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Lucis Angelus DuGrace

Had there ever been a more peaceful and uncontested transfer of power? Surely not. In many ways, it was like a dream -- or waking up from a nightmare. Suddenly the heavy shadow of malevolence was lifted, and all that was left in the wake of such awesome pressure and evil was an uncomfortable stillness, and the electric-tasting calm that came before a tremendous storm. And all he could do was exist through it and hope that he survived the tempest that was to come, for in this game of power, survival was the only way to win. 


But things were different now, weren’t they? He could no longer just go and come as he pleased. There were responsibilities now. There was someone who counted on him. And while the feeling was overwhelming, it also focused his objectives and that was a feeling unlike any he had ever had before. Now there was purpose. Now he had resolved to see this through. Now there was something worth fighting for -- something worth dying for. 


And so he lingered there, near a massive set of French doors framed in panels of gold, overlooking a large veranda with a delicate cast iron ‘lace’ design edging the high corners of the support beams that rose at different intervals. Through this work of stone, wood, and metal, he observed the garden beyond. It was a generously sized courtyard, a private affair for this particular set of living quarters. The exclusive living space of the regent of Veelos, a place of tranquility and beauty, a place held at a distance from the intrigue and danger that came from managing such a strategically important, and problematic area of Orisia. 


He’d brought her here, not knowing where else to go. There was a claim here, one that he had abandoned not two years ago when he thought her life was in danger, back when Raphael had taken control of the capital and country. And now there were so many questions floating in the air as the vacuum of power that was left behind after the departure of Raphael’s forces seemed to grow and grow. But this was home, or it could be home, if only he could convince her to stay because if she didn’t -- he would follow after her. He knew it. He knew he would never leave her side again.


He sat in a wide-armed wicker chair, watching with his mother’s golden eyes the way the trees shifted gently in an invisible breeze. But he didn’t care much for what he saw. He was listening. He was focused on the sound of her voice. She was in the garden, speaking to someone. There was laughter, sweet as summer rain, and there were whispers devoid of treachery but full of worry. He sat there and waited until she dismissed the servants who had come to ensure their comfort, and who had also come to learn what they could about the Prince and Princess’ intentions now that they had come to Veelos.


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9kFwz2U.png"What is this? An intruder lingering amongst the comforts of my home?"

Lemoine took a dangerous tone with the gentleman who has so casually been carved from moonlight and shaped by stardust. He is an overwhelming sort with a figure that overtakes a room and a demeanor that demands attention. She would never openly tell him that he snatches the air from her lungs, leaving her feeling weak and vulnerable within the breadth of his presence. That would be too tantalizing of a tell - he's already so aware.

Bare feet padded their way forth, helping her invade his quiet space with her soft presence. Delicately, she slipped atop his lap, spreading the caramel tulle of her elaborate dress across them. The star sequins sprinkled through the sweet fabric shifted prettily with each movement as she got comfortable atop her familiar seat. Before drawing their conversation to the agenda of the day, Lemoine threw her arms around his neck while wearing a sweet and welcoming smile.

What a privilege, she thinks to herself. He is carved from moonlight itself, shaped by shooting stars and hopeful wishes.

Lemoine lifted her face to the sweet caress of the day's splendor. The delicate breeze brought with it the scent of home and memory, causing her to drift against the touch of time lost. Is it wrong for them to enjoy this settled time? Considering the pains and heartbreaks that have brought them to this point, she can't help but feel misplaced or perhaps misguided? Theirs is a love story of the most fantastic sort, a story lover's tell one another during times of tribulation as an example of all things are possible.  

"What is on your mind this day, Lucis?" She moves her opalescent gaze to his proud face, her warmth not lost within their depths.

Edited by Aleksei

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She came to him like a dream. Everything about her was surely that -- a dream. From her splendidly formed feet, all pale and small and so very darling, to the length of her legs, visible through the sheer fabric of her gown’s skirts, up higher to her narrow waist, and the fitted bodice that hugged and lifted her ample breasts. She was well formed; a study in feminine perfection, the likes of which he had never before seen. She always took his breath away. It took just about all of his self-control to keep from standing, taking her into his arms, and carrying her away to the bed that they had already made such good use of. 


“What is this? An intruder lingering amongst the comforts of my home?”


“A humble man who accidentally became a voyeur. I came across great beauty and could not resist peering through the trees to continue watching a goddess in her sacred repose…” he adjusted his legs, leaned back and opened his arms to her as she claimed the seat that was rightfully hers. Upon the bowl of his lap, she settled into a loose embrace with one of his arms circling around her waist, and the other resting possessively atop of her knees. The exposed shoulder, closest to him, was a temptation he could not resist. He leaned down and pressed his cool lips to her warm, silken skin, and against her murmured softly, “...if you mean to change me into a stag, do so, fair one -- but place a collar ‘round my neck and claim me as yours, and if you do not want me? Then leave me to the hounds.”


He gave her a bite. It was impossible not to feel that urge. Never would he break her skin, or taste her blood -- the fear of losing control was too great. But the sweet torture of being so close and denying himself the satisfaction was the sweetest kind of titillation. So his teeth grazed her tender flesh, that soft curve of her shoulder, until he knew it was too much and he had to pull himself back. 


She lifted her face to meet his expression. 


“What is on your mind this day, Lucis?”


There was always the despair of yearning, a thing he did not want her to see. That was on his mind, as it was always on his mind. The smile upon her face lessened his thirst and replaced it instead with a hunger of another kind. Her lips were a slice of sunlight, and he knew they were painted with the sweetest honey. 


This was something he could claim, and so he did leaving her question to linger and dissipate in the air between them.


The hand upon her knees lifted and caught her chin. For a moment, he held her in place while he again tilted down to taste her lips. There was freedom to break away, of course -- there always was. But the way his fingers pinched at her chin revealed an urgency that he did not wish her to turn away. And when she didn’t, and he was certain that she understood his intent, he ran his tongue across the plump swell of her bottom lip, marveling at the remnants of orange and cinnamon.


“You taste like heaven,” he whispered to her, their lips still touching and the hand around her waist suddenly gripping a handful of her hip. 


Why bother crossing the room to the bed when he could have her here? He thought of plucking her up by the waist, by bringing her back down, straddled on his lap and hiking her skirts up so that they floated atop a cloud of golden-brown fabric while he drove into her over and over. He had to settle for a kiss, for there was much to say and he knew once he was tangled up in her limbs there would be no saving either of them from an afternoon of delight. But he took out his lamentations in that kiss he claimed from her lips as he tilted further and claimed her mouth fully. Suddenly, all that he wanted was to claim the air from her lungs and hold her until she tensed and shuddered. 


He broke away and let her sit and rest for a moment -- surely to catch her breath. 


“We’ve been invited to the capital by the Queen. What do you think, my love?”

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