( ADAM RODRIGUEZ, BISEXUAL, CISMALE & HE/HIM ) — by the grace of the gods, old and new, i present to you PRINCE-CONSORT, BALTASAR SOLLIA NEE CORDOVES of SOLLIA. the gods have blessed us with their presence for 52 years. the people of the kingdom have known them to be JOVIAL, PATIENT, and CONVINCING, and while it is not always shown to the masses, it is said they can also be ROWDY, IRREVERENT, and LECHEROUS. what will their tale in the story of metia be? only they can write it, so let’s see how their legend unfolds.
a former rakish party boy known to love and leave, baltasar left his mark on (and in) a good number of the nobility, gentry, and even some of the lower class of sollia, in his tenure as a free and un-promised noble. his family, the cordoves of solara, receive most of their gold through the efforts of others -- a toll dividing the kingdom in half. so, if his house earned gold with little effort, why should he expend any?
when the hunt was on for a match to the sollian king, it was time that the house cordoves would collect its toll on one of their own. baltasar was brought to heel, and given an ultimatum: seduce and secure the crown prince's hand, or face a life cut free from the house's coffers.
more unwilling to go without freedom than without finances, baltasar underwent a rapid transformation. all those years wooing and wowing others left him with a rather clear mind for court intrigue and interest, which he used to full extent in isolating the would-be king -- as well as debouching or disqualifying his competitors.
as everything that goes up must come down, this once rather famed top would become a bottom for one crown prince. not to say baltasar didn't continue to entertain on the side, and whatever happens in the kings' bedroom stays in the kings' bedroom.
with years of marriage and rulership under his belt, and good number of sons under his wing, baltasar continues to live by the mindset that once drove his former house mad: the party, truly, never ends.
yes:
topping (for most), bottoming (for husband and select few others), oral, arguing/interrogating during the act, public/semi-public, somnophilia (pre-agreed), breeding, marathon, rough (giving)
no:
any degree of feminization (either side), femme pronouns (either side), infantilization (either side), humiliation (either side), coercion into bottoming, feet, scat
the king approached slowly, hands behind his back. his guard a few steps behind, never far anymore. it was the perfect occasion, he'd thought, amidst the chaos or not, to make it known there was no longer a queen of sollia, but rather his prince consort.
he was undeniably concerned with matters of security but he could not deny the way this livened up balthasar, made him acquire a lost glow that he remembered from their youth.
he looked just like he did, the galant noble, heatbreaker. dangerous and seductive. "i should think it is my god given right to stare, and admire, and bask in the presence of my husband." he said, approaching further, arms enveloping his husband, tempted to reach for his stomach but refraining, let him enjoy the moment of being free, let him be the one to hold his king for a change. "wouldn't you agree, prince consort?"
for just a while, baltasar could feel like his old self, again. he welcomed it. reveled in it, even. almost glowing in the supposed freedom of the change, even though it made no difference to his status or standing. outside of those who were a bit too traditional, but those always were the best ones to be bothering.
"given by god and man both," was his reply, nodding lowly to his husband. "--my king." said with a bit of a grin, then. what was secret would be known soon enough, but he'd enjoy it being between them until them. a dramatic reveal was always more exciting in the long run.
"so? being the first of solan's dragons to set foot on argonian soil in countless years." he gestured out towards the landscape; picturesque, dotted with historical ruins. "how does it feel?"
he only groaned and shoved his burning face further into his book when he’d realized he’d been caught. “it’s too early in the day for talk of exploratory positions and ravishing.” but he did appreciate seeing this side of his father, who seemed even more free than he was before. it made the prince hopeful for his own future, whatever that may end up being. most importantly, he liked seeing the man who gave him life happy.
“alchemy doesn’t like me, especially my eyebrows.” he corrected. after having them… heavily singed one too many times, andres swore off of it. "but I need something to keep my mind busy before I lose what’s left of it.” he’d ask baltasar how he kept sane in treks like this but he feared the answer was right in front of him: teasing his children until they looked like fruits.
