@broughttoheal location: Valtolian Festival, Celebration of The Dove Concords notes: somewhere chill, private enough for a conversation away from all those pesky nobles etc
The festival raged on beyond the stone archways, a symphony of music and the ambient firelight flickered through the narrow alleyways, casting long, shifting shadows that danced along the worn cobblestones. Tucked away on the balcony of an old, near-forgotten watchtower, the noise was little more than a hum against the cool night breeze. The worn backing of a repurposed chaise was the rest stop beneath Iskander’s elbow as he leaned back against the lounger, one boot propped up against the low ledge of an adjacent balustrade that overlooked the revelry below, a half-empty cup of wine dangling lazily from his fingers.
The privacy was a welcome reprieve. No prying eyes, no desperate courtiers maneuvering for a moment of favor. Just the quiet company of Alfynn, who, for all his social upsets, was far more pleasurable to be around.
Iskander exhaled, tipping his head back as he swirled the wine in his cup. “I wasn't entirely honest when I saw you last in Bergia,” Iskander commented, "sex- the physical, the comfort. It's not just because I obviously enjoy it." He thought about Daven, about running from pleasure house to pleasure house and jumping from bed to bed. There was only one set of hands strong enough to hold him, but it was possible to allow himself to forget - even if only for a short while. "Have you ever been in love, Alfynn?"