AN: So, we are still working on this! Life and inspiration are fickle things... Like Sindre!
This story has transformed into less of a Fanfic and more of a completely original beast loosely based on a fandom AU...
A warning for this chapter: there is non-graphic, post-sex, lazy conversation at the end of this chapter. If that weirds you out, be warned. No parts are described or shown, but there you have it.
Enjoy!
XO Apple and Jin
It is believed in these lands that the Sun and Moon bring prosperity and balance to all aspects of Life, their Legacy. When burgeoning bud and breath find Light under the heavens, so Life will grow. And when Life has reached its acme, the doom bringer, Darkness, shall return to restore the cycle of Death.
The market place outside the city walls hummed, the milling of people bustling about their business like a swarm of bees in a flowering meadow. The warm spring breeze carried the scents of tar and oil from the river where barges and shallow drafted ships unloaded their cargoes on the wharves. Bales of wool and furs, giant sacks of grain, carefully stacked barrels that sloshed with the promise of a heady nectar stood upon the docks, waiting for the Dockmaster to make their inspection before the goods were collected by the porters and shopkeepers. A fisherman called their morning's catch from the boardwalks, the planks shimmering with a rainbow of scales from years of being swept and washed and somehow left unchanged by the effort.
Wooden wheels creaked over the hard packed gravel streets while drivers whips and calls cracked over the dusty patter of feet. Oxen and horses plodded along, unmoved by the clamour around them, ears flicking back and forth and grunting occasionally in their toil. Over it all rang the shouts and calls of vendors and thronging shoppers in their daily routines. Though Spring Fest was a fortnight away, already folk seemed to be putting up sprigs of greenery or hanging ribbons in festive arrangements on door frames or the headstalls of their beasts.
Despite the near festive air, Marta felt herself both pensive and apprehensive as she trotted beside the road, footfalls of her dappled gray thudding in the grass. When she had left Sindre after breakfast, she had hoped an afternoon with him alone would be just the thing to bring them closer together.
Of course, however, the court somehow managed to hear about the Prince going for an afternoon ride and all the festoonery of colourful clothes and bedecked horses ruined the clean spring morning even further. Nearly a dozen lords and ladies vied for Sindre's attention. Marta slowed her mount to a walk, denying the sigh that wanted out as she gazed down that inviting road.
Her gelding, Odin, was a world class animal, polished till he shone like marble, and held such regal attention that it seemed a shame to waste him on a trot around the streets instead hunting deer or other such sport. She wished to run, gallop away on the winding ribbon that sped across the hills to the valley where spring would be greener than here in the city. She wanted to test her mount, to run. To run, and run, and run until the world would never find her again. She wished that Magnus could see that she knew how he felt - and wished he could see… it didn't matter. Her visage firmed into resolve, then faltered at the scope of what was to be accomplished and the consequences of success. She hadn't the first clue as to how to woo a prince, let alone one so seemingly aloof.
Marta looked to the woman riding beside her, easily keeping pace as a distinguished rider herself. Lady Holly had been invaluable in her introduction in the inner circles and in navigating the turbulent waters of her courtly education. Several years older and a well-established member of the court, Lady Holly had been one of the first Marta had taken a liking to, and one of the first she felt she could call a friend.
Perhaps it was her candid nature, or tendency to poo-poo the stuffy atmosphere of pretension that surrounded the royal family. Or maybe it was simply that Lady Holly had seemed to understand her task better than she herself did. The muted browns of Lady Holly's attire made Marta's vibrant greens and thread-of-gold oak leaves across her bodice seem as vibrant as a spring leaf, and despite the frockery of the other courtiers, none could pull off that colour as well as she did. Marta was glad for the subtle encouragement from her friend.
"You seem thoughtful," Lady Holly commented, the warmth in her voice tinged with curiosity. Her auburn curls framed a heart shaped face and pert mouth turned up at the corners. "You seem out of sorts this morning, are you alright?" She did not look at Marta but the road, her concerned voice pitched to be heard only between them.
Marta almost grimaced, "Yes, I suppose I am. To be honest, I had hoped the jaunt this morning wouldn't be so… crowded," she said more politely than she had wanted to. She bit her lip, a whisper of doubt threading through her rapidly assembling plan. "He had said he had wanted to show me Caeleste, but I doubt this was what he had in mind," she gestured discreetly towards the group following behind them. "Nor I," Marta pursed her lips.
