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[ Cardan imagines he should be offended that the mention of the Fair Folk would bring such an expression to Liem's face. Perhaps he is -- but beyond that, beyond the biting little smile he gives Liem in return, beyond the flawless footwork and elegant music, there is a dread that's settling slowly in his belly. His instinct, as always, is to outrun it; if he doesn't stand too still, if he doesn't cease drinking or dancing or engaging in clever conversation, it will surely never catch up, surely never grow to overtake him.

And then he won't have to think about Liem's words, and about his uncertain future. About the gulf of difference yawning between him and this strange, tightly wound man, and this court where he has no foothold. ]

I find hope to be dangerous.

[ The music is slowing. Soon another song will start; Cardan can see, out of the corner of his eye, Elowyn heading towards the inner edge of the crowd. He imagines she'll ask Liem to dance first, and Cardan after; he imagines she'll be full of veiled admonishments, which will be at least familiar. ]

Sample too much, and it becomes poison.

[Perhaps it's for the best that Cardan scorns Liem's well-wishes, toothless as they are. His hopes have no weight of magic behind them, nudging reality gently closer to the desired outcome. His hopes are just that: desires. And he cannot imagine that the man he's been wed to cares at all what he wants.]

Nevertheless.

[There is a slight lift to his chin as he says this; defiance, perhaps, or just stubbornness. Most poisons are of no danger to a vampire in any case. It's his prerogative to discover the exceptions for whatever reasons he might choose.

The music fades, breathes for a moment between songs, and the other dancers are free to take to the floor. Liem allows himself to be parted from his spouse, and spends much of the rest of the night whirling around the dance floor with Fair Folk and vampire alike. Every time he thinks to pause for a moment, to chat with the guests loitering at the edges of the space or simply to take in the view, someone new approaches to beg a dance from him—one of the fey more often than not. He has the dubious pleasure of realizing that his father's Faerie guests are even more committed to their revels than his usual company.

Outside, dawn has well and truly arrived by the time the revelry has died down enough for Liem to seek his groom and then his bed. He takes Cardan's hand under the drink-soaked regard of an entire ballroom's worth of immortal partygoers, and he spirits him further into the sprawl of the Talbott estate, toward the wing that houses his own suite of rooms. The noise of the festivities fades quickly as they are swallowed by carved and jewel-toned corridors, cloistered from the sun and lit at intervals with soft lamps that provide colour more than actual light to the surrounds.

He prickles with mingled fatigue and agitation as they near the dark, heavy doors leading into his sitting room. Even behind layers of wood and stone and glass and cloth, some primal part of him feels the dominion of the sun taking hold outside; it eats at his patience as it always does, and absent the noise and distraction of the wedding guests, he looks more worn out than before, like his polish is held together just by dint of unrelenting obsession. Nevertheless, he manages to be gracious, if sparing, in his conversation, and in his greetings to the human servants they pass on their way.]

[ Cardan only laughs, soft and bitter in his throat. He laughs, and he dances, and he keeps laughing and dancing until there is no more to be done of either.

He drinks, too -- as much as he can, anyway, before the goblets stop coming. He has his sister to thank for that, he thinks; it would not do to have the youngest son of the Greenbriar line be fall-down drunk at his own wedding. So it happens that when Liem takes his newly minted husband's hand, Cardan is still sober enough to be steady on his feet, though he is warmer than before, and he laces his fingers through Liem's in a strangely tight grip.

The corridors he's led down remind him of a strange mixture of the Palace of Elfhame -- which is inside a hill, and therefore largely windowless -- and Hollow Hall, the gothic estate where he has spent the past decade. The difference is in Liem's treatment of the serving staff: even distracted as Cardan is, he notices the surprisingly cordial exchanges. ]

Do you know all of them? [ he will ask, quietly, as they approach the doors. It is, perhaps, the first question of his that doesn't carry an air of mockery with it.

