So he takes the moment to calmly observe his betrothed. From his garb to his posture, the way his words sounded rich and pleasant in his ears, to the look of uncertainty in the greenest eyes Felix had ever seen. He's quiet for what felt like the longest time, trying to to put his defiant nature on hold, if only for a moment.
Theirs was a strange arrangement, one of the likes Felix has never seen. Between two men, and one an Almyran? There were political benefits to be gained for both, and it gave Rodrigue the satisfaction of marrying off his last son. But he couldn't imagine an offer from so far away. The man, Claude, didn't seem to have any retainers, other than the escort that brought him here.
Utterly alone in a strange new country.
...
Perhaps, if he still had the temperament and disdain for his father, like he did when he was a teenager - he would have left it at the hello. But despite his appearance, he took his responsibilities seriously. Rodrigue wished to retire soon, he knew that. He wanted Felix to take his title of Duke and his place by the King. Felix had been shirking this particular duty for too long, and at least Rodrigue met him halfway, if he had to marry at all.
So perhaps he could offer the bare minimum; he was here to greet and meet his betrothed properly.
There were two people in this arrangement, and he doubted Claude was very happy about it all either. Maybe he didn't even like men? There was only one way to find out, he supposed. Talking wouldn't hurt.
So with a sigh he's pushing himself off the wall, the picture of grace, no matter his frigid aura. His strides were long and elegant, his legs slender with his trousers fitting him like a second skin. Impeccably tailored, even in his hunting clothes. He was far too casual for this meeting, yet he still wore it so well.
Felix grunts softly as he takes a seat on the couch, next to the other man. Wordlessly he leaned over to the table, where tea and finger food awaited. The pot was steaming, so he poured himself some of the water, over the tea he picked out from the little selection on the tray.
He's quiet still, as he prepares his drink.
Until finally he's glancing over his shoulder, a bit hunched over as he plucks one of the more savory sandwiches from the platter.]
This will go a lot smoother if we don't lie to one another.
[He states this simply, in his curt way.]
My father told me another name. So, which is it?
[With his saucer plucked from the table, tea steaming and his sandwich perched atop the plate, he leans back into the couch. One leg crossed over the other, both eyes on the Almyran.]
no subject
That did not ring familiar.
So he takes the moment to calmly observe his betrothed. From his garb to his posture, the way his words sounded rich and pleasant in his ears, to the look of uncertainty in the greenest eyes Felix had ever seen. He's quiet for what felt like the longest time, trying to to put his defiant nature on hold, if only for a moment.
Theirs was a strange arrangement, one of the likes Felix has never seen. Between two men, and one an Almyran? There were political benefits to be gained for both, and it gave Rodrigue the satisfaction of marrying off his last son. But he couldn't imagine an offer from so far away. The man, Claude, didn't seem to have any retainers, other than the escort that brought him here.
Utterly alone in a strange new country.
...
Perhaps, if he still had the temperament and disdain for his father, like he did when he was a teenager - he would have left it at the hello. But despite his appearance, he took his responsibilities seriously. Rodrigue wished to retire soon, he knew that. He wanted Felix to take his title of Duke and his place by the King. Felix had been shirking this particular duty for too long, and at least Rodrigue met him halfway, if he had to marry at all.
So perhaps he could offer the bare minimum; he was here to greet and meet his betrothed properly.
There were two people in this arrangement, and he doubted Claude was very happy about it all either. Maybe he didn't even like men? There was only one way to find out, he supposed. Talking wouldn't hurt.
So with a sigh he's pushing himself off the wall, the picture of grace, no matter his frigid aura. His strides were long and elegant, his legs slender with his trousers fitting him like a second skin. Impeccably tailored, even in his hunting clothes. He was far too casual for this meeting, yet he still wore it so well.
Felix grunts softly as he takes a seat on the couch, next to the other man. Wordlessly he leaned over to the table, where tea and finger food awaited. The pot was steaming, so he poured himself some of the water, over the tea he picked out from the little selection on the tray.
He's quiet still, as he prepares his drink.
Until finally he's glancing over his shoulder, a bit hunched over as he plucks one of the more savory sandwiches from the platter.]
This will go a lot smoother if we don't lie to one another.
[He states this simply, in his curt way.]
My father told me another name. So, which is it?
[With his saucer plucked from the table, tea steaming and his sandwich perched atop the plate, he leans back into the couch. One leg crossed over the other, both eyes on the Almyran.]