly to his paws, throwing a soft smile on his mouth in an attempt to distract from the wounded lostness he could feel in his eyes. I look forward to seeing you there, he returned kindly, reclining his head in a little bow as he edged a step backward, his embarrassment filling his paws with the itch to flee. I'm very glad to have met you. Goodbye, Caltáriel. With one last lingering gaze of her face, he turned then to leave. Maybe not home, but somewhere quiet at least where he could replay this meeting over and over and over again in his head, lingering on all the best parts and no doubt agonizing over the tiny areas where he thought he'd failed.

exit

Prince or pauper, Caltáriel would have found love for him regardless.

But such was the nature of a newly-fledged friendship that fettered them to the ideals of what could be, and the notion that she would soon seek out more of his and his family's endeavors excited her. She might have relented were he some recluse deep in the mountains, if he were as hard to find as a warm and sunny spot on the mountainside, both so desperately craved by the Greyflood girl and yet so difficult to find. Instead, he and his were thrust into the unrelenting light, and Caltáriel found herself almost giddy at the thought of attending that challenge one day, of seeing him shine among his peers.

All of the greediness and machinations behind the harsher intentions of others fell short on her; for all she could see was @Lucanus there, brilliant and valiant and all things like the stories her mother once told her.

It is only when he pulls himself away once more does the blissful reverie of such a time fell away all at once, and the heat she'd felt rise to her cheeks fell cold, and the space between them linger in a pregnant emptiness. And yet, it was her fault, too—and she wondered if, had she remained there, he would have kissed her.

She is unsure whether she is thankful or disappointed that he finally wrenches himself free. The tension between them snaps, the distance set forth comfortable once more, but not nearly as invigorating. Caltáriel parts her lips as if she intends to protest his leaving, but the heavy reality settles in that he did belong in Andal, he did belong to his family; and though she may have wanted to whisk him away to the Summit, it were far too soon to place all her hopes on this passing intensity, this feeling of instant connection she'd not quite felt so fervently with anyone else. She would be selfish to do so, to beg him walk her back home.

Goodbye, Lucanus, is all she says, but on the fringe of her tone is a hope that she would see him again. That she had not inadvertently set them on the course of chasing one another forever, and ever, and ever.

---

Exit Caltáriel