He has not let go of Liem's hand. ]

[The Talbott staff are all supremely busy considering the volume of guests currently being hosted at the estate, but although they don't stop to chat, the deference that they pause to show the newlywed couple carries an undercurrent of congratulation. Liem has kept all of his misgivings between himself and his father, and the wedding has been proceeding beautifully, so the servants smile when he goes past, accepting his wishes of "good morning" with high spirits.]

I try to. [Liem glances over at his husband, searching his expression for a brief moment as they reach the doors.] Since the house has no Lady, the head servants report to me, instead of troubling the Lord himself. Familiarity makes my duties go more smoothly.

[Also, since Iago is still the one who actually hires the most senior staff, Liem doesn't trust them to be completely forthcoming with him about certain matters. God forbid his job actually be straightforward.

There is no servant on hand to get the doors, but when Liem touches them they swing open of their own accord with hardly a whisper. The sitting room within is well appointed in rich gold and pastel shades that help to offset the severe lack of windows.

He can't help the sliver of apprehension that squirms through him at the imminent reality of the two of them being completely alone in his rooms. Cardan said he did not wish to treat his marriage vows as business; fair enough. For Liem, the prospect of inviting a near-stranger into his bed under these circumstances is no more appealing. But he dares not linger too long on the threshold.]

Please; come in and be welcome.

[Ritual words, like those Iago would have spoken to every guest, vampire or not, before welcoming them into his home. With them, Liem leads Cardan inside, and the doors swing smoothly shut behind them.]

That is–

[ He stops himself, not certain of what he wishes to say. It is odd to have servants look at him with unclouded eyes, and more odd still to be spoken to. Hollow Hall had been filled with starvelings: humans who had made inopportune wishes and who now wandered the halls trapped in their own dreams, servicing the house and its inhabitants.

Cardan had never liked them, but he does not know if this feels comfortable, either.

When the doors shut quietly behind them, he releases a quiet breath. If he feels the tension that bothers Liem, it does not show; if anything, Cardan’s shoulders slack a little, the charming princeling retreating from the surface. It’s an intimately familiar role, but to play it for so long, at an event like this–

The quiet is too prominent, after the bustle of the party. ]

…Are we alone?

[ He is still holding Liem’s hand. Perhaps he has forgotten he had it in the first place. ]

[For a moment, Liem imagines Cardan is about to make some comment about the surprising mundanity of the house staff; they lack the vapid expressions of people whose wills have been enslaved, as one might perhaps expect in the home of a vampire lord. To all appearances they seem to be entirely normal employees, and when the elf stops himself mid-sentence, Liem wonders what it was that he was about to say. He can't remember another occasion when he's yet seen Cardan hesitate.]

We are.

[His fingers move restlessly in Cardan's grasp, like he's not sure what to do with them now that he's brought his husband here.]

We won't be bothered unless we call for someone.

[Call it paranoia, perhaps, but Liem prefers not to have servants in his rooms during the day. Cardan's heart will likely be the only one beating (much) in here until it's time to get dressed for the following evening. For now, Liem looks up at his husband as he takes another step into the room—still wrapped in the night's poise, that mantle of polished formality he wears when he has work to do. The line of his shoulders has not relaxed one single degree.]

I hope the accommodations suit you. You are, of course, welcome to retain the use of your current rooms if you prefer.

[ It annoys him to see Liem fail to change at all; they owe no intimacy to each other, but the insistence on formality is still insulting. Or maybe this is just the way Liem is -- always polished, always put-together. Maybe he feels no desire to be at ease. Maybe he doesn't relax.

Something about their vows makes Cardan think otherwise, though.

Regardless, there is a gulf of difference between the things Cardan is owed and the things he wants. Their marriage is but a political contrivance. He may as well be as a cast-off consort in a fortnight, chasing after gossip at pointless parties, trying to escape obscurity.

He should've made his peace with it, but it pisses him off anyway. ]

On our wedding night?

[ He releases Liem's hand... because he's going to shrug off his embroidered coat, draping it over a chair. Usually, he would stop there.