"nonsense." baltasar beamed at the opportunity to lovingly pester one of his dear sons. "the morning is the perfect time for exploratoty positions. and especially ravishing." he leaned in, head beside andres', as if sharing a secret. "you see, most men are too tired to be pulled fully taut, when they first wake. that, and the morning vigor tends to work a lot harder than something later in the day."
if he'd managed to make andres squirm, or better yet laugh, then all was worth it.
joking aside, baltasar did turn to plop down and sit beside andres, an easy arm behind his son's back. "go back to that first book. get excited. we're riding into a kingdom that hasn't been seen for hundreds of years. maybe there's some dashing, strapping rogue waiting to take you into his arms and into the night, for a life of dashing roguish banditry." baltasar gasped, hand over his mouth. "maybe that's why you haven't found a calling yet. have you tried banditry? roguery? thieving? I do hear it's fashionable, at least in valtolia--"
Maybe he had been staring he couldn't really say that he wasn't due to him being spaced out when the other spoke to hm. He had been given a strong warning to not be rude outside of the ring, but social tact was never something the dragon rider was good at.
"Sorry" he spoke with a slight tilt of his head. There was no denying the person in front of him held some sort of title higher then his. "Was just thinking about how heavy all those chains would be and how hard it would be to fight in an out fit like that." The idea that this was not a thing that should be said to a guest never crossed his mind.
"Tassian Dragon rider for this kingdom" he spoke offering another bow as he introduced himself.
despite his height and desirable stature, the look baltasar gave the stranger was incredulous. "why, I've never fought a day in my life, and I never intend to. if I look like a poor combatant, then all the better for it."
with tassian introduced, and his title explained, baltasar glanced to the side -- and gave a signal to his guards. still dressed casually, feigning drinking and conversing as they maintained a perimeter around him. "prince-consort baltasar sollia. husband of king lucerys sollia."
for: baltasar @goldenbals
where: argonia
when: shortly after arriving
he'd been reading and staying to himself ever since the dove concord. there reasons for there were many and multi-layered but the shouting at he'd received shortly after 'the incident' was the certainly the most public of them all. well, 'public' in terms of that it'd had the most eyes on it and any family members who hadn't been in the room certainly knew about it.
and so he stayed mostly silent and read. he made sure to hold the spines up from time to time so that the others knew what he was reading and got the message. books on the myths of argonia, books of runaway nobility, books on how spycraft has influenced the world in obvious and subtle ways...
he started a book that he thought was about a prince who went off to join a convent but then realized it wasn't history but a very specific type of fiction. his face turned crimson and shoved it to the bottom of the pile. he hoped no one noticed that one. he instead picked up an old book on herbalism. he wasn't interested in alchemy and the like anymore but that seemed safer.
he just hoped they'd get to their destination soon so he could find some corner to hold up in for the rest of this “trip.”
into the bottom of the pile it was tucked -- and out of the bottom of the pile it was pulled. baltasar likely wasn't anywhere near stealthy enough to avoid his son's notice, but that was likely by design; since his re-emergence as the prince-consort of sollia, he's been feeling more like his bold, old self, again. only sneaking if out of a bedroom.
"mm, I remember this one." the salacious tome was snapped shut. "it did inspire a few...exploratory positions, in my more exploratory days, but. I can safely say those days are behind me." the book landed on the top of the pile, this time. "if you do decide to find a convent, you're less likely to find a good, rugged, handsome lord to ravish you right out of the cloth you'd been sworn to. but I understand the allure." hands went to his hips, as he tipped over andres' current reading. and his nose wrinkled.
where: astere, argonia
when: the earliest fashionable time to arrive
who: attendees, host
finally seen in a light that felt like himself, and not like he was formed into a reflection of some previous ruler's husband, baltasar was out in force at the next event to occur. logically, he should be concerned; no news came from the investigation of the attempted murder. but he felt too free to not make a showing.
with the title of queen, went the long robes and hanging sleeves. working (and paying) his tailors overtime, baltasar stood regally in some slightly more rakish attire, inspired by his golden days as a man leaving his mark upon numerous noble necks and backsides. a vest that swung low down his chest, enough chains and necklaces to create a chorus as he moved to fill that gap, and fitted pants tucked into strong boots. let none look at baltasar sollia and see the queen -- only the prince-consort.
even the way he moved seemed with renewed confidence; lifting something to inspect it, returning it to its (assumed) place.
"--you've been staring." whether or not the person he addressed was, baltasar found it more fun to assume, and put said person on the back-foot. "were you waiting for a question, or simply basking in my presence?"
he smiled, hand caressing hair and cheek, nose brushing against his husband's. "always." he assured him, or himself, or perhaps both of them. he did chuckle at his explanation, semantics not the thing he was worried about.
"if it comforted you, i'd try my hand at giving them to you but i'm afraid i'd be less blessed than you in that regard, that and the council might protest vehemently at that breach in protocol." he was also all too happy to do his part, and have baltasar bearing his heirs. it was duty yes but for him it went way beyond that.
