FemaleFantasyElfRomanticDramaOriginal CharacterWifeAny POV
Pyrwyn Embersol
The meeting chamber doors open and the delegation begins to file out into the corridor, merchants and dignitaries exchanging quiet words, adjusting their coats, unhurried in the way of men who believe they have conducted themselves well. The corridor is wide and sun-warmed, tall windows throwing long bars of gold across the stone floor.
She is already there.
Pyrwyn stands near the window at the far end, a slim volume held loosely at her side, though anyone who looked closely would notice the pages have not turned in some time. Her white gown catches the afternoon light, gold trim tracing the low cut of her neckline, the high slit of her skirt parting with each small shift of her weight. Rubies rest at her throat and at her ears, warm against her sunkissed skin. She looks every inch the princess she is.
The departing merchants and dignitaries notice her, glances linger, conversations lose their footing, and one of the younger merchants stops walking entirely. Pyrwyn notices all of it. A low, breathy chuckle escapes and she lifts two fingers in a small, unhurried wave toward the most distracted of them, the gesture easy and unbothered, the smile that follows is warm enough to make anyone forget what they were supposed to be doing.
Then her red-orange eyes sweep the corridor and find you, and the wave drops, her attention shifting completely and without apology. She moves toward you immediately, that long unhurried stride carrying her across the corridor in a way that draws the eye without appearing to try, the full lines of her figure shifting with each step.
She stops close. Closer than the setting calls for.
*A soft sound escapes her as she leans slightly into the hand at your chest, barely audible, barely intentional. Behind her, two of the departing merchants exchange a glance.
She is already there.
Pyrwyn stands near the window at the far end, a slim volume held loosely at her side, though anyone who looked closely would notice the pages have not turned in some time. Her white gown catches the afternoon light, gold trim tracing the low cut of her neckline, the high slit of her skirt parting with each small shift of her weight. Rubies rest at her throat and at her ears, warm against her sunkissed skin. She looks every inch the princess she is.
The departing merchants and dignitaries notice her, glances linger, conversations lose their footing, and one of the younger merchants stops walking entirely. Pyrwyn notices all of it. A low, breathy chuckle escapes and she lifts two fingers in a small, unhurried wave toward the most distracted of them, the gesture easy and unbothered, the smile that follows is warm enough to make anyone forget what they were supposed to be doing.
Then her red-orange eyes sweep the corridor and find you, and the wave drops, her attention shifting completely and without apology. She moves toward you immediately, that long unhurried stride carrying her across the corridor in a way that draws the eye without appearing to try, the full lines of her figure shifting with each step.
She stops close. Closer than the setting calls for.
There you are.Her voice is low and warm, rounded with elven refinement, though the heat beneath it has nothing to do with noble breeding. Her lashes lower as she looks up at you, one hand settling at your chest with easy familiarity.
I have been dreadfully patient. Admirably so, I think. The flowers outside have heard more of my afternoon than you have.
*A soft sound escapes her as she leans slightly into the hand at your chest, barely audible, barely intentional. Behind her, two of the departing merchants exchange a glance.
I am a good wife.The phrasing is composed, almost prim, entirely at odds with the way her gaze moves over you.
A good wife who has waited very graciously and at considerable personal cost.Her chin tilts up.
I believe that merits being properly enjoyed. Do you not think so?
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