But the irritation rakes down his spine, so he doesn't. Instead, he will reach for the buttons of his jacket, then the pin of the silk ascot at his neck, undoing both. ]

No.

[ The silk slips from his throat. His eyes are on Liem, and he does not bother hiding the displeasure in his voice. ]

I do not prefer to sleep elsewhere.

[Wariness is usually not the emotion that Liem experiences while watching someone undress, but when Cardan slides off his coat and begins to undo the buttons of his jacket, the feeling like a weight squashing Liem's chest only grows stronger. He cannot imagine a scenario in which this dawn ends happily for the two of them, given the sour look he's already put on his husband's face—because although he could fake his way through being happy about his wedding, he has neither the desire nor the ability to do so here. His covenant with Cardan is one he made exclusively out of duty, and while he intends to uphold their agreement to the best of his ability, he cannot be at ease with this strange, temperamental man simply because they have escaped the public eye.

He does not understand how he could already have displeased his husband so starkly. Their marriage is nothing more than the fulfilment of an agreement; surely he could not have come here expecting romance. Perhaps it is simply that Cardan is annoyed, and Liem is here. Either way, turning his gaze elsewhere at the moment would surely only irritate him more, so he regards Cardan with a steady expression as the silk slides free of his throat.]

As you like.

[His gaze flicks down to those long, cunning fingers before sliding back to Cardan's face. Deliberately, he shrugs his own coat off and drapes it neatly over Cardan's. His hand lingers there, over the fabric-shrouded chair's back.]

Have I offended you, Cardan?

Yes.

[ The answer comes without hesitation, on the edge of a flash-quick smile. He does not bother elaborating, however. He would pretend that there's no point in bickering about it, but the petty part of him (which is most of him) simply doesn't feel like delving into the problem. Let Liem wonder.

He eyes the stacked coats. An odd gesture. Conciliatory?

He does not know the man he married well enough to tell. ]

What are my duties here?

[ In this family, he means, but he does not clarify that, either. His gaze flicks up to Liem's strangely dark one; he holds it there, as if aiming to pin his husband down. As if Cardan has that kind of power.

As if he has any kind of power at all, anymore.

If he did, he imagines he'd be knee-deep in wine and twice as merry for it. ]

Edited (words!!) 2022-11-07 12:41 (UTC)

[Liem looks at Cardan, at his little knife-sharp smile, for another moment after his answer, waiting to see if further illumination is forthcoming. Instead Cardan replies with another question, and Liem wonders if being wedded to him is always going to be like wading into a moat filled with stinging creatures. Finding out what might be in the castle on the other side promises to be a masochistic pursuit, and he's liable to have the door shut in his face for his trouble.

He almost answers, "To look good and keep me busy," but that would be unnecessarily cruel, regardless of how true it might be. He has no illusions about his father's vision for his marriage, but that doesn't mean he's accepted it wholesale. Also, he imagines that the remedy to having already offended his husband is not to try actively to offend him more.]

That remains to be seen.

[Iago suggested Cardan might shoulder some of Liem's duties since he (poor thing) often seems so overworked. Liem had countered that if he was suddenly splitting half of his work with someone else, he'd have plenty of time to attend more meetings (along with dear old dad). They'd argued. Nothing productive was decided.]

I imagine you have opinions on the matter. If there is something in particular you desire, you should say so.

[ Looking good had, in fact, been Cardan's primary occupation back home, so it's not like Liem would have been incorrect. Still, Liem's answer prompts a raised eyebrow. Is Cardan expected to prove himself? How novel.

He doesn't know what he desires. For so much of his life, he's shirked work at all cost. But he has some inkling that Liem probably expects him to be an ornamental lout... and that's annoying, too. ]

Perhaps I will.

[ ...once he figures out what his options are. He's certainly never paid attention to matters of household management.

And the general list of the things he desires is too long to enumerate. ]

But for now--

[ He reaches out a graceful hand -- as if offering Liem another dance, except this time Cardan's knuckles brush against a cool cheek. It's a tender gesture, incongruous with his bad mood and prickly commentary.

