[ yank ] - "I did not bid you leave, Magister."
Send one to see how my muse reacts
Vayne’s words had a cutting edge to them, a veiled threat underthe guise of a stern command. Aranea was used to this, to the steel of his actionscovered by the silky eloquence of his speeches, but this had been different –the Solidor heir grabbed her wrist and there was an almost alien skin to skincontact there. She had mostly been wearing her armor before, or his excellencyusing gloves.
Now, the humid heat of Dalmasca forced them to adapt or suffer– and while Vayne resisted at the beginning, even the lord consul had given upon certain Archadian fashion rules while abolishing the need for the armorwhenever Aranea was not on active duty in the streets. After all, inside the RoyalPalace of Rabanastre the Archadian lives were starting to outnumber theDalmascan ones, mostly due to trust issues after the recent incidents in thestreets with rebels and insurgents alike.
The judge magister almost expected the fingers gripping herwrist to be as cold as his heart – but they were warm, soft yet marked by thework of a nobleman brought up to wield his sword magnificently even if otherswere responsible for his security detail. The touch made her breath hitch andshe felt as if struck by lightning, frozen in place and incapable of taking onestep ahead.
The moment he pulled her back, however, the dragoon hadturned her head around – and their eyes met in what was nothing short of asilent battle. Vayne’s were dark steel and clear, and just as sharp as the edgeof his blade; Aranea’s were a light clouded day that promised heavier rains andthunderstorms, but not just now. No, there was too much to be lost if she triedto be a hero now, like Zecht. And the consul seemed to enjoy it, to appreciatethe conflict between heart and mind and driving her against a figurative wall.
The moment she relented and took a couple of steps back,bowing her head, was the moment Vayne allowed his lips to curve upwards,releasing her wrist. Ah yes, subjugation – not of a country, not of the localinsurgents… But of one of his own protectors. There was an Ivalice-famoussaying to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer…
And Aranea Highwind was as close as one could be to VayneSolidor.
“My apologies, my lord. I merely thought you would have me immediatelyback on the streets to search for the true culprit of the incident in thesewers.”
Vayne crossed his arms, regarding Aranea with a look that wasboth pleased and cruel; the man was a master at conveying everything he wishedto with the use of words or completely disregarding them – nothing he did wasaccidental and the way he circled Aranea like a coeurl and brushed against hershoulder was perfectly calculated. His height gave the consul the advantage tospeak closely to her ear, and even if she was staring right ahead at theunoccupied desk, the judge could imagine the smirk on his face.
“You, my dear judge magister, are to leave my presence when Itell you so. Not a moment before.”
This time, it did not escape the dragoon that Vayne had notallowed her to depart.