independent ren kouen roleplay blog
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the flame of the rose petal
the flame of the thorn
tracking: kingofcrimsonflame
It was supposed to be just another simple trip between cities. She hadn’t been expecting a war to break out when she was halfway to her destination. By all accounts, she was just in the wrong place at a very wrong time. She had done well to avoid the conflict, but now she was presented with a problem. The only way to her destination was through one of Kou’s camps. She had been told to just wait things out, but she had no idea how long this battle would take.
So, here she was, walking through the bitter cold into the camp in hope someone would at least hear her out. Not even a few steps into the act, someone called out to her. Rather intimidating, isn’t he? She opened her mouth to speak, but a particularly freezing wind ran through her and her body visibly quaked. Damn it, why hadn’t she purchased that coat? “I’m just.. a t-t-traveler, seeking passage through your camp. My name is Cristle, s-s-sir..”
Let it never be said of the imperial prince that he is wholly heartless. Were it heat, perhaps, he would have turned the bedraggled stranger away—perhaps were she a man, he would have turned her away—but as things stood before him, insofar as they existed in the present tense, he simply cast a glance down his nose at her, before an armored shoulder turned and she was face-to-face with a heavy woolen cape: well able to be a blanket in its current incarnation. His brows knit and he seemed to be in thought before cutting his eyes to the left, seeing the rosen haired woman out of his very peripheral. How was he to know she was not a spy? How was he to know she was not a trap of the enemy?—There were no answers. But for the enemy to dispatch a singular woman into the dead of winter towards an aimless camp, it seemed a death sentence to her.
“You'll catch your death,” the king candidate stated, snow crunching under his golden shoes was he walked: “if you stand in the cold like that. Sit by the fire,” as he splayed his fingers out in the air, towards one of the half-dozen attendants that stood 'around his magnificent visage. “Bring her a blanket. She's turning blue.”
He looked at his cousin with eyes full of hatred, trying to hold himself back although it was really hard.
"I don’t remember you telling me something like that." He growled, biting his teeth and feeling the anger rise in his whole body. "And I won’t let you become the emperor. This country will never belong to you or any of your sisters and brothers.”
"You weren't listening, Hakuryuu. I just stated I did not wish to become emperor."
He was not blind: he saw the glow of hatred in the eyes of his younger cousin. Though blood related, there was little kindness to be had between the two men. He did, finally, rise, his hands splayed upon the table before him. "And what would you do? Rule in hate and in spite?"
Kouen's own method of conquering was not the most p e a c e f u l, he would admit:
but even he was wise enough to know that ruling in hate and spite would only lead to
r e v o l t.
"It is not me you hate. Don't spit your venom at me."
The manner in which he kissed her was not the manner in which lovers kissed: it was the manner in which a conqueror kissed, holding her curved body against his with strong arms, though not rough ones. They were less like a vice and more like a fence, keeping her from the escape he knew she didn’t even desire.
C l o t h i n g had already been foregone, and the candle’s light danced upon both fair frames—though hers, more so, as the kohl of her undone hair that lay across her flesh made the ivory stand out all the more. Releasing her, his hands trailed along her sides, lingering over the shape of her breast in a nonlecherous way, the way of a scholar observing a piece of fine art laid bare before him. And laid bare she was, and he was. And there was nothing left between them save for the air of distance that was perpetuated between them, for here was a caste between the Kou royalty now, and his red hair and father’s name placed him in a place she could never reach.
He did not meet her eyes, not in the way he could, nor did he hold her dear. There was a silence that filled the room now, the air made up of breathed whispers and a tension that rose and fell as did her breasts and his chest with every inhale, every exhale.
Were he any other man, he would have smiled at her.
Instead, he merely watched her, observed her as her lips, still painted to a sakura pink, parted when a hand moved between her thighs. On her back, now, she gazed up at him, one hand holding his arm that supported his weight. Her hands were fine, yes, daintier than his own ever could be, but they were not unhardened by battle. Nor was her flesh unmarred by skin that had known the cruel kiss of cold steel. Like fine china, but not without its scratches of having known use.
[[For what good was something so fine if it only sat behind a glass on a shelf?]]
Her body arched beneath him, though he only gave her the most passing of looks as she lifted her hips slightly beneath him. The behavior was not wanton or coquettish, but beautiful and elegant, as all things that it seemed the woman did.
There was a dignified air to Hakuei; he supposed that came from her father, not that he harbored much memory of the man.
If only because it was what he was supposed to do, he leaned his body down and drew her once more into a kiss, though there was at least an acted passion there.
No, Kouen didn’t touch her with a lover's hand, but it leased seemed the hand of an equal.
Hm. And he was wondering what smelled like a snake around here. While he was aware that, somewhere in the Kou empire, Sinbad slunk around like the metaphoric snake in the fictitious euphoria of Eden, he wasn't sure why it was that his adviser stood right here before him, as though he was going to deliver something important. He wanted little to do with companionship, if one used the word to loosely encompass an invasion of privacy, when it came to his time spent in his library. Especially not from Sindrian Lapdogs, like this particular general.
“I do not make a habit of holding audiences in my personal library,”
he s p o k e, not raising his gaze from the scroll that was unfurled before him. It was only his periphery that told him that Ja'far stood there, he didn't even bother to raise his eyes. He didn't owe him that much respect.
super extra naughty indecent dirty raunchfest the meme!!!! aka, NSFW ASK MEME]]]PLEASE ASK ME!!
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