It's only because Liem is handsome, and because Cardan remembers too well the face he made after they'd kissed. ]

Show me to bed, husband.

[It's frustratingly accurate to say that Liem has almost no idea what Cardan might actually be good at. The things he's managed to learn about him since being informed of his betrothal could easily fit on a single scrap of paper, and half of those things would be items he's noted since after the prince arrived for the wedding. He has learned, for instance, that Cardan is an excellent dancer and that he knows how to keep personal irritations divorced from his public persona. He also kisses almost frighteningly well.

None of these are unimportant skills in the world of vampire politics, but Liem is a little concerned that if he gives Cardan more leverage to establish himself in vampire high society, he might be tying his own noose; a dangerous prospect, given how adept his husband seems to be at putting him off-balance.

Faeries may not be known for the same kind of predation as his own people, but he's not ignorant enough to believe them harmless, and the extent to which he doesn't understand Cardan makes him wary just as much as intrigued.

Nevertheless, he moves automatically at the electric contact of warm skin brushing his cheek, lifting his fingers to again take Cardan's hand with his own. He lowers his gaze briefly to their joined hands, hesitating for only a moment before he answers.]

Come with me.

[He leads Cardan further into the room, through another set of doors that seem to open of their own accord and into another wide and windowless chamber. Where the sitting room suggested dawn with its colours, this room evokes sunset, furnished in bruised autumn shades that cast the room into perpetual twilight. A spacious four poster bed beckons from directly across the room, and Liem crosses the plush carpet to its side, turning as he does so he's backing against it while he coaxes Cardan closer.

The fingers of his free hand brush the breast of Cardan's unbuttoned jacket; he glances up at him from beneath the fringe of his lashes.]

May I help you with these?

[ It’s not the reaction he expects. Something about Liem – perhaps the calm restraint he’s displayed, especially against the flamboyant backdrop of vampire and faerie alike – had led Cardan to think he would be reticent about touch, especially from a virtual stranger. He had thought he’d encounter obvious discomfort, or else flustered embarrassment. In some ways, he had counted on it.

He’s not entirely sure what to do with the thing he gets instead.

Lovely as the decor is, he barely notes it now, being otherwise preoccupied. Already they are by the bed, and Liem’s cool, elegant fingers are on his chest. Cardan thinks that perhaps he ought to smirk, to make a joke, to play it off as an easy thing– but the tension that coils in his belly betrays otherwise. He wonders if Liem notices the jump in his heartbeat. He had heard that vampires were adept at that kind of thing.

The faint scent of blood is still there. For the first time, he considers that between the two of them, he might be the prey. ]

…You may.

[ Quiet; the same way he spoke when they danced, except that there is no one to overhear them now. His hand slips out of Liem’s grasp so it can ghost up his side, fingertips skimming the fine fabric at his waistline. ]

After all, am I not your creature?

[ It ought to be a joke. But he doesn’t smile here, either, and the expression on his face is oddly intent. ]

[How strange it is to be with another man, close enough to hear the soft murmur of his breath and the drum-beat of his heart, and to be completely unable to smell anything about him resembling human flesh, human sweat, human blood. Even vampires have their own animal smell, strange and subtle though it is, but there is nothing of salt and iron about Cardan. After days of sleeping under a vampire’s roof, of eating his food and revelling in his halls and manicured gardens, he still smells like the forest.

It’s not a particularly appetizing scent, though it is an intriguing one. Liem has always liked the scent of the deep woods.

When Cardan slips free of his grip, when he consents, Liem’s hand skims up to join its twin, fingers poised to slide the jacket free of his shoulders. Something about the low murmur of Cardan’s voice and the feather-light brush of his fingers fascinates Liem’s attention—and he lets it. He lets himself yearn after that touch that is little more than a suggestion, lets himself lay aside everything that is not that quiet voice and those dark eyes, lets Cardan be just a man he has invited into his bed. His air of attentiveness does not subside, but rather gains—as he feels Cardan’s fingers wander—an edge of almost hungry interest.