"thank you, husband." he whispered, mouth claiming baltasar's in a kiss. they might at this point be making a scene, quite the picture where they were, but that was the last thought in his mind. "you've done your duty." he reminded him, four sons, a glorious future for their house, the loves of his life. "this is for me, and i hope... for you as well, your satisfaction is as important to me as mine." if that was not part of it, then perhaps he'd need to find other ways to give it to his husband.
"perhaps we should start trying," he teased still locked in his embrace, "or at least move this elsewhere if you do not want to entertain the other courts too much."
lucerys' bravery on the topic was to be lauded. "I will be the one bearing our sons. from now, until our final days." he wouldn't be so bold as to try to take that much from the king. "I only meant that, in delivering your princes, it is my gift to you." baltasar did love their sons -- but bearing them was a labor indeed. one he, at first, endured. but as time and familiarity came, and he saw each one bloom into a man of their own right, baltasar began to regard it with a bit of...curiosity. who would the next one become? what would solan deem fit to bless their line with this time?
kissing his king, being kissed, baltasar let out a somewhat pleased sigh. let the other kingdoms watch, bear witness, to what he's built. at first with guile, then with patience, and eventually, with love.
"I've heard word of some baths. there's also some dark and secretive hallways. and, last of all, there's our palatial quarters as granted to us by our so gracious hosts." how he'd manage to get his hands on a potion? well.
one of their mages should have something on hand, after all these years of working under them.
"now, I absolutely believe in making a scene. so I recommend you rip something replaceable. maybe my cape, or one of the sleeves. I'll go sleeveless for the rest of the week. then we make to leave."
“my father, the poet and warrior in finding a match.” andres tilted his head upwards, squinting. “I can imagine it. maybe one day I’ll find something to have that level of focus on achieving.” hopefully. “until then… I guess we can figure out something with the master of whispers?”
a concession but a wise one. making good, beneficial decisions was at least one thing he could pick up from the man who made him.
"I may have not gone to war -- but I made it a battle, for your fathers' hand." seducing, discrediting, disinheriting; baltasar went to lengths to ensure the field for lucerys' potential affections was very, very narrow. only then, did he take to making himself the most attractive option.
"I meant what I said about the others, though. mercantile, warfare, naval... there's a world of mentors out there. all you need to is ask. but for now, I'll speak with the master of whispers myself. that way, it's at least implied to be discreet. for as long as we might want it to be."
andres lowered his gaze, rubbing at his nose as he sniffed... for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
"thank you, papi." he mumbled. "i'll do my best to make you proud." it took him a little while but he eventually got himself back in control of himself. the little goofy grin he gave baltasar would be a warning of him trying to turn the tables and having the spotlight be on the one who gave him life. "I didn't know you were a poet. no wonder father is so in love with you."
"you're welcome." and andres was, truly, welcome. welcome in any hall baltasar might walk into, welcome into any private conversation, aside from those that used more bodies than words. "ah, now-- that's a different story entirely. and, one day, I'll perhaps be the one to teach you how to win the way that I won. would you like to know the secret?"
he leaned to the side, grinning, his arm around his son's side--
"it's not just about winning their love. it's about thinning the ranks. the less competitors you have, the better." his head bounced away from andres. "love came later. the first step was winning the race."
lucerys regarded his husband, his partner... his... what word could they use for it? now that queen was a thing of the past his mind searched and then in frustration resigned itself to handling the matter later. the important thing was, as those words reached his ears he knew he had chosen right, that the machinations that made his dear baltasar the only logical option were perhaps the hand of fate himself also intervening to show him who would guide the sollia into their glorious future.
a fire burned in him, had burned in him with the desire thrust into his very soul. a sacred duty, perhaps, towards his house and towards his people. he had been one son, among many failed attempts, many babies torn from the world before drawing their first breath. where there was one, baltasar now ensured there were many. no accidents, no grief, baltasar had given him healthy sons that would continue their line for generations... house sollia remained strong, because of him.
"and i shall continue to honor you, my husband. until the day solan deems my reign to be over." he whispers, he always struggles with that last part. how his reign might end. how it will end, for as close to his god as he may be he is not one.
it feels a little lighter then, even if new worries start to circle his mind. he distracts himself with baltasar's grin, has to wonder on his own transparency. he should be harder to read, one might think. lucerys' certainty, his decision, it did not come without a rush. blood flowed, and heat rose, and dynasties started in a bed after all. he met his husband's gaze with a short look out towards the gardens before his eyes bore into his. "they can wait." he said, voice slightly hoarse, "i can also wait..." he did not know how baltasar might respond to this, to yet another child, to another pregnancy and all it entailed. urgency showed in his tone, the size of his desire even as he said the opposite.
