"Oh, cool. Hi there."
Skye's jaw falls at Day's casual acknowledgement of the most powerful figure in Greythorn. Only Chancen's grip on her shoulder restrains her from rushing in with excuses for the woman. Something along the lines of she's received one too many blows to the head or she's mentally unstable should do the trick. Anything to get Day out from under the scrutinizing gaze of those steel-grey eyes.
Galan blinks in confusion. No doubt waiting for Day to drop to her knees and beg for her life or some such nonsense. Or to apologize for besting him in a contest. Not happening. Skye knows the woman well enough by now.
Just when Skye's beginning to like the bug, here she is begging to get squished!
"You may all rise." Thank you, oh gracious one. Skye straightens out. Her brother's hand doesn't leave her shoulder. "Lady Daystorm, I have to admit you have me at a loss. I'm unused to such casual attitude towards my being."
Day, and yes, somewhere in the last couple of weeks the woman went from "the bug" to Day, most of the time anyways, crosses her arms and shrugs. If Skye's mouth drops any further, she'll be licking the dirt off of her brother's boots!
"The closest thing to royalty I've ever dealt with is the mayor of my city, and he's never made us scrape and bow before him." Oh no, she's pulling out the attitude! At least Chancen's here. He can explain to Fox why Day's suddenly missing a pulse!
"Ah, but see, in my realm, my subjects show me the respect due to my position." The subtle warning tone has Skye's wings quivering.
Skies above, she hopes Day takes note of the danger!
"Well, the way I see it, I'm not one of your subjects. My respect's earned the hard way."
It's like watching someone fly at the edge of a storm, waiting helplessly for the wind to sweep them into the tempest. None of the surrounding soldiers so much as twitch a muscle. The buzzing of the morning cicadas vibrates through Skye's tense being. Her jaw clamps painfully shut while they wait for the inevitable explosion.
Galan's eyebrows rise. He crosses his arms in a mirror image of Day's pose. "Very well then." The soldiers trade odd glances, relieved none of them are tasked with gutting the woman they're growing so fond of. "I must be going. My guard is surely searching for me by now. Lady Daystorm, I've thoroughly enjoyed making your acquaintance. I would like you to join me for dinner tonight. In the royal hall of course. Bring a friend."
Galan plucks Day's hand like a delicate flower, carefully avoiding her sharp nails. He draws it upwards and places a gallant kiss on its surface. A flush tints those cheeks violet.
Well why not? The King is handsome enough, for a man. Skye especially likes the silver hair falling in an artfully tousled mess to his shoulders. Galan diligently remains in top physical shape, a match for any member of his guard with his two handed sword. Not to mention those silver wings, the color unique even among the royal line.
Skye shivers. Yes, Galan's all those things, but he isn't the true King. He's a regent. There's no indication his wards have taken their final journeys. She refuses to believe the twins are lost forever.
A Commander often deals with the King and his council. On the few occasions she's attended council with Fox, the King's mannerisms left a distinct, bitter taste at the back of her throat. The man is impatient, self-entitled, and something in his eyes gives her the creeps. He isn't necessarily a bad King, more like a calculating, self-indulgent one.
Day better not decline the offer for dinner or Skye will take her out back and beat her.
"Oh... Ah of course, Galan."
YOU ARE READING
The Paths of GreythornFantasy
The dream paths, accessed by a chosen few, reveal the most likely future following any given choice. Unfortunately for the human dreamwalker Daystorm, the decisions made by the fairies of Greythorn make her long for the simpler days of sweat-induced...