Thread: Lonely Lies the Crown (Annabeth & Khaos)

No grandfather would dare ride that uncut monster of a stallion you treat like a child, she teased. Why you don't get him snipped and settle him down I don't know. He's keeping half the mares here looking over their shoulder for him. Seraphine's cheeks were already flushed with the upcoming release from the environs of the castle and from the easy way Rennes lifted her into the air, holding her at arms length with no trace of tremble in his muscular arms and no effort showing afterwards in his breath. It had always made her giddy to be treated that way and despite being a fully grown woman with the responsibility of her House and station and people to shoulder, part of Seraphine still felt like a child inside. After Rennes put her down, she fidgeted a bit with her skirts and canting her legs just so across the side saddle. Several times Seraphine had begged Rennes to teach her to ride astride, like a man, but he steadfastly refused and changed the subject when she asked why. As Rennes led them away from the castle, the sun caught Brouillard's coat and seemed to make it float before her eyes. Named after the fog that his coat so resembled, Brouillard was a perfect steed for a man like Rennes. Spirited, strong and deep in the chest with mighty lungs that gave him formidable endurance, and sleekly handsome, just like Rennes. In counterpoint, her mare was a dainty thing, all well defined lines and glossy coat that was midnight. So deeply colored was she that her coat and mane were the same shade, a rarity and one that Seraphine had immediately picked out from among the foals when they went down for the first births of the year. Named Fidlit, Seraphine's mare was the perfect size for her mistresses slender body. It was possible she could carry Rennes, but not for long and not with anything like the speed Brouillard possessed. Seraphine suspected that her bodyguard was pleased that she couldn't run away from him if such a silly headstrong notion manifested in her head. When Rennes handed her the reins, she twitched them to let Fidlit know who was in charge and turned them down a forest path that followed the winding of the river. Though it was on their land, time had forgotten Seraphine's destination. Once she paused, deep in the forest, uncertain of the way. Reading her mind Rennis clicked his tongue and then nodded with a toss of his head. Dazzling white teeth showed in a smile of thanks to him and Seraphine turned the direction he'd indicated. Soon they arrived at the bridge. No records existed of who had built it. There was an ornamental pillar in the bank near it, the style partially Etruscan and partially pagan, but it was not from the same era. The bridge was far older, put together without mortar, and the skills needed to construct it and make it stand the years was no longer possessed in the Kingdom. Frail seeming, slender as a maiden's neck and surrounded by the lush forest, it was a magical place. Over the years since Rennes had showed it to her, Seraphine had reserved it for just the two of them, never allowing anyone else to go. There may have been poachers or other woodsmen who knew of it, but the Princess and her bodyguard had never seen them. After Rennes tied their mounts up and he swung her down, she took a step into him and placed her arms around his waist, burying her face against his chest. A moment later the sobs started as Seraphine let go of the emotions she'd been holding inside. It was the most violent deaths she'd ever seen, though not the first she'd witnessed. There were executions in the palace courtyards, both axe and the noose, and once the priests had burned alive a woman they said was a temptress of Satan. Rennes had also slain men in her presence before, but never like what had just happened. I'm not sad, she said around the sobs. I'm not. You had to kill them to keep me safe, Rennes. I know that. But it was just so- she broke off and leaned her head back, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. Already the whites around the storm green were going red. Jesus forgive me, Rennes, but I was so proud of you. So proud that you were sworn to me. I took pride, sinful pride, in the death of those men and in you as the instrument of their passing. I'll need to confess of course, the Princess said, laughing sharply but it turned into another bout of silent tears and she pulled herself back into the comfort of Rennes' arms.