"but yes, my dynasty. our dynasty." he moved closer, breathing deeply into his neck, baltasar's scent filling his nostrils. "you've given me such beautiful sons," he says, kissing his skin, pressing his body against baltasar's as it became clear just how badly he wanted this. "so strong. you do not owe me any more than that, and yet," a bite, ravenous as the dragons they housed, the fire growing ever higher, it had not burned them so far. "i want more, husband. i want to give you another child." there was however, no order, no king subjecting his queen to his whims. here he was merely a man, with uncouth hands caressing his husband uncaring that they might be seen, asking to be made a father again.
"until then," baltasar echoes. solemn, and dutiful, but true. he'd first moved to comfort the king with deliberate and well-aimed touches, but before long, the king was soothing himself with the same. holding baltasar, feeling baltasar. as if he was reminding himself that baltasar was sitll there.
the same baltasar that could read a room of rivals well enough to disqualify or disinterest or disentangle enough rivals to be able to out-perform the rest. if he couldn't at least somewhat read his husband, would he be the man his husband married? that, and children were always at the head of head-of-house's minds. either minding them, or making them.
baltasar found himself surprisingly, and initially irritatingly, proficient in both regards.
"whatever new title we may find for me, I will still be your husband." duty, honor, debt to fate repaid but never in full. "and a king's husband bears his sons." simple truths. "--though, I wouldn't go as far as saying you're giving them to me. I see it more as, me giving them to you." humorous pedantics. baltasar wasn't carrying children for his own sake. he did it for lucerys. "the gift is yours to claim. your legacy."
of which baltasar was pleased enough to be a happy, well-fed, well-cared for, and well-understood, underscore.
that was… very reasonable. and there are far worse things that could be gently pushed in his direction. being able to navigate all the words and gestures with double meanings would get him past everything and back where he was even faster. back to… something he hasn’t found yet. or whatever he’s found at that point and time on his journey to it.
andres’ screwed up like he’s just been given a mouthful of citrus. “if that’s your way of asking if I’d rather be a cleric than being matched with someone, I’m offended!” he wasn’t. he just needed something to hide the laughter he was trying so hard to suppress.
"does the court wish to push the accusation?" baltasar teased, hands raised in mock surrender. "all I meant to say is, if you had a direction, I would be the wind in your sails. the lift under your dragon's wings. if you would tell me which direction that might be." regarding his most curious drake, turning to look over him, baltasar put on that rakish nobleman's eye. anyone in a tavern would've thrown coins for a pass at him, thrown drinks for a chance to paw at his tunic, in one way or another. much like baltasar himself, andres' build, his attitude, and his potential political 'position' might end up at odds. and the most a father could want for his son, was for a better life than his own.
"so. while your compass still spins, I will continue to occasionally nudge you in a direction. if only so that, one day, you can look up from your maps and your charts of interests, and find that you were far enough from where you started that you're not afraid to keep going."
all he did was shrug. because the answer was yes. and it was frustrating. and it also felt like he was letting more than himself down with this, even if his parents had been nothing but supportive. well, mostly- sometimes he'd gotten into a thing or two that he shouldn't have.
he wouldn't say no to the idea outright but he wasn't sure how all that'd work. part of trying so hard to go his own way meant that he'd missed a lesson or two on the ways he'd already written off. "could I even be good at it? who is going to want a prince as a spymaster? I feel like I'd be more of a walking target than an asset."
baltasar found himself frowning. it's a valid question.
"you could," he offered, as much as balm as the truth. "if anything, it would appear as though you're training in spycraft, as to better inure yourself against it. to learn the ways, that you might -- on behalf of yourself and whatever house you may find yourself in -- be able to recognize, and resist, its effects. to think like those who whisper, so you can catch those who whisper."
the fact that baltasar only just realized that once his son questioned him about the idea? he wouldn't openly or directly admit it unless pressed, directly, by said son, immediately after he'd said it. "--otherwise, well. there's all sorts of other masters in the court to study under. ships, coin, laws..." he then glanced over to andres with an amused grin, "--the convent of solan, if you're feeling religious..."
lucerys frowned, more than a rant or an outburst of emotion he loathed the thought of baltasar quiet. silencing his own complaints until resentment festered. "you do not have to content yourself with scraps to reassure me, i am your king but i am also your husband," he approached baltasar, a sigh leaving his lips as he closed their hands together. "we both have a duty to our people but also towards each other. said before our god and our subjects... i cannot put your happiness above all, but i cannot in good conscience allow you to be unhappy."
not that he needed to say as much, baltasar speaking his mind was... expected. not a bad thing, not when lucerys relied on him for so much.
he listened, as he had before. a confused look on his face as he pondered, he had never heard of other title... other name, it had always been a king and a queen. he knew though that what he thought he knew and the thousands of years of history and tradition were two very different beasts.