Lady Holly's brows rose, interest piqued. "Well now," she said, "what does this thoughtful expression have to do with our Prince, I wonder?" She shot Marta a sultry look, brow quirking askance. "He is one to dissemble, true. A pity, I always thought he could stand to be more forthright. Not that you'll have troubling educating him in that," Lady Holly smirked.
"Hmm," Marta agreed, looking over her shoulder at Sindre. She still had her doubts.
Sindre sat poised on his bay mare, his navy great coat and silver buttons looking as polished as ever. He replied in his usual genteel fashion to his entourage, laughing and joking with the same sort of aloofness she had come to see was his armour. Marta thought if it wasn't for the fact she had seen his marble features skewed into fury earlier, she would have believed he had had an uneventful morning. Still, there seemed a less chilly sort of energy around him since, as if he had made some choice. Was it to give her a chance, maybe? She hoped it was so, for she had no grand scheme yet to win him over.
She wondered if perhaps some of his words had been cathartic in nature for him, too. She had not seen him so uninhibited before. In part, that frightened her, though at the time she'd dare not show it. Since they had quarreled, he had gazed at her wonderingly, often. She took it for a good sign. And of course, everyone else had noticed.
"Lady Holly, would it be presumptuous to call upon you for a favour?" Marta asked, hopeful. "I could use your help, I think...I've had a thought this morning, and I'd like to..well try it out," she turned back to Holly, who shifted in her saddle as if preparing for an adventure. Marta thought it might be, if what she wanted would work. "It would involve a bit of scandal," she bit her lips coyly, "I feel as though I need to shake things up. It may even ruin my reputation, though, so it would be fair if you would rather not endanger yours by association," she added with a gesture of understanding.
Lady Holly shot her a sly smile, "Yes, well, the court is good at poking into others' business, especially the Prince's," she commented. "I for one want to know what that wicked gleam in your eye is all about. It is unlike you not to be in that throng distinguishing yourself as their better purely by virtue," she waved a dismissive hand at the entourage. "And so my answer is yes, I will help. If only to see that lot flounder," she rolled her eyes towards the crowd of courtiers grouped around Sindre, decorated in flattery and fake smiles, and grinned. "And also because I love gossip. So what is your plan?" Marta was learning to read the subtle excitement in the slightly sarcastic delivery.
Marta paused, then spoke quickly before she could talk herself out of it, "I need to speak to Sindre, alone, before we get much further. I'd like to whisk him away before their very eyes and leave no doubt in their minds that it is my company he is leaving them for." She raised her brows, "Could you perhaps entertain them with some fancy to keep them off our tail while we… disappear?" she waved at the rolling hills dotted with groves of trees, looping trails, and the clouds of dust rising from the market lanes.
Lady Holly laughed, a musical sound, "Oh, please, dear! This is why I even deigned to come along!" she teased. "I have no qualms with you getting that boy on his back, if I do say so myself. He needs a good lay. Sun and Moon both know he's too stiff in all the wrong ways," she said flippantly and shot Marta another wicked smile.
Marta flushed and gazed back down the road. "Yes well, I'd call it a favour if you could… keep the masses busy," she finished, almost embarrassed. Marta did not like Lady Holly thinking of her in such a lewd manner true, but the story would undoubtedly be exaggerated tenfold by the time it reached any ears at the castle; however, if intricate and potentially fictitious tales of indecency was payment for an honest rapport with Sindre, she would pay it.
"And what if they discover you? I daresay finding scattered undergarments in the woods would not deter anyone in this court from sneaking a peek," she laughed. Lady Holly glanced back and the Prince and his hangers-on thoughtfully. "In fact, it should have the exact opposite effect."
Marta gave in to the mental image and grinned, "Oh don't worry, poorly concealed hosiery all they're going to get!" she sassed back. Marta had no intentions other than actual talking, but having the court think they were intimate would, she hoped, play into her favour. "Of course, there will be no intrigue if the Prince cannot be disengaged from his entourage."
