“That seems the kindest sort of reception.” Rhydian conceded with a nod, “And it shall ease the framing of the flattery I will be expected to offer after the curtain falls.” It wasn’t that Rhydian wished for the Kalzasern interpretation to be a failure. Far from it. But how could it possibly measure up? The singers in Sol’Valen were mired in traditions older than oceans and mountain ranges. Older by eons than the Avialae race that ruled these foreign lands. Low expectations could lead to pleasant surprises. In this case, he would be pleasantly surprised if he wasn’t offended by the mediocrity of this alien endeavour.
He sipped his tea, eyes dancing to the window as he was reminded of the beautiful vista without.
“Strange to think that this land was ours once…” It was an easy thing to forget, given the current state of things, that this, as all other realms, had once been an Hytori province. He couldn’t help but feel that it ought to have moved him more to think on it, but the Boundless Empire was a cold, distant thing. There were moments in his life when the thought of their former glory brought him to tears. Here, now and regarding this foreign sky trafficked by winged mortals it only felt like a half-forgotten fairy story. This may as well have been another planet. The Hytori had ruled those too and the stars above felt just as aloof.
“That sounds like a technique.” Rhydian sighed. He still hadn’t doffed the armour he wore in public. Perhaps if they were back at home he’d have softened by now. Familiar environs eased such transitions, but in the here and now the prince was still cool as the blades of his katanas.
“You want me to write for me, not for him. Because you think it will exorcise my dolour.” He pursed his lips and glanced down at his cup. He hadn’t even realised he’d emptied it. He placed it back down on the saucer on the table and sat back, nodding in answer to the offer of more.
“Do you ever manage your own whims by writing letters you don’t intend to send, or do you reserve such exercises for me?”
