The Songbird and the Wolf

[ XXII ] Stolen Claws

Astor's voice is the first to pierce the nervous quiet.

"What do you mean?" The words are a cold, very barely controlled, fury.

In spite of the cold tone, one look into Astor's eyes and all Quinn can sense is pure flame. 

That they had only just been reunited - and God help the poor soul who attempted to separate them again. 

"Orders are orders," says a man who is clearly enjoying enacting the very same. 

Elodie's voice is quieter, but the fury is as clear as the sun in the skies over their heads. "You promised my friend safety."

"And I will not go back on my word," the confirmation is truthful, the Knight's heartbeat doesn't so much as hitch when he speaks. 

He sucks on his teeth, chuckling softly. "There is only so much Court Aquila stink we can bare with at once." 

Childish taunts, the murmur of laughter is something Quinn is barely conscious of.

"We cannot have too many strangers in our Court at once, as I'm sure you understand." 

Esmond seems nothing more than disappointed by the lack of reaction, but his tone does not quaver. 

"Or maybe not - from what I hear you weren't aware of a threat within your own walls until it was already too late." 

It is that which makes something snap. 

She makes the mistake of stepping forward, Quinn doesn't know if it is out of anger or something else. The movement slight but no one misses it.

Metal sings as several dozen blades point in her direction. 

Elodie is unconcerned, her gaze barely deigning to drift across them with disinterest. 

She is, however, in control enough that her movements slow to a seamless halt. 

Astor moves, the movement as smooth as rushing water, between the guards and Elodie, the movement almost unconscious. 

As instinctual as breathing. 

It is only as she watches Astor move, that Elodie's disposition changes - that too as subtle as the shift of the sun towards mid-sky. 

"Okay," her voice is hoarse but otherwise unchanged. "I will do whatever you need of me," her gaze drifts towards Sam, before snapping back towards Esmond. "If you assure my friends will be safe." 

The iron is back with the latter words, a slicing bitter thing. 

Esmond's laugh this time is not taunting this time. 

The closest thing Quinn can put a word to the melodic sound, is someone who's other choice is a sob. 

"Court Corvus has never been thought of kindly, Your Majesty," somewhere between a growl and a song, whichever would be deemed closest - it is clear it is a warning. "But we would not hurt a guest." 

She swallows, calculating and chewing on the words in silence for nothing more than a minute. 

Before finally deciding that his word is enough for her. 

"Okay." 

Astor, is less willing to listen. 

"Your Majesty," his words are deferring, quiet. "El-..." 

She swoops around, her pale, narrow arms around Astor's neck in a swooping motion that startles even the male fae. She holds him close for a moment, whispers something to his ear that only the pair is privy to.