Lady Holly tossed her auburn curls, "Challenge accepted, dear! But, remember, I shall be the first one to know everything! " she shot Marta a knowing look and reined her horse to join the others. Laughter erupted and the group absorbed the woman with audible gasps of shock and delight.
Marta grinned as she heard the courtly welcome of the buxom lady, curious as to the gossip she evidently brought along with her. Marta knew Lady Holly never shared with her half as much of what she knew, and somehow that let Marta esteem her all the more for it. She waited and soon heard Sindre trot up beside her.
He said with a sigh, "Please tell me this is some scheme to divert our guests," and shot her a long suffering look.
Marta merely looked at him, slightly surprised to see such a candid expression, "Well, the thought did cross my mind," she drawled. When he sighed again she relented, "I do have a plan, but it will require your trust," she said seriously, "And maybe a slight disregard for the rules…" she hedged, making a small gesture and smirked.
"I will entertain almost any plot," Sindre replied, unimpressed, "Lord Sjovard is desperately trying to persuade me to hunt with him this afternoon, and one does not refuse him easily. Oh," he paused upon hearing her seriousness, his blue eyes searching her amber, "You're serious," he added softly.
Marta caught his gaze and for a moment she thought she saw the luminescent glow of a wild summer moon, clear and blue, like the playful, silver moonshine of rippling water. As they rounded the bend in the road, she looked over her shoulder to find the entourage well out of sight, still distracted by Lady Holly's gossip.
"Well, Sjovard's going to get one hell of hunt! Follow me!" she said with a whoop of laughter as she put her heels to her horse, shooting him a grin as wild as thunder over the plains. Marta only sensed the stunned expression before she heard hoof beats pounding after her.
Marta found herself laughing as the ribbon of road stretched before her! "Come on, Sindre!" she called, and her mount felt her eagerness to run. Tossing his head, Odin tugged at the rein and Marta let him fly! The wind rushed past and the world fell away. Sindre, not to be outdone, surged ahead to gallop beside her on the road's shoulder.
For the first time, Marta saw him grinning like a fool, practically laughing! Sindre shot her a devilish grin and she felt the unspoken challenge. The market was only a blur as they rounded the next corner, shouts of dismay and anger following them as they thundered past crowd and vendor stall alike.
Veering from the roadside Marta slowed, weaving through trees, across a creek, and into a shady glade where she dismounted, smiling wide.
Sindre followed suit, and then he spoke first, breathless, "That was a damned idea!" he said trying to catch his breath, smirking. He stood by his horse, breathing hard also. "You know I've always wanted to run away from obligations like that, but never quite dared," he said with a touch of admiration in his voice.
Marta stroked Odin's neck, then tied his reins to a bush. "Yes well, I think I've just destroyed a large part of my well-cultivated reputation," she deadpanned. "Come on, let's ruin it further, shall we?" With a wink she gathered her hair, windblown and disheveled around her shoulders, and presented her back to Sindre, "My buttons if you please," she said quickly. Marta tried to contain the furious blush, but still felt the pink rising in her cheeks. She wished to not think of what more she may want to happen, so she attempted not to think at all.
"Uhhhh," Sindre stammered, caught completely off guard. He cleared his throat, "Certainly, my lady," he said. He tied the reins of his bay to a low branch and tried to surreptitiously wipe his hands on his trousers, not quite knowing what was happening.
Marta nearly turned to stare at his blushing visage. "Well, hurry up, we don't have much time before they all gallop in here to find us. Scandal flies faster than Magnus when the dinner bell rings, and we must be well away before that happens!" her fingers clutched her skirts
Sindre's fingers shook as he undid the button at the nape of her neck and fumbled as they followed the line of pearls down her back. "No, I suppose we don't," he said, his voice sounding thick and distant. Marta nearly bit her lip amusedly at the uncertain tone of his voice. He tried, "What - exactly are - is there? Plan?" he stopped trying to speak.
With her buttons undone, she strode back to Odin, fingers flying over the buckles on the saddle bags, "You, out of the great coat, trousers too!" She tossed him a carefully tied bundle, "To be honest, this was going to be a gift for my brother, but…" she trailed off, before going round to the other saddle bag.
