Backgrounds often make up the entirety of a person. For the Prince's proof of his upbringing, he could see as time ticked on that he and she were not the same. They were not raised completely the same. Similar, perhaps, enough so that her family had seemed
ideal to wed out of, yet he ended up with a bride who fought mountain lions and shined bright with sarcasm.
A challenge, but he assumed it came along with his path to power -- to being King.
Glancing back from where he'd been peering over the cliff edge, he latches onto her tense jaw and downward turned curve of her lips. Asphodel cannot help but grin subtly to himself at this.
Tradition would assume she would be with his heir by nightfall. However, nightfall had already come - was about to pass even - and they had been doing everything against the traditional way so far. A moment of silence, and his gaze turns heavy as he studies the softness of her eyes. Tradition...
Tradition could wait a few more nights.
Instead, Asphodel reclines down onto his haunches and slowly lowers to his belly as the winter air bites along his skin. Red stains his shoulder, and deep lacerations that have slowed in bleeding merely remain as he finds a comfortable position. "Join me - here." A motion to the exposed portion of his chest and stomach, a perfect spot that seemed like she would fit well in. At least he'd be able to keep her warm. "You fight - who has taught you?" If they were not going to engage in his sinful desires, he would still benefit from this night in some fashion - learning her more.
The faster their bond grew, the closer he would be to his own throne.
""
