#a nap n then a fight n dramatic romance? i cannot WAIT

[mindsmade]

The touch of her hand affects his entire being. It does not stop at the back of his hands, there along his knuckles — it moves him from head to toe. It feels almost like that single hand is everywhere at once, most prominently on his heart. She has it in a chokehold, and Aphanarû is left to wonder if she even realises it. If her wisdom thus far is anything to go by, she does.

He would only doubt the depth of her awareness in response to her remark, had she said it under any other circumstances. Instead, he laughs — at himself, not unlike she does. She is right. ❛ That is the first time I have ever been accused of such. ❜ Indeed, he is not the sage holed up in his study that many might prefer to see for a man in his position. He is one for action, often unthinking in his ways and in favour of intuition. So, too, he has been with any others upon taking a more personal interest in them. Though he has never truly claimed a person, he has had others, not generally erring on the side of caution in leaning into his desires ( and that of whoever else was involved at the time ). His interest in the sapthêth is of a different sort, however — or perhaps simply more profound.

His reticence and thoughtfulness may well only exist around Berúthiel, inspired by the earnest respect her presence demands. She rather reminds the Prince of the very same britti that passes through his gardens from time to time; the britti she so admires — it will be beheld, but not held.

Aphanarû realises there is truth to her statement when he realises he has indeed been rather caught up in his own mind. The swift passage of time between her hand finding his, a gesture he so would have wished to reciprocate more aptly, and the withdrawal of her touch is a testament to it. So, too, the cause of her prod at his sudden pensiveness becomes known just as swiftly. A frown not too subtle in its expression of concern ( and mild displeasure ) shoots across his forehead.

It ends in inevitable surrender. Trust is an invaluable thing, and she is asking for it — but she has earned it, so she will have it. An almost sullen grunt leaves him as he braces the heel of his palm onto his thigh, elbow jutting out. With the other hand, he stills his tongue with a sip of still-scalding tea from the metal cup. He briefly winces after swallowing, suppressing the cruder urge to backpedal on his commitment to the drink entirely. ❛ All right. I trust you, so I will let you do as you deem wisest. Of all people here, you are most qualified, ❜ he concedes with a nod, managing a wry smile at last. ❛ Until then, let us rest. We have many an hour left until the sun sets. Perhaps we ought to catch up on sleep whilst we can, once our tea runs out. ❜

Berúthiel turned her silent gaze upon Aphanarû. The conflict in which the man was mired was so obvious, at least to her. His face remained polite only, interested in what she imparted; and yet his mind was a busy place of chaos and consideration. He was loud, was the princeling, his mind all a muddle of what he wanted, what he desired, what he knew was right, what he wished not to do, offenses he wished not to give, liberties he wished dearly to take.

The sapthêth laughed at him. Gently, quietly, she laughed. And gently, softly, she laid one hand over his own. The shock of the touch went through her and she thought it likely struck him as well; his skin was warm, darker on the backs of his hands where the sun more often kissed it; she imagined if she turned it over she would find the roughness of callus on his palm and fingers from the reins of his horse and the hilt of his blade. She did not do so.

“Aphanarû-phazan,” she said aloud when the echoes of her laugh had faded back into the edges of the tent, “you think too much.”

She took back her hand, slowly. She folded it upon her lap with the other, shifting her weight among the cushions. 

“What happens,” she said quietly, “will be what happens. I do not doubt you will protect me just as you would protect any member of your retinue. And as a member of that retinue, however… unofficial my position might be… I will serve as is appropriate. I ask only that you trust me in my dealings with them, even if at times what I must say or do seems to you strange, or frightening. Some of those whom we might meet will not be very like your people, prince of Umbar.”