Sindre caught the bundle and stared at it stupidly. "Umm?" He unrolled it to find a fine linen shirt and fine, brown cotton trousers that had been stylishly reinforced with leather and embroidered along the woolen waistcoat the colour of cinnamon did not seem especially striking at first glance, but as Sindre's fingers lingered on the woven patterns, Marta knew he was beginning to see its quality.
"Oh, don't look so surprised! It's not hard to ask about your shoe size, let alone the cut of your shirt. All it takes is a friendly word to the castle Seamstress to find that out! Hurry up!" her head poked out from behind her horse. "Besides, if you go 'round the washing courts, you will find there is a well of information about any and all of the palace bachelors. Bard the Stable Master is the best thing to come out of the stables since Hansen the Handsome, apparently. He never leaves a Lady wanting, they say, though I'm skeptical. And one is never to be alone with Edric Cousland, he'll charm a lady right out of her skirts in a trice," she said matter of factly. Unsure of how to secret away a clean shirt from the Prince's rooms, it had been a happy discovery that her brother and Sindre were of similar proportions, which made the idea of tailoring this adventure far more plausible.
She nearly laughed at Sindre's stunned expression as he stared openly at her bare shoulders. She shot him a look to hurry up, and he cleared his throat. "Yes, right," he shrugged off his coat and shook out the shirt in his hands. Bright blue thread traced complex patterns at the collar and cuffs in the snowy fabric, "Is this your work?" he asked as if the question had surprised him. He shook his head to break his train of thought, "Am I correct in assuming that this is for matters of disguise?" he said, muffled, as he pulled the garment on.
Marta smiled at the breadth of his muscular back as he caught on to her intentions, "well yes, unless you really did want to get up to something lewd, which would be fun I suppose, but it would be a little rushed," she teased him. She slipped out her skirts, tossing the dress across Odin's back while she tugged another out of the packs.
"I suppose it would," he stuttered, and then quickly changed the subject, "So what is the plan, then? Aside from turning ourselves into fugitives from the prying eyes of the court?" He sighed, "And our families' condemnation?" he tightened his belt over the new trousers.
"I had hoped you might tell me, Prince show-you-the-heart-of-Caeleste," Marta taunted gently. "I didn't think we'd have such an entourage…" She slid her her arms through the sleeves of her own garment.
"Neither did I. I should have expected it though, so I apologize." He paused for a moment then, "it's your reputation that will take the brunt of this," he said, an expression of realization making his brow crinkled. "And did you truly plan for this… eventuality?" he asked.
Marta waved off his concern, "Nevermind that, I knew what I was getting myself into before I whisked you away, and I'm sure you'll make it up to me somehow. Speaking of, remind me to thank Lady Holly later. I imagine she's leading everyone on quite a goose chase - provided Lord Sjovard doesn't derail her." She tightened the lacings on her corset and tied them deftly. She took the green dress, folded it neatly, and stuffed it in the pack and fastened the buckle closed. "And yes, I did… well sort of?" she mumbled.
Sindre raised his brows at the mumbled 'yes', but made no further comment, unsure of what to make of it. "I doubt that Lady Holly will have much trouble," Sindre said instead, "Sjovard isn't much of a capable hunter - to be honest, he'll probably be the first to back her up if she sounds enough like she knows what she's talking about," his teeth flashed as he buttoned the waistcoat smartly. "He loves to feel important too much," he shook his head.
Marta absently hoped that her clothing choices were acceptable to him, knowing that Sindre was accustomed to finer wear. She stepped from behind Odin, "Well, what do you think?" she asked, as she twirled in riding skirts the colour of steely grey ocean, cinnamon thread tracing delicate patterns on the hems. Her cream coloured shirt was laced by a dark brown corset with brass fittings, and the pale orange damask shawl that draped her shoulders shimmered with a coppery warmth.
"You look lovely," Sindre complimented, smiling at the colour choice. "Do you happen to have cuff links? Or shall I take the ones from my coat?" he asked, holding his cuffs delicately. He looked to her, "or perhaps there is more secreted away in those packs?" he raised his brows at the seemingly endless supply of clothing so expertly packed into such tidy bundles, as well as the careful replacement of his former wardrobe into the satchels.
