Matchmaker and Sacrificial Bull (you know I had to)
Matchmaker: For an honesty post on what my muse likes about yours.
That ass.Mostly, selfishly, Lacha likes that he likes her, all of her. He likes her cold and strong and determined and powerful. He likes her vulnerable and soft and emotional. He likes her giggly and giddy and playful. He likes whichever side she’s chosen to give him a glimpse at and has yet to chide her for any of who she is. And she likes how very complex he is himself. You could look at Gale the same way many look at Camellia – too soft-hearted or pure for the Unseelie Court. But to see that is to miss a large part of both of them. Gale can be just as hard and ruthless and cunning as is necessary. It’s how he watches Rowan enforce the debts, it’s how he’s made himself invaluable to the Court and its operations. It’s how he’s stayed by Lacha’s side as long as he’s been allowed.
Sacrificial Bull: For an inner monologue my muse has about yours.
He can be so brilliantly cruel, though, can’t he? And you’d be lying to yourself, Lacha dear, if that wasn’t a large part of why you love him so much as you do. The way he stands, even… He would be a proper Consort, after all. Just the way he holds himself, his shoulders, the line of his legs. There’s something edging toward nobility there, isn’t there? Something strong and surefooted. Or maybe it’s all in his eyes. All in the way he looks, takes everything in. Gods, but his eyes, the set of his jaw. He is distractingly beautiful. He could have just done that, couldn’t he? Just been your kept boy, warmed your bed. But no, he’s far too smart, too useful for that.
How would that taste? To call him Consort? To have a husband after all these years. He would be thrilled, and Camellia would too. All the inner-circle, of course, adores him already and would approve. But what would a Consort say to the Court? What would it mean and…and what kind of danger would it put him in? Put me in? Put the Court in?
No, better to keep him where he is. Where we know everything works. Where he– Gods. Where he can turn, like that, and smile at me, like that. To be his wife… Well. It’s a dream for another night, isn’t it, Lacha dear?