#an aim so true your god's blood dies with you | kurth

[incendiums]

A tinge of pink dusts across Cigyun’s face as she imagines playing a duet with Kurth.  They’d sit together, laughing as their hands continue to bump into each other.  Ah, she’d like that very much.  Perhaps she will hold him to such a promise another time when there are less prying eyes and less jealous husbands about.

She sucks in a breath as the prince’s thumb rubs against her hand.  It’s rather bold of him but she quite likes it.  Kurth has a certain charm to him that Victor could never dream to emulate.  Everything he does is so genuine. From the way he looks at her to the way he inquires about her thoughts. Victor drew her to him with honeyed words and empty promises. Kurth only needs to smile.

But she cannot be drawn to him at all!

And yet she still allows herself to be tempted as she is led onto the dance floor. It could easily be mistaken for something innocent by an onlooker if they did not know the secrets her heart keeps. It is simply a kind man taking pity on a lonely woman who has not had a dance all evening. But she smiles brighter for him than she has in ages and she laughs at his attempt at humor. When was the last time she laughed like this? And as the distance between two friends closes, she wishes he would pull her closer still.

“Far better now that you are here,” Cigyun keeps her voice at a whisper, glad for the music to keep any prying ears from listening. “Perhaps we ought to trade places, hm? I shall try to charm your advisors and you watch as my lord husband adds another pearl to his collection.” She sighs and forces her eyes to keep from straying toward the woman with Victor. “Forgive me. That was a terribly ugly thing to say. I would love to hear more about your flowers. The gardens here at Belhalla have always been lovely. I’d like to see them again before I must return to Velthomer.”

[ Prince Kurth of Grannvale ]

He dared to pry into her lovely eyes, as loneliness was an ailment only cured by company. Kurth could only wish to tell her that whatever ugly emotion left her lips was prone to heartbreak, to the tatters of a worn silk, but never truly poison. Not to him. He was of the notion that she need not be idealized, only cared for, seen, for who she was. It was in these moments he thanked Naga that she un-assumed all the masks of society for him. "I can hardly imagine that under all the masks you must wear, that I should require you to put on another. Let yourself be, dear Cigyun. You are in no wrong, feeling as you do." Kurth leaned in gently, allowing a quiet breath to be shared between them.

It was a little known fact, but the sheer bitterness of her voice could only be mirrored by the pit in his stomach. It only grew in times like these, when Victor Velthomer knew no pride but the one hanging below his filthy belt. He wanted nothing more than to watch Cigyun, strong as she was, vibrant as she was, to one day tear through the string and watch those pearled stars fall out of place.

Changing strides, as easily as a sea of morning glories, he turns them thrice fold, sifting them in lovely, rounded pivots. Her skirts flounced, ribbons and pearls curling and catching against candle light. His closest friend always did have enough light in her eyes to carry the entire ballroom on her shoulders. She was like a pillar of indominable hope, in a world hardened by the fallible truth, and the infallible lies. "Perhaps I will allow you to speak briefly on my behalf then. You may be able to convince them to allow me just a slight budget. We are not so poor that we should neglect our people's more gentler inclinations."

His smile was showing the same gleam he had when he prided himself of a bad joke. But even when it was all in jest, he wondered if something like that would work. Kurth wasn't a fool, but a strategist after all. "Nevermind that." The hand pressed to her side, clasped at her hip ever affectionately. It was so effortless to dance as though they knew each other to the very core, and as though their hands knew the ease of familiarity. "Though if it would please you..." Guiding his other hand to turn her towards the center of the floor, where all could witness them. "Perhaps we ought to visit my private garden. I haven't taken you in quite some time."

"If you find yourself in need of distraction, you may write to me—that I should return the favor, twofold." A fond twinkle in his eye never left her sight.

@fillespreferees

A tinge of pink dusts across Cigyun’s face as she imagines playing a duet with Kurth.  They’d sit together, laughing as their hands continue to bump into each other.  Ah, she’d like that very much.  Perhaps she will hold him to such a promise another time when there are less prying eyes and less jealous husbands about.

She sucks in a breath as the prince’s thumb rubs against her hand.  It’s rather bold of him but she quite likes it.  Kurth has a certain charm to him that Victor could never dream to emulate.  Everything he does is so genuine. From the way he looks at her to the way he inquires about her thoughts. Victor drew her to him with honeyed words and empty promises. Kurth only needs to smile.

But she cannot be drawn to him at all!