Marta fastened the last buckle and sidled up to broach his space, her hands running over the snowy linen of his shirt, "Oh no dear Sindre, a working man, such as the merchant's son you are, should wear them like this..." She took his palm in hers and turned it over gently, marveling at its smoothness. Marta noted that he did not pull away, though he seemed to be standing stiff as a post - Marta suddenly found herself agreeing with Lady Holly in her opinion of the Prince.
Marta skilfully turned his cuffs even so as she rolled them deftly up his arms, it showed her needlework. She felt his tension, then suddenly it relaxed, and Sindre's arms seemed to enfold her closer as she finished. "Show off those fencer's forearms, why don't you?" she teased. "Where to first?" she changed the subject, pushing away slightly, turning them to the adventure at hand.
Sindre gave her a wry, questioning look and then nodded. "Thanks," he said, tugging at his sleeves. Marta wondered if he liked that, or if he was just humoring her. He did cut a dashing figure, she thought. She bit her lip as he tugged his outfit once more, still every inch a Prince in different clothing - and it wouldn't fool anyone if they looked too closely, but it might give them the pretense needed to vanish from searchers, or, she hoped, give Sindre a chance to see a snippet of her life too.
"Let's double back first and hide our trail on the road - no one will find two horses among dozens already," Sindre said, grinning. "Then we might start at the east end if we assume the others will think we've gone west toward the centre of the market. There's a shop dockside…" he continued. He stood at her saddle, waiting for her hand.
Marta grinned as they mounted, listening to the sudden burst of enthusiasm in his explanations and plans. She, for once, decided that this was not the time to take charge and to let him speak much more freely than he ever had in the two months they had been in each other's social circles. Marta reined up beside him as he mounted his horse, hoping beyond hope that this was going to go well - 'And get my father to stop meddling with both Magnus and I,' she thought, a dark cloud passing in front of her eyes. She shook her head and smiled as they trotted from the glade. She wondered if their pursuers would enjoy finding her knickers and Sindre's greatcoat she had flung into the hazel thicket.
.
The warm breeze that blew up the catwalk near the river bank with scents of muddy sewage, fish, and seaweed were drowned in the herbaceous aroma of the local fishwives' food stalls. The sun had begun to dip into its afternoon swoon, hot, behind the haze now growing near the mountains.
Magnus drew a deep breath of the cacophony of scents that assaulted his nose, and smiled when his belly decided it would be tempted by the whitefish pies at the nearest vendor. When had he last been to a market like this? It felt like years, though he knew only a few months had passed since he and Marta had left their home and afternoons in a familiar market square. He refused to think of his Father and their morning words. Magnus was still furious with him.
He left a tawny woman at the stall counting the change from his coin, cupping his hands carefully around the piping hot pastry and licking his burned fingers free of potatoes and greasy white gravy. Magnus grinned as he walked down the lane, the simple pleasure of eating food that hadn't gone tepid by the time it reached the ornate dining rooms were somehow more delicious, he thought.
Magnus stared down the road, a whisper of a breeze stirring his pale blonde hair, a subtle pang of longing echoing hollowly in his chest. He wished he could go home. But, then Marta would be alone to face a fate handed to their family by the gods on her own. The weight of a fast-approaching reality twisted around his already tangled thoughts, leaving him more confused than ever about that situation. The market goers thronged around him and Magnus glowered bitterly - at home, there would have been calls of friends or friendly shop owners. Magnus shook his head; he was moping and he knew it.
Determined to cure his sour mood he made a decision. His father was right about one thing, he had been neglecting his mother and younger siblings in the last three months since their arrival to court. Magga and Markus wouldn't be allowed to be without a chaperone in a place like this, and Magnus felt the glimmer of playful curiosity uncurl, banishing his melancholy. What would a precocious, seven-year-old rascal like Markus desire of a place like this? For Magga, a doll with shiny buttons for eyes? And perhaps a token for his mother who had, up until this point, waded through societal upheaval armed with nothing but grace - not even a new handkerchief! Imagination sprinting ahead of him down the lanes, Magnus hefted his coin purse, liking the weight that clinked there.
