SIORDANTI ESTATE, VIENDA | MIDMORNING
The eldest Siordanti, flustered by his own boldness, blinked when the petite Gioran squeezed his hands, breathing a ragged breath at the brush of her living mona-laden field. He smirked at her words about her family, left side taking a moment to catch up with the right, only to hum some soft chuckle at her mockery of Anaxas. He could say the same about Gior, honestly—now that he knew all he knew—but he didn't. He kept those words to himself, for Athrym had been there, too. She knew them all already.
"I don't want a clocking audience." Nauleth snorted, shaking his head. While he loved the thrill of impressing a crowd while dueling, especially in his League days, he wasn't that much of a performer. As a professor, he was already surrounded by those who looked to him for wisdom he was never sure he'd ever be qualified to provide. During the course of his recovery from the backlash of his own making, he'd been under the scrutiny of what felt like the entire campus: doctors, magisters, teachers, and peers. Everyone had judged his progress. Everyone had their opinions on his failure.
No one had ever looked back to notice his success, either.
Not a one of them.
Therefore, he knew he owed them nothing.
His satisfaction was not based on their opinions anymore, and if he was to take any joy in a relationship he'd never wanted, hadn't asked for, and now valued far more than he'd ever imagined, well, clock the whole Circle, he didn't need a single ersehat nay-sayer looking on while he claimed the Bruthgrave's promised daughter as his own.
"I don't need one, either. Ceremonies don't matter to me, not like they used to in Dueling League. Those were victories, meant to be celebrated in the presence of those who'd been conquered, but this is very—well—this is very different. To me." Naul smirked, tone somewhat bittersweet, and his gold-rimmed eyes closed for a moment. Pausing, letting the heat of the Roalis sun sink into his shoulders from over his head.
He opened his mouth again, having more to say, feeling Athrym's grip tighten near his collar, tugging him into a lean for a kiss. It was not a demure, chaste expression of shy decision-making but a firm declaration of the path they'd both decided to travel. After a shaky, distracted breath, he finally added to his previous statement, blush bright on freckled cheeks after the lingering press of her lips,
"That's not to say you're not a victory in your own way." Sarcasm became sincerity, but this time the eldest Siordanti didn't stumble over his words or himself, "Just one I'm no longer willing to share. We can go—now—to the Courthouse first, it seems, and then to procure tickets back home to Brunnhold. I'm quite sure Headmistress Servalis and Professor Moore both are eager to hear from us, although I'm unsure as to whether or not Hadrian has dared share with anyone that we're in the Kingdom, safe and sound. If anyone can continue to offer us safety during our research, it's certainly Brunnhold's Board and Ophelia herself."
Fingers reached up and pried hers from his shirt slowly, carefully, tangling one hand in his with a—ah, there it was—a nervous laugh, the sudden static-like jitter in his powerful, stalwart field full of unspoken emotions, bright like the smashing of those little electric light bulbs he'd cleverly invented for exploring the Deep.
"We'd best go, then, before anyone notices we've got plans. I should change, though—" He tugged lightly, beginning to walk back up the path they'd wandered so far down already, picking their way back toward his family home, setting a much faster pace than he'd used to get them into the woods in the first place, "—I'm hardly presentable for Court."
Naul didn't linger on the thought, leading them both through familiar trails, "Teaching, was it? Are you sure you really want to wish such a thing on yourself? I haven't complained enough, obviously." He knew he hadn't. He knew that even if he had never said anything directly, he enjoyed teaching, even if he had found it terribly difficult.
"Magister Siordanti." He added with obvious coyness, "What the clock's wrong with that title? I think I'll wear it well, you know."