And yet she still allows herself to be tempted as she is led onto the dance floor. It could easily be mistaken for something innocent by an onlooker if they did not know the secrets her heart keeps. It is simply a kind man taking pity on a lonely woman who has not had a dance all evening. But she smiles brighter for him than she has in ages and she laughs at his attempt at humor. When was the last time she laughed like this? And as the distance between two friends closes, she wishes he would pull her closer still.

“Far better now that you are here,” Cigyun keeps her voice at a whisper, glad for the music to keep any prying ears from listening. “Perhaps we ought to trade places, hm? I shall try to charm your advisors and you watch as my lord husband adds another pearl to his collection.” She sighs and forces her eyes to keep from straying toward the woman with Victor. “Forgive me. That was a terribly ugly thing to say. I would love to hear more about your flowers. The gardens here at Belhalla have always been lovely. I’d like to see them again before I must return to Velthomer.”

[ Prince Kurth of Grannvale ]

He dared to pry into her lovely eyes, as loneliness was an ailment only cured by company. Kurth could only wish to tell her that whatever ugly emotion left her lips was prone to heartbreak, to the tatters of a worn silk, but never truly poison. Not to him. He was of the notion that she need not be idealized, only cared for, seen, for who she was. It was in these moments he thanked Naga that she un-assumed all the masks of society for him. "I can hardly imagine that under all the masks you must wear, that I should require you to put on another. Let yourself be, dear Cigyun. You are in no wrong, feeling as you do." Kurth leaned in gently, allowing a quiet breath to be shared between them.

It was a little known fact, but the sheer bitterness of her voice could only be mirrored by the pit in his stomach. It only grew in times like these, when Victor Velthomer knew no pride but the one hanging below his filthy belt. He wanted nothing more than to watch Cigyun, strong as she was, vibrant as she was, to one day tear through the string and watch those pearled stars fall out of place.

Changing strides, as easily as a sea of morning glories, he turns them thrice fold, sifting them in lovely, rounded pivots. Her skirts flounced, ribbons and pearls curling and catching against candle light. His closest friend always did have enough light in her eyes to carry the entire ballroom on her shoulders. She was like a pillar of indominable hope, in a world hardened by the fallible truth, and the infallible lies. "Perhaps I will allow you to speak briefly on my behalf then. You may be able to convince them to allow me just a slight budget. We are not so poor that we should neglect our people's more gentler inclinations."

His smile was showing the same gleam he had when he prided himself of a bad joke. But even when it was all in jest, he wondered if something like that would work. Kurth wasn't a fool, but a strategist after all. "Nevermind that." The hand pressed to her side, clasped at her hip ever affectionately. It was so effortless to dance as though they knew each other to the very core, and as though their hands knew the ease of familiarity. "Though if it would please you..." Guiding his other hand to turn her towards the center of the floor, where all could witness them. "Perhaps we ought to visit my private garden. I haven't taken you in quite some time."

"If you find yourself in need of distraction, you may write to me—that I should return the favor, twofold." A fond twinkle in his eye never left her sight.

@fillespreferees

[incendiums]

Convictions of a Steadfast Star { Cigyun || Kurth

[ Prince Kurth of Grannvale — Friend. If Nothing Else ]

What undoes Kurth is the fact that the stars are unmoving, as they are steadfast in their gaze and unfaltering in their path across the sky. The refinements of polished society suit her well—it reflects in her manner of poise and the way her eyes give off a silent, faithful glow in the direction of another. His dear friend has the means to undo Kurth, and she does so every time she plants her heels on cold tile, waiting for warmth to reach her roots. It struck him odd that she would not allow herself to come apart, no matter how roughly her husband tugged at her loose threads.

What warmth could come to a star who could not come apart, but sought the orbit of another?

He descended the stairs, waving off the troves of socialites and advisors biting at his heels for something more than he was. His footsteps clacked with a well-tempered warmth, of which he'd gladly trade his friend in exchange for her gaze to falter— just once. The pianoforte was close enough for him to tease. "Are you willing to play for me, Cigyun?" She had no need to— but the vision of her dancing away at ivory keys was delightful. "I jest. I would never put you on the spot like that."

Kurth could not help but cast the corner of his gaze on the unsightly philandering of one such Victor Velthomer, but he refrained from mentioning his disagreeable countenance. The infamous man had another woman hanging off his arms, as though his footwork could attract every insatiable flower aside from the one that was actually his. Kurth's gaze followed the soft glow of Cigyun's curls instead, as his chest lifted in prim, composed pride. "You know as well as I that your good humor belongs on the ballroom floor."

Extending his ever steady hand in her direction, he wondered if he had any right to deign her an unfaltering star. What exactly would that make him? (Cut from the same velvet, perhaps? What right did he have to intervene then?) Kurth was hardly in tune with his own expressions, as the soft crinkle of his eyes cracked through his more stoic countenance. His reputation of being straighter than an arrow could almost be deemed a mistake in good company.