"i've never... considered that, as an option." he admitted, looking away from his... not queen, he supposed, not at least between them at this moment, but he did not step away. "going against tradition is not exactly what i am known for." except perhaps in his delay in arranging matches for his children, something he refused to listen to. he wanted them close, for as long as he could keep them. maybe forever.
"and yet we must push forward, if we are to stand strong through the trials of time." he said, thinking now of his sons, of the titles and roles they must bear. how much he struggled to think of them with another name, belonging to another house in many of the ways that mattered. who knew how many men might find themselves struggling like his husband was, and what comfort might he bring. he always knew he'd be king, the question had been what kind of king he would become. what time would make of him, and what he'd make of his time... he had not gotten here without his trials and he would not go long without more of them.
"we will find a new title," he decided, pulling his husband's hands to his lips. "something that suits you. if there isn't one in the books, we will create one." lucerys was never one to back down once he decided something, it was as much blessing as it was curse, to think he could do anything.
"we settled a war, bureaucracy won't stand in our way for long." he smiled, pulling baltasar close. the matter settled, somehow, in his mind. "i need you with me, baltasar. without you, there is no sollia dynasty. without you, there is no legacy." he does not yet say it, his longing for home, his wish for family. to see another dragon hatching from the crib of his newborn son. an omen, for times of peace. he doesn't think however he is good enough at hiding such big hopes from his husband.
just being able to voice his pains, small as they might be, was balm enough to make it through the evening. that lucerys listened? even heard him? baltasar's slow-grown love for the man standing before him was more than proven. many factors involved themselves in the push of his pull for the position next to, or just behind, lucerys. but the only ones that remained were loyalty, and trust, and understanding.
that touch, that hold, while considering? considering him? baltasar held onto lucerys' hands while he waited for some determination. some decision. not one so firm and final and immediate, but an initial response. and the one he got, with lips to his knuckles, made his grin so broad even for the width of his jaw.
"you honor me," he said first, softly. brought into the fold, of the royal blood of the son, and given right to bear it. to have and hold it, even when he was not of it. for as much as he may have fought the process or its considerations, even he couldn't deny the presence and power, when he was so close to it. and not seared, never seared, but blessed for it. "--and I will continue to honor you, and our sons, and solan, in whatever title or designation we may find."
with that weight starting to lift from his shoulders, like the cloak and mantle ill-fitting for far too long, baltasar felt... taller. he already stood among the higher half of the kingdom in height, but his back felt straighter, his bones and skin lighter. as if he wasn't trapped, or at least he could see a light through the window, even if he'd been the one to lock himself in that tower. only now, the tower could begin to grow, and to change. to fit him, without losing its place. his hands on his king's sides, baltasar regarded lucerys a bit more intently.
"dynasties, and legacies..." his grin shifted. almost knowing. "is this about our sons? we've likely waited long enough, some of them having difficulty in choosing a meal, let a long a vocation..." his head tilted down just slightly, looking at lucerys from under low brows. "or is this about your dynasty?"
andres scrunched up his nose at that. he (mostly) felt like he was in the clear now but going from thinking he was in trouble to hearing his father was pleased with him had his head a little dizzy. truly, he went from one end of the spectrum to the other. there was a time when he wouldn't have even worried about the former. now, the young prince was a little more measured with his steps.
a slow shake of his head, trying to not be dismissive. "I don't want to commit to anything like that unless I know it's what I want." the search for a passion was constant and that meant not letting himself be tied down to one thing, even if it could be interesting. he leaned over to speak a little more softly to his father. "and I'm not sure I like people that much."
"still fishing., then" for answers. for a decision. for a personality. not that andres was without his key traits; curiosity and restlessness among them. but, not until he found a lane with a bit more direction, a bit of steadiness, would baltasar know which direction from which his eventual suitor would come.
since, if he couldn't settle on an interest, could he expect his son to settle on a husband?
