[ WET ] : our muses find one another in a torrential downpour of rain, both soaking wet.
[ DANCE ] : our muses dance together in close quarters.
[ BRUSH ] : sender reaches forward to brush a strand of receiver’s hair from their eyes.
@bloodlessheirbyjacques ✨
If I Push Will You Pull?
Thank you for the challenge, my love! It was a fun exploration for Cronyl and Syon, since you know they were the first one to pop into my mind. Though, I took the liberty to translate dance to "their version" of dance lol. Also the song where I get the title and the vibe from is Push // Pull by Sam Sky, Lauren Babic.
Context: Syonehlia gets the news about that she her attendnce is required as one of the possible candidates of the Prince's bride. In the meantime, Cronyl's late from their martial art practice.
Prompts from this list.
CRONYL AND SYON | BOOK I EXPLORATION | ANGST | WC: 1,119
He’s not coming, isn’t he?
Syonehlia spun on her heels, hitting her invisible enemy in the throat with the edge of her hand. Her palm and fingers were stiff enough to make the move lethal. However, there was no one to tell her if it was actually as accurate as she presumed.
She kicked into the air, her training pants rustling from the intense movement.
Have you seen the letter on the counter? It came soon after you left today.
An hour, two or more, she couldn’t say how long she was out here. Time slipped away, and she didn’t even try to catch it anymore. Her forehead soaked, pearls of her sweat hitting the stone when she sharpened her ankle spike for an attack.
The back of the garden has always been quiet around dawn.
It bore the royal seal.
Her panting and silent growl almost echoed through the backyard. It counted as one of the charms of the place, and the main reason why they chose this spot to practice. Not even the servants wandered here.
Your Majesty gave it to me personally during our last consultation.
Syonehlia was completely alone.
He said the time has come when the Prince shall find a bride.
She stepped further, ready to strike at her make-believe enemy. But then, she tripped. She could balance herself just in time to not land on the ground.
Syonehlia stopped, heaving. A massive wave of wind blew through the land, rustling every leaf, and carrying the bitter scent of dirt. Then, as a vague attempt of soothing the troubled, the smell of rain hit her nose.
Cronyl liked the rain. He said the best way to learn how to control your motions is when you train under rainfall. It felt as if he repeated a hundred times now.
Syonehlia leaned over on her knees, her sweat stinging her eyes. She closed one eye, looking at the gathering clouds up in the sky.
Grey.
The grey dullness always reminded her of Cronyl.
It’s an invitation, dear daughter. Dedicated to you.
She gritted her teeth, her bothersome panting not easing fast enough. It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t improving fast enough. She needed to do better. She needed to be better at this.
Working yourself to death out of spite will take you so far, heiress.
Cronyl’s voice resonated in the almost unhearable rumbling of the rainclouds. They silently sneaked upon the land, slowly blanketing it.
Then, without warning, it began to pour.
Syonehlia straightened, her face towards the sky. Father’s voice never left her mind, the way he addressed the letter and its content. Yet, it huddled in the back as Cronyl’s advices overshadowed it.
She closed her eyes, letting the eager raindrops wash over her face, soaking her entire body.
There was no denying; she knew a moment like this will come. A wealthier noble heir was her boldest assumption, but the Prince… no. He was something she never considered.
She shrugged, something crawling under her skin.
Unfortunately, it made sense, if she thought about it.
Her Father was the High Scribe of the King, they spent a considerably long time together every day. She was a fool.
Syonehlia listened to the rain. It washed over the land, like a wall of gentle disappointment. Her heated body slowly cooled down drop by drop, her hair stuck onto her face.
There was no point in waiting out here anymore.
She didn’t hear footsteps, nor heavy breathing, but she noticed the patting of the raindrops on the grass changing. She opened her eyes and turned around; perhaps a little too quickly even.
Cronyl’s soaking wet clothes stuck to his figure, bringing out his lean, muscled body as it never did before. His hair trapped into a ponytail completely drenched as well.
If soundlessly, but he was panting.
And he only stood before her, not nearing closer, nor trying to utter a million excuses any minute now.
He just frowned.
“What are you doing?” Cronyl’s eyes wandered from her gaze, down her body, then back to her face.
She didn’t answer. She could only watch him while listening to the melody of heavy rainfall. As it somehow convinced the Humming Oaks to hum in sync with its resonating drops.
Then, Syonehlia launched forward, spinning on her heels to kick toward his head.
Cronyl leaned back just in time, but still, she cut a tiny piece off of his hair, the strands falling quickly under the force of nature. It wasn’t a storm, yet it poured heavy enough. And it seemed to strengthen.
She saw his frown deepen before she aimed her wrist spike at his side.
Water splashed as he caught her arm in mid-air, then tried to twist it behind her back, while he gracefully leaped at the side and turned to get behind her. She could already feel his breath on her neck. She saw the motion coming, however.
With a quick twist of her wrist, she freed herself, turning with Cronyl in sync.
Only to find herself face to face with his wrist spike at her throat.
She lost once more.
It was quiet again. No one uttered a word as both panted slightly, rain still pouring at them from the grey dullness from up there. Faces inches away from each other, their breaths were wisps of air in the cooling weather, mixing and twirling away. They locked eyes and none of them was about to break it.
Her skin itched where the point of the spike almost touched it.
She could see flames in his eyes, but she couldn’t tell what summoned it exactly. Or what it meant.
Anger, confusion, desire.
She didn’t care. She didn’t, and so she let her guard down.
As if sensing this, Cronyl’s breath slowed as well, the tension in his muscles visibly easing while he lowered his hand. Only to evenly rose it to her face. His spikes pulled back, his eyes never leaving her’s as he carefully brushed a wet strand of hair behind her ear. It stuck to her face during their fight.
“Talk to me,” he whispered, watching after his delicate fingers.
Such a tender movement, a loving touch. There was an unsettling urge at her core to lean onto it. To lean closer. What would he say if Syonehlia just grabbed him by his tunic, crashing on his lips and dragging him into her bedroom? What would she see in his eyes?
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