Magnus looked around once more, realizing the details his self-imposed anger and bitterness had refused him; the sprigs of greenery of the coming Spring Fest, the smiles, and jovial calls of people prospering. Apprentice lads darted through the lanes making purchases for their masters, errand boys no bigger than Markus ran notes underfoot for pennies, while matrons and serving folk chattered and gossiped at the street corners - and Magnus grinned at the small reminders of home. He aspired to see the market through the gracious manner like his sister, the uncomplicated way she seemed to see the good in all things. The clangour of hammers on hot metal led Magnus down one of the streets where he thought to purchase a steel blade for Markus. Nothing too large or fancy, but a serviceable knife for a little boy who would want to imitate his elders. He stood outside one of the blacksmith stalls, chatting with the apprentice managing the wares.
Magnus stopped mid sentence.
It was like a bell had rung clear across the square. There it was that voice again. His feet moved of their own accord, and he paused at the corner of the blacksmith's stall to peer around a stack of saddle blankets. Sindre stood a few lanes over - and Magnus marveled. The clean cut lines of a snowy linen shirt and cinnamon waistcoat did not disguise the regal poise of the Prince. The blonde woman on his arm popped a morsel of something into the Prince's mouth and Magnus found himself outrageously envious that it was she, and not he, who had persuaded a delighted laugh from Sindre's lips. Magnus felt his pleasant afternoon was spoiled and his fists clenched as he began to see a newfound affection bloom. Sindre was laughing! With Marta! Part of him rejoiced that his twin was growing an honest rapport, for Magnus had never seen Sindre laugh as sincerely since the night of the ball, three months ago.
He watched them across the road, unable to take his eyes off them as they browsed the vendor's stalls as he too had been doing moments before. They talked, heads bent together, pointing at wares and laughing at small jokes they shared. Curious and cautious, he followed the couple, the apprentice he had previously been speaking with now forgotten, annoyed at this gawking farmer's son.
Sindre was dressed in clothing that only Marta could have chosen for him; the patterns of needlework on the cuffs of his shirt was unmistakably hers. There was a deft touch to her work, the way leaves and vines blended smoothly into geometric designs; it was a style that he could recognize anywhere. Marta too had dressed to compliment Sindre's attire and left no doubt to casual onlookers that they were a pair.
Marta's arm was looped through Sindre's, whilst parcels and gifts were tucked under his other arm. Their pace was meandering like they had no appointments to keep, other than one to enjoy each other's company, unbothered by a trailing entourage. He wondered absently if they were going to have a picnic this afternoon - it was a lovely day for it, even with clouds rolling in on the distant horizon.
Magnus pretended to browse a selection of belt buckles and cufflinks, as his sister and the Prince leaned over a table of fine wooden crafts. Intricate toys, mirror-polished bowls, utensils, and lacquered some things gleamed like masterworks. Marta was pointing, explaining in general terms the time it would take to complete artistry like this, her face alight with enthusiasm. Sindre's face held a similar expression of awe, though he was looking only at her. When they turned away, Magnus saw Sindre lean close to Marta's ear eliciting a coy blush and teasing remark.
Interrupted in their musings by an eager busker looking to make a quick coin for his juggling talents, Sindre hooked his arm around Marta's waist, pulling her away. Marta giggled, allowing herself to be lead further down the street, dogged by the antics of the local clown - whose capers only received fond exasperated sighs from the other vendors and a cheery grin from the Prince.
Magnus strained to hear their conversation.
"- So, of course, this reminds me of the time Lady Grey had sent a troupe to my hometown - the Ten Troubadours, though there were never ten of them. I went every night to be dazzled by their entertainment, regardless of whether or not I was allowed, to be quite honest. They even had a fire swallower, can you imagine?"
"No!" Sindre gasped, feigning shock, his grin sarcastic and posh. "And you sneaking out? Why am I not surprised?" he laughed.
"Mock me if you will, but I remember it to be very exciting!"
"Last I saw a performance in earnest it ended with a stage fire and horse stuck in Lady Holly's rooms," Sindre deadpanned, Marta's burst of laughter carried over the crowds.
"No!" she said, aghast, and leaned on Sindre for the whole story.
