@songcharme // kiss meme ( not accepting ) ; forehead kiss.
the war council ran late into the evening, late enough for the sky to crack open with a heavy mountain deluge that left the monastery paths slick and deep with mud. the sort of mud that could tug and snap a heel in two, so ferdinand offered, as any gentleman would, to carry dorothea back to her room through the rain and grime.
she is hardly a toil for him, tucked into his arms with her own thrown around his neck and holding on tight. there is something almost silly about the scene, rain and distant thunder mixed with the occasional laugh or squeak of her commanding him to run faster.
at the threshold of her room, with droplets smacking into the protective awning above them, he sets her back on her feet ―― unblemished, far unlike his own armored boots now caked nearly to the knee in earth and mud.
“ there. not a speck of mud on you, as promised. ” his smile is warm, friendly. a few years ago he doubts she would have entertained the offer. but now, even cold and soaked to the spine, there is a small but kindled warmth between them. so he stamps the smile to her wet forehead, a quick, chaste kiss. “ good night, dorothea. it is late; get some sleep. ”
