Esther (glass) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-06-14 22:20:00 |
|
|||
Thanks to drawn contracts, he had found himself as a regular dinner guest in the Glass Estate, and that is where he makes the formal acquaintance of the charismatic Lord Rozenkatz (who matches and surpasses his betrothed in energy — the two being the very picture of irreverent children attempting to behave). The bard is graceful, courteous and warm, he is curious and asks all the right questions, makes all the right moves. Were Wulfram more aware of the world, he would have perhaps been terrified rather than charmed. He watches all the nuances of their behaviour, friends that are so comfortable with one another that the invasion of personal space is not a breach of protocol but a necessary part of their interaction. As the evening progresses, he finds himself as a spectator to their play and slowly drawn in (as the audience always is), until he feels part of the act. A long, pleasant dinner, and when they notice that Esther has begun to doze on the couch, the two agree to prolong their night out in the city and allow her some rest. Esther kisses his cheek first, all decorum present as she steps back and bids him: “Goodnight sweetheart” and in that same breath she is already turning from him to Mathieu. Her frame is relaxed and fluid, exhaustion at the seams despite the renewed smile; she embraces her friend with childish affection and bids him: “Goodnight, dearheart.” And then Wulfram understood the first true thing about Lord Mathieu Rozenkatz — that he irrevocably held a place in Esther’s affections no other man could ever contest. Others could be jealous, Wulfram was just mildly curious. He begins to feel his curiosity satiated when he enters a room and Esther is too tipsy to rise from Mathieu’s side to greet him(where she’s sloshing his brandy and giggling) and he is invited to join them with his own glass (after refilling only Mathieu’s — which Esther held in captivity — while Esther’s own cup was barely touched on the table). Wulfram knows that he is a welcome and regular spectator to their friendship then. He also begins to suspect that he is not only engaged to Esther but also by extension to Mathieu. His engagement was a complicated affair for so many reasons, which he could never coherently state with words. Perhaps the simplest reason being that she was a child (not literally, since younger girls than her would be already wed). Esther had been so young when first engaged to him, in the ends of her teen years before she had a chance to fully mature. Their parents had known this, as had he, and in his own foolish pride accepted her hand without knowing how vast the gap between their experiences were. As it became painfully clear to him, Wulfram (who was, despite his many flaws, a man of his word) kept their engagement intact and delayed the inevitable wedding. There were no oppositions to this, for her parents were fond of their only child and reluctant to let her go. He due to his career could not yet devote the proper time to a wife and family. Two years they had spent in each other’s company, having comfortable dinners, attending balls or simply spending an afternoon in silence with books and papers. Wulfram could not honestly bring himself to fall in love with his fiancé, and felt that her admiration for him had deceived her into believe she was in love with him. This illusion had been one he had coaxed her out of recently but Esther had ascertained that her promise to him was to be kept. What need had she of being in love? They loved each other, that was enough. For his part he had never been a romantic, nor predisposed to any impulses of that nature; he knew the rules of courtship, of marriage but nothing outside its social convention. Esther gave him her quiet, unyielding support when required (and sometimes even when not) and he couldn’t help but grow fond for the qualities that would make her a good — not just wife — but partner in life. It was no Romulus and Juliana but they were happy in their engagement. (When he clasped her hand, drew her close to kiss her cheek before departing after dinner and Esther would bid him: goodnight sweetheart). There was a companionable contentment and an air of intimacy that was uniquely theirs. In fits of affection Esther might call others dear or darling but sweetheart was reserved for Wulfram only, and he took certain pleasure in that. Wulfram chuckled, fondly exasperated with Esther’s inability to reign in her constant energetic impulses. After dancing most of the evening, she still had sufficient energy to plea for another one (last one, I promise!) that inevitably led to a countless addition of songs, twirls and things he cared not for. But Esther was happy, glowing as she fixed that warm gaze on his and he couldn’t find it in his power to deny her requests. At least by now she knew better than to ask him for more