"I am glad that Lady Grey has kept her patronage to The Ten Troubadours. She has always been a supporter of the theatrical arts. Should we invite her to court, perhaps?" Sindre asked, "I mean, I'm sure a repeat performance would certainly give Lady Holly plenty more gossip…"
"Could we? I would love to see them again, even if the magic may be different now than to a 10-year-old - and I must see the look on Holly's face… you must… story…beca- " Marta's voice faded as they moved away. She glowed, a halo of exuberant warmth seemed to infuse the air around her like she was truly the Sun she claimed to be. And Sindre, Magnus thought, looked like he had descended a marbled staircase from the skies themselves.
Did he look like a Spirit of the Sun as well? He had the same golden hair as Marta and sun-bronzed skin. His eyes were blue, though, while Marta's were the most lovely shade of sunlight streaming through amber. He felt quite plain in comparison to her; she had adapted to the life they found themselves in at the palace with an ease that made him almost believe she was comfortable with it. Perhaps she was, he thought, and another seed of envy rooted in his belly. He did not want to give into his bitterness and miss out on the beauty surrounding him, but he was not able to tame his curiosity. He wove his way through the throngs of people, following Sindre and Marta's wandering trail.
The couple had paused at another stall, Sindre this time commenting on the particular vintage of wine, made from fruits soon coming into season here. Marta commented, asked questions, interrupted only to be offered a small sample from the shop-owner. They shared the small goblet between them, smiling, thanking the shopkeep, and the clink of coin saw them turn to carry on their journey with a bottle of summer sweetness.
Magnus saw plainly a decision flit across Sindre's face, the eagerness, confusion, and happiness as he leaned to press his lips - he tore his eyes away. He did not want to see. Anger boiled suddenly, furious and hot that someone, even his own sister - No, he refused to feel; it would tear him apart. He heard Marta's breathless, exhilarated admonition, and could imagine too easily her drawing closer and running her hands across his forearms…
Magnus strode away to find his horse, unable to run, unable linger. He turned his back on the market and the allure of a dark and exciting moonlit night named Sindre.
.
The afternoon had gone by in such an unexpected fashion, Sindre thought. He lay in the grass, sun baked stalks crinkling against his bare skin, sun dappled shade fluttering across his vision. The distant hush of waves blended with the wind in the tree above them, the cooling air pebbling their naked skin as they lounged; a far more relaxing end to the whirlwind of an afternoon in the market. Marta sprawled lazily beside him, twining her legs with his, unabashed by their intimacy. Her golden hair, once in delicate braids, tumbled loose across one shoulder. He absently stroked the fine threads and pulled free a remnant of their tumble through the hayfield. She traced complex patterns on his belly with a gentle finger, the weight of her palm more real to him in that moment than any of the words or promises she might have spoken.
He appreciated the silence that had fallen between them. It was comfortable. Their interlude in the wood after they had picnicked had not been planned, of that he was sure - Marta had honestly seemed surprised by his boldness. He grinned to think of her astonished, if still pleased, expression. But their passion had left a gentle assurance that Sindre could not deny.
"You know, I have been humbled today," Sindre said, quietly.
"Hmm?" Marta murmured, her eyes still closed.
"I had anticipated being the expert on Caeleste and its people, but you have humbled me today in that. You seemed to know them better as a stranger than I ever have as a local, Prince notwithstanding," he said wryly. He had been naive to think that he could show Marta a simple afternoon in a market he did not frequent often enough.
"That's not entirely true. You had answers to many of my questions," Marta shifted to lean on her elbow. "You have a deeper knowledge than I of the inner workings of the Trader's Concourse or the infrastructure of the docks. You even knew what year the Seven Leaves Inn burned - the most popular inn, I'm told," she said.
"But that is my point, You see the people, not the place, and I am awed," he said sincerely. The leaves in tree's branches over their head waved and fluttered in the breeze that was picking up into a stronger wind, the late afternoon light blinking through their applause. Sindre wiggled his toes.
Marta blinked, "People are people, wherever you go, I suppose," she trailed off. "Thank you, Sindre," she said quietly, thoughtful.
Sindre heard her sincerity, "I had wanted to show you myself - not the Moon spirit, or the Prince - but me. It was my intent to show you what makes me tick and yet…" he paused to collect the thoughts he would have hidden and dared to share them.
