Watching the movement of the court around him, he felt suddenly tense, claustrophobic, closed in, like the ceiling was pressing down on him. He needed to be outside. Needed to feel the air on his skin. Excusing himself with a tight smile and a quick, slight bow to the Lady he was dancing with, her smile setting off alarm bells for no reason he could detect or pin down, and headed for the door rapidly. They cleared a way for him, an Ebon Gray Warlord Prince known for his explosive temper.
He heard her following after him, could feel her anger and frustration with his 'being difficult' as she called it. This happened, sometimes, these days where he could not stay inside, could not be in the stifling air of a court, chained to small Queens in smaller territories. He felt, sometimes, almost as though his mother were trying to hide him away. From what, though, he hadn't the least idea.
Stalking out into the gardens, he took a deep breath of the clean air. She followed him a moment after, the door closing with deceptive softness. "What do you think you're doing?"
He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, knowing that an argument was coming that he couldn't avoid. "I had to get out. It was crowded, I needed to move."
"The Lady you just dropped so promptly was a powerful Priestess! You would have done well to respect her. She could have gained you a position in-"
"Is that all you can think of?" he snapped, suddenly tired of her incessant yapping. "A better position. I'm sick of this. All of it."
He felt her jerk back. "This is where you belong."
"No," he said, and suddenly was very sure of himself. "It isn't."
There was a long silence. The wind picked up, stirring his black hair back from his forehead above golden eyes. It stirred something in him, as it always did, the wind singing in his ears, caressing his shoulders, setting his belly afire and putting a yearning deep within him that he couldn't reach or name. For something. Something other than this endless dance of social intricacies and Court manners.
He heard the snap in her voice. "That's a ridiculous thought." And maybe a touch of fear. Why fear? "Where will you go?"
"I'm going home," he said, clenching his jaw. "Feel free to tell the Ladies I won't be back."
He turned and caught the expression as if she'd been slapped just before he caught the Grey wind back toward the small cottage to which he was confined, his shoulders prickling and twitching even when the wind was gone, his whole body yearning for something, reaching…
Lucivar's eyes snapped open with a shuddering breath, feeling the comforting weight of his wings as Marian shook him gently. "Lucivar?"
He closed his eyes and rolled over, taking her in his embrace and looking over at the cradle where Daemonar lay, fast asleep, his tiny little wings beautiful, like dark silk. "Marian."
"You were dreaming again," she accused him in a small voice – not a frightened voice, not quite. He gathered her close. She's not going to take you from me. She's not going to give me that life now. I'd rather be dead.
"It's nothing. Just a dream." He shook off the trappings and breathed in her soothing, sweet Marian smell, quiet with the fierce undertones of his hearth witch. He could hear her worry as she opened her mouth to protest and he laid a finger to her mouth. "No, Marian. It's fine."
…his whole body yearning for something, reaching…
His wings twitched and he shivered, just briefly. Like being tethered, tied down. Earthbound. He could still feel the wind in his hair, the painful need without knowing what for.
Marian sighed. "You know, Lucivar, if you want some times alone sometime, Luthvian could come and…"
"No." He cut her off more harshly than he intended, and quickly tried to moderate his voice. "No…I'd rather not. I just…" Wouldn't feel safe. Not with my little winged son and her. He shook his head. "I don't think so. Saetan offered, if you want to…"
She buried her face in his chest, too sleepy to focus on the oddness in his voice. "He's such a sweet grandfather."
Softly, Lucivar added, "And a good father, when he could be."
He would have killed you in the cradle…
…she wanted to cut off your wings.
Marian just made a soft noise and snuggled against him, cold feet tucked up by his thighs, already half asleep again. Lucivar let his eyes closed and let out a sigh.
…yearning for something, reaching.
He shivered, wrapped his wings around himself and Marian, and closed his eyes, slipping back into uneasy sleep.