In this room there is no status-flaunting revel, no political alliance. There is just him and Cardan and his fervent desire to have a single uncomplicated thing between them.

But when his husband speaks again, Liem’s hands go still in the act of easing that jacket free from him. His creature. He does not expect his husband to be his creature—to be his anything, really—and the unflinching way in which Cardan implies it unsettles him as abruptly as a slap. Liem’s eyes widen slightly. Something in him visibly withdraws, turns to stone.]

I would never dare to assume so.

[ For a breath and a half, he'd foolishly thought the night might turn around.

This time, Cardan does laugh. It is instinctive-- defensive, really, to meet rejection with cruelty, and what a rejection it is. Never has he seen someone become horrified at the prospect of fucking him.

His decisive step back takes him away from Liem's hands. It's the only thing he knows to do: to go on the offense, like a hissing alley cat backed into a corner. ]

Oh, fret not. Being sold off is but common fare for unwanted heirs.

[ He'll remove his own jacket; the heavy silk of it pools to the floor, spilling from his fingers. He wonders if Liem dislikes Cardan untidying his well-kept room. His presumably well-kept life.

Cardan hopes so. ]

Or are you too virtuous for such an arrangement?

[ Surely not. An ethical vampire would be a joke too rich even for Cardan's royal blood. ]

[Liem is expecting it when Cardan steps away from him, freeing himself from Liem’s touch; how could he not? What possible reason would he have to stay? He watches him let out a laugh that is neither nice nor joyful, and he wonders if Cardan might reconsider deciding to share his bed.

But no. That decision obviously hadn’t hinged on wanting Liem’s company, even to begin with. And evidently his reputation is more important than his displeasure.]

I think it’s clear enough that I’m not.

[Technically his father was the one who did the buying, but Liem’s hardly an uninvolved third party, now is he? Nevermind what he thinks of the whole thing; he went along with it in the end, so the rest is just semantics.

There is a basket tucked away in one corner of the room to receive worn laundry, but he isn’t looking at the heap of silk on his floor when Cardan slides his jacket free. He’s still looking at his husband, hands dropped now to his sides, the stricken look on his face resolving to cool-eyed resignation. He doesn’t have to guess now what he’s done to offend, at least this time, but neither does he have the energy to even begin to smooth things over. He’s just going to have to deal with it later, and hope that Cardan isn’t moved to try anything problematic in the meantime.

What a mess—and this time it’s one he’s made all by himself. Liem sighs and starts to rake a hand through his hair, before catching himself halfway and laying his hand on the carved contours of the bedpost instead.]

But what fretting I might do, I shall try to do unobtrusively, so as not to disturb your rest.

[ There is a version of this tale where they do not meet badly. Perhaps one where their exchange during the dance leads to a common understanding, rather than soft spots to jab at, later when Cardan remembers. There is even one -- the one he thought most likely -- where the quarrel culminates in feverish hands and the desperate rhythm of bodies against each other, where he presses his new husband into that plush mattress and pours his own rage and fear and desire into him, until none of the chill is left in his skin.

Cardan feels that last one linger, still, in the tension that runs up his spine.

In those tales, in those worlds, perhaps he would have been happy to be obedient. To keep his head down, to read and drink and be little more than arm candy -- what everyone wants him to be, he suspects. He'd thought that life desirable, not so long ago.

But this is no fairy tale.

His fingers find the buttons of his shirt, thumb them open one by one: a slow, inexorable revealing of skin. It may have been submissive on someone else. ]

I see.

[ Something moves at his waist... and then slips out silently from between layers of fabric. It is a thin, black tail, a lion's tuft at its end.

It coils against Cardan's leg, the tip twitching. ]

Never have I been insulted with such an excess of consideration.

