The sunlight played across the snowy trees while Ivory and Iric explored the old puzzles Fantasy had built into the palace grounds for the flying ones to test their skills. Bryson led Kyera inside, and let her loose to explore with Gale cradled in her arms, showing him the things that excited her. The wooden archways with their rustic edges and the furniture made much more for comfort than for beauty. It was as if the forest homes had been replicated in every room of this beautiful palace. Every inch was grand, and yet so… simple.
Kyera wondered at this and traveled from room to room, having no idea where her footsteps would take her. Bryson left her to it. He turned away and headed down a different path, one whose stones kept some of his deepest secrets. Wandering down the hallway his mind traveled back in time, to when these hallways were almost bare… and the windowsills had never known dust.
He came to a wooden doorway, and took the key from his neck. It slid into the worn lock, and with the softest of clicks, opened and yielded to his touch. The door fell open, and he leaned against it taking in the room beyond. It had been left untouched since the day she had fled, hidden herself away in the land of her birth.
His mind drifted back to nearly half a century ago, when these halls had just begun to be filled with new life, and given purpose. These same halls, but shadowed with the darkness of night and lit only by the gentlest dragon flame, had received him. Sneaking like a thief, he had traveled to this same doorway and it had stood open.
The muse of his dreams sat at the vanity, using the soft silver brush to comb her hair. The bath water still steamed, a protest against the chill sending white plumes over the partition wall. A gossamer silk nightgown dyed the deepest of forest greens, unembroidered and unadorned with the frivolousness most women demanded draped over her elegant curves. Even now he could smell her scent, the headiness of the wood in her blood and the soft minty smell of the bath oils that she had no doubt soaked herself in for quite a while.
There had been anger in his heart, hearing what his brother had done to her. Consequences never crossed his mind as he rode, finding his way here to the palace she had been imprisoned in. He had called it a gift to her, but in truth it was a gift to himself, so he could have that woman instead. Bryson crossed the memory's floor and took the brush from her hand. Their eyes had met for but a mere moment, and then his avoided hers. The brush traveled gently through those silken strands, sending droplets of water to the cold stone floor. There hadn't been a rug back then, just marble stone. Her hair had been soft under his hand, and her skin warm and enticing.
"You must not." Her words had been soft, and yet echoed in his heart more loudly than the beating of a drum. It was further proof that this woman knew him better than any other female he had been in the company of. Her golden eyes, though filled with pain were also prideful and determined.
"I will not." He had agreed so gently. The biggest regret of his life was that one simple sentence. A promise he could not take back, and she would hold him to till her dying breath. She had turned around, and his arms gathered her to him.
"We can not… the oath." She whispered and Bryson's arms swept her up and carried her to the bed. It had been simple, but the mattress had been poor. It had not been changed out yet with a decent one.