"oh, you don't have to like people, for spycraft. hatred just makes the lying easier." not speaking from experience, of course-- but he'd support an endeavor out of spite as much as out of appreciation. "if not as a choice, then think of it as a...fallback plan. as a rouse, a cover, for if you choose another track, and the court believes you're being groomed as a master of whispers."
"I... thank you?" was he caught? was he in trouble? it was always so hard to tell. "everyone here acts so weird around us that I didn't really have a choice but to practice."
for the sake of feeling out what exactly was happening here (and not getting further in trouble if he was in fact in trouble), andres gave a small nod. holding out his arm so that the two of them could lock them together, he gestured forward to show his acquiescence.
"well, I for one am pleased you're taking the lessons to heart." arm and arm with his son, baltasar now accepted those regal greetings with a subtle indication towards andres, as if including him within the honors. displaying him, formally, before all the kingdoms of metia. some nobles would understand and bow and nod a second time, and some wouldn't.
baltasar made a note of those that didn't.
"if the art of the court interests you this much, we could expand your lessons to the master of whispers. but that'd largely be a formality, and a signal to others of your disposition."
"another to serve..." he shakes his head, "what are you trying to say, baltasar?" his queen was smart, he could work wonders and make the wisest man question himself. and he had been granted free reign to do as he wished as long as it suited the crown. this conversation took a turn lucerys did not know if he enjoyed, rather he wished to return to thoughts of home, to thoughts of children. not that he wanted to constrain baltasar to any role, but he longed for the nights and days at his side, to seeing starfyre fly over their heads and the eggs of their children hatching.
"he did not mention that. no." now that made him clench his jaw, for no good reason, "is there something i should know?"
as he was wont to do, at almost all times, except when in private, except when in a bad day or in the middle of war, lucerys listened. baltasar ranted and gave voice to frustrations he long knew. did it undermine him? he pondered, would fellow lords gape and expect him to silence his queen?
his father ruled with honour and regard, and his queen was pious and silent except in private. not like baltasar, nothing like baltasar. there was then a war inside him, to appease and comfort someone that yes was often described as his other half, his partner. his ally. someone who he had learned to respect and love and understand.
and then there was the part that reminded him the sollia were said to come from solan himself. that they rode dragons and roamed the sky as close to their god as one could. should that not be clear to his queen above all others? even if lucerys let him stand beside him, even if he allowed him to do as he pleased, to stand above him in private if nowhere else. he was willing to concede that might be unusual, he refused to see it as a mistake, though it threatened the image he worked to build for himself and his dynasty and that... that was the dangerous part.
"you are my queen." he reminded him, "you chose to be my queen, forced hand or not." though never by him, all restraints, all the lack of choice was far from what lucerys wanted. "i am your king, baltasar, your husband. as you are mine. but there is only one king."
this place feels cold and distant, worlds away from the warmth of his lands.
"you could give me ten children and it would not change how i see you," yet that was not enough, was it? not when everyone reminded him of his expected place behind the king. "i cannot change people's minds as simply as that. i cannot force another king to concede that you are not like his own queen much as i might make that clear otherwise." and he had, did that mean nothing? "if there is something you wish me to do that will make the burden you bear less heavy, say it, and if it is within my power i will do so, but i cannot promise others will bend the rules for you as i might."
like a splash of cool water, lucerys' firmness but softness reminded baltasar of his place. of his position. of his own efforts to ensure his own success -- and now, the simple prison of it. having released his frustrations into the air, it was...difficult, to reduce the bubbling towards his surface enough to cool his tone and think.
"only one king," he agreed. one hand on his husband's shoulder. "I've no designs on your position, or your power." he'd overstepped. that much was becoming clear. "I'd accept everything I just railed against if it'd reassure you. I've said too much." wide shoulders, dropped. the tension replaced with the weight of impending consequence, written across the lines of his broad face.
"but, if I might better explain myself..." eyes not quite pleading, though nearly there. "you are the king. the one king. and you will always be the king, until solan recalls you to his arms. I just want to find a...different term or title, for myself. to better serve you, and the kingdom, in the capacity that I fit most." the gown-shaped, demure, beautiful mold of 'queen' closing around him, each time the title was hammered upon him, like nails pinning him into place. of his own decision, of his own design. the price of his prowess and political maneuvering.
he tried to find his husband's eyes. "if you say I'm your queen, I am your queen. but if there's another word. somewhere, out there. in the histories, in the archives-- a way that I could be at your side, and also be fully myself. that is all I would ask."