[If Liem had quarrelled with anyone else, and was now watching that person aim such a quietly poisonous look at him while they disrobed for bed, he would have turned his head away long before now. He feels uneasy watching. It’s worse, he thinks, that Cardan holds so stubbornly onto his dignity, keeping it close even as he moves to methodically peel away his clothes, button by button, piece by piece. He would have preferred if Cardan insulted him, or shouted, or told him to fuck off and get out of his sight.

But instead he just looks at him, and he says, I see, and keeps taking off his clothes—and Liem knows he’s going to be stuck next to him all night without a single useful thing to say to him, and then tomorrow he’ll have to pretend that nothing is the matter at all but his father will still seem to know exactly what he’s thinking as usual, and either Cardan will be quietly plotting his vengeance or he won’t be, but regardless of which it is, that is still decidedly worse. It also doesn’t help that he’s starting to feel conspicuously overdressed, standing in his bedroom almost fully clothed while his husband strips spitefully in front of him.

Does it matter to Cardan, whether or not Liem meant to insult him? Probably not, he thinks. The end result is the same either way.]

I will make it up to you.

[His eyes dip to the sinuous curl of movement around Cardan’s leg, and he blinks to note the sudden appearance of a tail. That was not in plain sight before. He’s certain that he would have noticed it if it had been, but unsure what the significance of this discovery is.

His gaze climbs back to Cardan’s face, and he clarifies.]

To your satisfaction.

[ There is something to being watched. Even if Liem hates him (as he might) or thinks him a nuisance (as he must), he has not looked away yet. Cardan feels those blue and strangely piercing eyes on him, and there is a tension in that, too, a shiver that travels up his spine.

He thinks of Liem's waist beneath his hand; of the fold of his fingers against Cardan's own; of the scent of blood and the flutter in his belly at the thought of being prey; of how sometimes a thing just out of reach is more desirable than anything within it. The last of the buttons slips open, and this time Cardan steps forward, close.

Too close, but not touching. He will merely lean forward, one arm crossed over Liem's body so he can hold on to a bedpost for balance. He's taking off his boots.

And if that brings his mouth close to Liem's ear, well-- ]

Promises are much like threats, [ he'll murmur, ] cheaper to make than to fulfill.

[ In truth, the declaration had surprised him. But that's all the more reason not to trust it. ]

[Frustratingly, the fact that Liem has psyched himself out of having sex with Cardan does nothing to make him any less attractive, particularly as he continues the deliberate and unhurried process of undressing himself. He is, in fact, almost suspiciously slow about it, perhaps like he’s drawing the task out in order to make Liem regret his refusal. He’s already going to be lying awake half the day because of Cardan, so it’s not like he needed the extra help.

He doesn’t move when his husband leans close to brace against the bedpost—reminding Liem of an irritated cat, finding excuses to be near just so it can make its displeasure known. Cardan still smells bright and fascinating, the bare skin peeking out from his undone shirt invites tasting, and he moves in a lithe and supple way that makes Liem want to get his hands all over him; and yet he is still absolutely not going to do any of that, much to his own self-inflicted frustration.

His fingers tighten a little on the bedpost.]

People lose faith in you if you make a habit of not following through, [he observes, tilting his head to glance sideways at his husband.] It costs, in the long run.

[ It would be so easy, to do something about it. To close the distance, rifle his hands through short hair, smooth fingers underneath the elegant layers of those beautiful clothes. But even if his pride hadn't been stung, Cardan... cannot. He doesn't think Liem thinks him unattractive, but he also remembers too well that stricken, quiet look, just before things had gone off the rails so magnificently.

And wanting is not the same as yes. ]

My faith only buries you in obligations. To be honest, to keep your word, to protect me. [ For as long as you keep faith with me. He's quoting from Liem's own vows, from what seems like an eternity ago.

Cardan straightens up, letting his second boot slip from his fingers. The tail, ever with a mind of its own, brushes against the outside of Liem's thigh, feather-light. ]

Strange, to wish to retain such a burden.

[ And then he's stepping back so he can make his way around the bed, approaching the opposite side like nothing happened. Like they are just going to go to sleep, now.