Kurth's hand extended, falling away from his own trajectory into hers.

"Would you do me the honor of reserving your next dance for me? I cannot mistake a great moment of happiness when I see one."

@fillespreferees

[incendiums]

[ Prince Kurth of Grannvale ]

Prince Kurth, for better or for worse, had always been a considerably stern fellow with a penchant for crossing no lines he could not personally abide by, regardless of the pressures placed upon him by the state. Lines, moral or political all the same, were within his domain. He had the sort of doggedness to his high ground that no man could shake, and he curated an almost stoic, unquestionable air to his manner of decision making. A fair man he must have been, for he commanded respect by being true to his own values—values that, even when crossing the most outspoken of men, could not be condemned. For he was spotless. Frustratingly so. What sentimentalities he had, what gentleness he could provide, was hidden from the Royal Court. (For fairness could only be considered fair if he favored no one and everyone equally, correct?)

"Haha... Then, if I were to play with you, I would take the fall and play out of key." His eyes gleaned of dancing lights. "My old tutors would be unable to look me in the eye."

As he found himself in a bout of amused, almost soft-hearted laughter, that reputable, sobering side to him was no where to be seen. This gap in his personality could be caused by none other than the Duchess of Velthomer, his one and only exception. (His very own clause of omission, given her unyielding attachment to the duke of her titular house.) They could share nothing and everything together, and, by the nature of their unshaken loyalty to their own creeds, were spared some of the more scathing scrutiny of high society.

"Surely..." With her dainty hand answering to his, Kurth bowed in response, ushering a fresh wave of gossip in his midst. Her lavender locks rolled over her shoulders in tragic beauty, and he could simply not keep her eyes off of her. "It would please me quite much." His gloved thumb ran quietly across the back of her hand, so subtle a motion he wondered if she would even notice.

He wished to comfort her in some way... and the crinkles by his eyes as he smiled hinted of more than sympathy. To him, this exception— this extraordinary connection of theirs— was valued so deeply, he wanted her to be seen for more than a mere object of pity. As the candlelight danced in their wake, every pair of eyes were on them for just a moment, to remind Grannvale that she was no mere faint flame. Pressing her hand into the nook of his arm, he lead her onto the dance floor and settled into the limelight with an accustomed assurance to his poise.

"And how has my fair confidant been faring?" Poor word play, but he did not have any formal training in good humor, did he? He laughed quietly, entertained by his own sorry sense. As the violinists began their swell and tremblings, Kurth rested his hand gracefully on her side and pulled her respectfully close. He pressed their palms together, raising them up to turn in sweeping circles. "I, for one, have been getting no headway against my advisors so far."

As the bass reached a lull, he closed the distance between them, capturing her glittering gaze and the pearls that spilled off her hair. Between just the two of them, he murmured brightly. "Though, I suppose the state has no time for flower gardens, does it? What a shame. I was hoping that my suggestions for preservation sites would be better received."

Pale lavender eyes watch the Duke of Velthomer the entire evening. There's a woman on his arm again and he smiles at her the way he once smiled at his wife. Cigyun wishes she could be angry but it is sorrow that fills her heart. For herself, perhaps, but also for the poor woman falling victim to her dear husband's words.

It is bold of him, she thinks, to parade about like this in public. She is not so naive that she does not know what he does in his chambers when he does not request her company. But it is different when he makes her watch. When she is forced to see her current replacement.

A dainty hand clutches tighter to the glass of wine she's been carrying around. It would be so simple to down it and seek out another. To hope the drink numbs the pain in her mind.

But she mustn't give in to his vices. She is above that.

The warmth of the Prince of Grannvale's voice pulls Cigyun from her misery as he teases her. "Prince Kurth!" There is a hint of a playful lilt in her own voice. "There are far too many people here! Imagine if I were to press a wrong note?"

It is just like the prince to find her here and attempt to raise her spirits. How many times has he found her in her moments of need now? She could not imagine a kinder man. It is a marvel how he is yet to be wed!

His hand finds hers and he asks for a dance. She turns to glance over her shoulder where Victor and his current interest have embraced and begun to dance to the music. The Duke of Velthomer is a notoriously jealous man. She's been forced to keep her friendship with Kurth a secret because of it. But surely even Victor could keep his temper under control enough in the presence of all of their peers. He would not deny the son of his country's king, would he?

"If it pleases his highness," she answers with a courtsy. She is polite. Formal. Her own feelings have not mattered in years.

She mustn't give in to his vices. She is above that.