That single word is enough to knock the wind out of him.
Months.
Internally, Khoriya trembles, caught upon the cusp of some great and terrible truth he cannot bear to acknowledge as he stares down upon Ankari's handsome face, watches it drain of color and fall into gaunt, sunken lines. His ears quiver, pupils shrunk to pinpricks and jaw working as his throat fills with snarling denial, vicious rejection. He wants to spit venom. He wants to savage the withered, fragile creature beneath him. He wants to turn tail and hide like a pup in the dark.
You think to deceive me with your pathetic weakness and lying tongue? he almost demands, but even in the grasp of bestial rage he has not been rendered blind nor senseless. The elven prince beneath him smells nothing of the perfumed palace Khoriya had only just left him in, no lingering tinge of fine food, silk, and luxuries. Of spilled blood and damp stone. The scarred face that glowers up at him is not the same as the pristine elven prince that had fluttered insincere smiles and honeyed promises in his direction.
And this truth, at least, he believes. That given any semblance of choice, Ankari would want Khoriya nowhere near him.
"Months, and you have not found a way to return. How can that be possible?"
The assumption being that of course Ankari should want to return to his home, his castle, his people. Just like Khoriya does.
no subject
Months.
Internally, Khoriya trembles, caught upon the cusp of some great and terrible truth he cannot bear to acknowledge as he stares down upon Ankari's handsome face, watches it drain of color and fall into gaunt, sunken lines. His ears quiver, pupils shrunk to pinpricks and jaw working as his throat fills with snarling denial, vicious rejection. He wants to spit venom. He wants to savage the withered, fragile creature beneath him. He wants to turn tail and hide like a pup in the dark.
You think to deceive me with your pathetic weakness and lying tongue? he almost demands, but even in the grasp of bestial rage he has not been rendered blind nor senseless. The elven prince beneath him smells nothing of the perfumed palace Khoriya had only just left him in, no lingering tinge of fine food, silk, and luxuries. Of spilled blood and damp stone. The scarred face that glowers up at him is not the same as the pristine elven prince that had fluttered insincere smiles and honeyed promises in his direction.
And this truth, at least, he believes. That given any semblance of choice, Ankari would want Khoriya nowhere near him.
"Months, and you have not found a way to return. How can that be possible?"
The assumption being that of course Ankari should want to return to his home, his castle, his people. Just like Khoriya does.