But what else is there left to do? ]

[Cardan’s assessment makes Liem’s eyebrows twitch upwards, a moment’s amusement surprised over his expression like a flushed rabbit darting to shelter. It says something about his husband, he thinks, that he would see Liem’s vows in such a way—as if he wouldn’t have made every effort to uphold those promises regardless of whether he’d ever spoken them aloud. As if such a short and simple list of duties to his spouse might ever bury him.

Though in fairness, he doesn’t entirely know what he’s signed himself up for. If Cardan is someone who ends up routinely up to his pointed ears in danger, that could actually keep him busy.

Then that tail touches his leg, (his eyes flick down at it, unbidden,) and to his relief, Cardan moves away to circle round to the bed’s other side. Liem doesn’t sigh, but he does turn and lean his hips against the jewel-toned covers.

He doesn’t reply immediately. He’s too tired, for one thing; he leans down instead to pry the sharp little boots from his feet, and then divests himself of the faintly-shimmering layers of dark fabric making up his silhouette. For once, he lets the clothes crumple to the floor; it’s hardly unexpected after his wedding night, after all. Only once he’s flicking open the throat of his shirt does he finally say,]

Perhaps you’ve simply married a strange man.

[ It's Cardan's turn to watch. He sits on the bed, propped up on one arm, and his black eyes follow Liem's movements as carefully as a pupil watching a lesson. The tail flicks against the bed, still -- restless, or maybe pissed off. The reason for keeping it hidden might become obvious sooner rather than later: Cardan has a hard time keeping it still.

But that matters not, now; what does matter are Liem's fingers at his throat. Cardan is irrepressibly curious about what might lie beneath the layers of clothing and formality. Does he ever shed it? Or is he as reserved with the partners he does take to bed?

Perhaps Cardan won't get a chance to know. Still, his intense focus follows every button, every clasp, as if this, like their vows, is ceremony. To be remembered.

If he's aware that he's staring, he makes no effort to correct himself. Though Liem's answer will pull a huff of a laugh from him. ]

That, [ he admits, ] I knew from the moment I saw you.

[It’s a relief to shed the layers of prim, tailored clothes he’d donned for his wedding, even if Liem doesn’t strip down to the skin. He moves along the side of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt with practised idleness, his attention only half on his fingers. Even when he glances in Cardan’s direction he doesn’t seem overtly troubled by the intent look aimed his way, though he certainly notes it.

But when he laughs, and then speaks, Liem pauses with his shirt open down to his chest, his fingers halfway through undoing another button. He casts a sideways glance at Cardan, his brows knit in a frown of consternation.]

… That soon?

[He’d thought there might be at least… Well, what he thought doesn’t really matter. There’s little room for ambiguity in his groom’s admission, which, considering who and what he married, makes the statement hit that much harder.

But he takes what comfort he can in the knowledge that vampires are an idiosyncratic bunch, and probably all of them could be considered strange by some metric.]

[ Cardan did not expect this to be the statement that draws his new husband up short. Surely Liem is aware of how he comes off against a background of partygoers who drink, laugh, feed each other hallucinogenic powders, and have certainly started more than a few trysts within the rooms of the Talbott estate.

Not to mention the sort of chaos that has occurred without, under the moonlight and the bonfires lit by the Folk, who needn't care so much about the sun's ascent.

He raises an eyebrow at Liem's frown. But he doesn't mind talking about this, especially since it appears to discomfit the other man. ]

Your people seem not dissimilar to us Folk. We like spectacle, and pleasure, and trickery. After all, what's the point of an immortal life if not to wring from it every delight? But you...

[ He thinks of Liem speaking of his duties, of how all of the servants did in fact seem to know him. Of the precise way he dances, and of the careful wording of his vows.

Of how tired he looked, even on that first night. ]

I imagine you are anxious to get back to your work, and the mess you will have to clean up tomorrow.

[ It's a guess, and a somewhat tenuous one. But he figures that if he's wrong, Liem might take it as insult, and that is just as well. ]

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