than one dance and stuck to more enthused partners who twirled her around. Sometimes though — sometimes he would look and know after so many hours of cataloguing the expressions on her face, as a good husband should know his (future)wife. In those moments he would wordlessly give in and kiss her cheek before leading her off to dance. Time had helped her grow, yet she was still so young in comparison to him; he tread in politics, plots and schemes, where he was certain someone like Esther would never fully prosper. Yet the spark she held that evening was comfortable reassurance after the unfortunate events surrounding the Mage Guild and the untimely death of Lady Xi. Esther, for her all her vivacity, was delicate (not frail) and for Wulfram to be faced with the grim reminder that his fiance’s determination was no iron shield in battle felt unsettling. It was not he who spent the most time by her bedside, nor brought her flowers, those tasks were exclusively Mathieu’s and he was far more suited for them than Wulfram, who knew not what to do when Esther cried out in pain during recovery. The healers had said it was nothing to be alarmed at, merely part of the healing processes of the body. Wulfram didn’t like it, delegation to Mathieu worked and life went on as normal(mostly). Esther did change — after a near death experience how could someone not? The differences were subtle, nothing cracked in the glossy exterior, the damages were barely perceptible scratches. Sometimes she’d have little appetite, her fork resting on the side of her plate only taking small bites when urged. Then she would be restless; Esther had always been prone to having too much energy but now it seemed to verge on mania as if she were about to be confined to a small space (he knew of Esther’s fear of small spaces, confided to him once when she’d had too much to drink. She’d been sheepishly embarrassed and they’d never spoke of it again — it was not his burden to bear anyway). And Mathieu? The man was too well trained in the arts of concealment for Wulfram to catch, but sometimes he observed a haunting sort of desperation in the relief Mathieu showed whenever Esther entered the room. Best intentions would not be of any use, Wulfram sits back and watches the two pick up and carry on as if nothing had changed (but it had, they all knew it and they were determined to move past it without ever explicitly stating what had happened, what had changed and what they would do about it). He wrapped his fingers around hers, thumb brushing her engagement ring (silver with a pink stone - plain to the point of offence but that was what suited Esther, and Wulfram liked that simplicity). “You know it is my hope to ascend to the office of Judge Magister someday — soon. Like your father.” “Then I shall hope for the same, that it may bring you happiness.” “You also know that I wanted to wait for that to happen before we wed, however, things have changed in this city.” Wulfram’s free hand is on the small of her back, ushering her to sit with him by the bench; this is not the best time or place, but if he faltered now he might not find the courage later. Right now, in this small fundraiser festival, Esther had been so happy that Wulfram thought it may sway her answer to his favour. Not that he thought she would refuse, Esther had never refused any request, submitting to anything with a dignified docility that was impressive at her age. At his pause, Esther felt apprehension, not for her wedding but the reminder of the frailty of the city; her fingers tightened, his hesitation subsided, “I think we should wed soon, within the next two months—” He felt endearment watching Esther’s smile grow as the initial surprise of the topic faded, “—and then we shall move away. Your parents have already assented to move up north where the rest of my family is. We’d be safe there.” “And what of your wishes for the office of Magister?” “The lives of our family are more important.” “If that is your will and that of my father, I have no objections.” Relief flooded him at her answer, drawing her close to kiss her softly feeling the comfortable affection there. Esther, unused to this sort of public display of affection shoved him playfully after a moment and rose to her feet. “If that is all, I’d very much like to have another dance before the night is over.” The impish tone curling at the ends of her voice implied trouble and Wulfram gave a mock sigh. “Go, dance as much as you wish, I’ll wait until you’re ready to go home.” “Yes, sweetheart.” Then she was gone, a colourful blur of silk chasing after the music like a butterfly. With any luck she’d find a partner to exhaust while he had a drink in contemplation. Putting aside any thoughts of planning their escape, Wulfram allowed himself to simply relax and enjoy the rest of the evening. They would be married and then this nightmare of a city would be over — a memory to be forgotten. |