"In the space of minutes, ever since we left the palace, you have led me by the hand and made decision after decision about everything with never a backward glance - no don't give me that look - let me finish," he said gently, as Marta's brows rose in question. But he was thankful she did as he asked. "You lead so effortlessly as if you were born to it. When we quarreled this morning I was so afraid that your deep loyalty to your family was something instilled in you by a father bent on gathering power, whatever his purposes may have been. Now, I see a woman with a deep understanding of compassion, kindness, strength, even passion. I apologize that I did not see it sooner."
Marta lay back down leaning on his chest, arms pulling Sindre close, "How can you see without observation? You wrap yourself in seeming mysteries to confound the court in implications and schemes when really all you want is honesty to my mind," Marta's thumb quiver as it brushed his cheek.
Sindre felt Marta's cheeky grin, "You are a decisive man when you choose to be - evidenced earlier by your actions. If I were to understand a small part of you Sindre, it would be that you are indeed a Prince. I threw the name at you earlier, all the connotations of a sneering, self-absorbed, controlling prat, when in fact I have found you to be conscientious, fair-minded, and patient. If that is just you, then I like him, Moon-spirit and all," she said, summer hot kisses burning on his chest with every word.
The sky's burn seemed bright against the thunderous clouds rising over the mountains, and his Sun Spirit, the companion he was always meant to discover, lay loosely entwined in his embrace. He regretted that it took him so long to notice all of these things about her.
The breath caught in Sindre's throat as Marta planted ticklish kisses on his ribs; while Sindre was watching Marta, he couldn't help but think back to the morning and Magnus' argument with their father - where had he passed the hours of his day? Sindre wished his to have ended as arduously. A thought suddenly popped into his head and he asked, "You are the Sun Spirit." Marta shifted to look up at him, her chin resting dangerously low on his abdomen, "What is your favourite thing about the moon?"
Her eyebrows drew together and she hummed, leaving her ministrations to look over the patchwork of villas and farms, and the glittering waters of the Darcian Sea spread out in front of them at the base of their hill like a carefully crafted quilt. Marta shivered, sitting up, and began looking for her shirt.
"I can't say I've ever really thought about it before," she said softly, distracted by her task of gathering her discarded clothing. Sindre watched, still lounging lazily, admiring her curves and how the last of the sun's light seemed to change the colour of her hair, every second looking a little bit different than the last. The air was cooling rapidly and the clouds in the distance were now making their journey across the sky towards them. In the back of his mind, he knew they should be getting back to the palace before the weather turned sour or before their afternoon escapade caught up with them with more invidious consequences. However, he could not bring himself to get up and ready to leave just yet.
Unperturbed by her pensive silence, he asked instead, "What would you change or do with our Kingdom if you were queen?"
"You'd seriously ask me that question now?" Marta asked, a wry smile flitting across her lips. She slipped her shirt over her head and drew on her skirts.
"Yes," he said invitingly, sitting up to watch slip on her corset.
Surprised, but pleased, Marta came to kneel before him, drawing him to sit up and placed the laces in his fumbling hands. He tried to figure out how the confounding laces fit together properly. If he was doing anything improperly, she made no comment. Instead, she continued, "Well, first I think a treaty of goodwill with our international neighbours should take precedent. The war with Darcia only ended 15 years ago and we could use an official sanction of peace as a reminder to keep it that way. I've heard their new King is more inclined to peaceful relations, which is good news. I love to see a regulated schooling system implemented for all children across the country - most families do that on their own, but if we tried I'm sure we could do something. Magnus and I often had conversations about that actu-"
Her corset cinched, though likely not tight enough for her liking, he interrupted her again, "Will you marry me?" Sindre did not know how he found the daring, but he did not retract the question, though his pulse was thundering.
Marta smirked at his efforts and then blinked, confused for a second as the question registered. A blush rose in her cheeks as she leaned to take Sindre's lips in fierce kiss. Her fingers ran along his jawline, then curled into his hair. Marta murmured a throaty sound of pleasure, "Yes," was all she said as she stood to collect their horses and left Sindre in the grass, panting.
Sindre rubbed his face, fingers touching his lips where she had bitten him in her ardour, laughing to himself, as confused about her and her passions, as ever. What was he going to tell his mother?