For the remainder of their walk, Essek thinks about that kiss, about Percival's trust, about his plans for the rest of the day. And when they arrive at the door, he takes a breath to steel himself, to tuck away all of the affection he is comfortable showing his husband normally. His expression smooths into a soft smile with nothing behind it; a mask of politeness, but also of expectation. It is the look he would give anyone who begged a moment of his time. What can he do for them? And more importantly, what can they do for him in exchange?
With a few swift, precise gestures, Essek disengages the arcane lock on the door. It swings open for him without him every laying a finger on the handle.
"Please come in," he invites, pleasant but cool. His shoulders suddenly seem too light, absent the weight of the Shadowhand's mantle. "Take a seat for now," he instructs with a graceful wave of a hand toward a pair of plush high-backed chairs situated in the center of the circular room facing one another. "I will be with you momentarily." With a curl of a finger, the door closes. The sound of a lock sliding into place is audible in the dark tower chamber, illuminated only faintly by a handful of cool blue magelights. Though it is mid-afternoon, in Essek's tower it is always night.
He drifts to his desk, intentionally turning his back to his guest. A hand presses to the dark purple Vermaloc wood. On its surface are laid out an array of tools he expects he may need today, from spell components to more overtly sexual implements. He reminds himself of each of them with a glance and determines himself adequately prepared before he joins Percival. He releases his anti-gravity spell only when he has settled primly in his own armchair with one leg crossed over the other beneath the layers of his dark robes. They are close enough that his dangling foot, only the toe of his leather boot visible, is mere inches from Percy's knee.
"I will conduct an assessment today," he says with that same silken certainty, "of your worth and suitability to marry me. As I was not given the chance before we were wed, I believe it is well past time. You will answer me honestly, you will submit to any test I may ask of you, and if you feel there is something you must say for yourself, you will ask my permission before speaking out of turn."
Though his authority is clear, there is nothing rude about the way Essek speaks or behaves. If anything, he is sharply polite. But his gaze is measuring, sweeping over Percival head to toe. His expression changes almost imperceptibly; one would have to know him well to notice it. But Percival knows him very well. His eyelids lower a fraction and his full lips purse together just enough to make the corners of his mouth tight. It is a look indicating that he has calculated the worth he expects from the man before him and found it wanting.
"Is this acceptable to you, husband?" His tone suggests that he expects a yes within the role he is playing, but it is a genuine question. If Percival has objections to his framing of this scene, he will alter it.
no subject
With a few swift, precise gestures, Essek disengages the arcane lock on the door. It swings open for him without him every laying a finger on the handle.
"Please come in," he invites, pleasant but cool. His shoulders suddenly seem too light, absent the weight of the Shadowhand's mantle. "Take a seat for now," he instructs with a graceful wave of a hand toward a pair of plush high-backed chairs situated in the center of the circular room facing one another. "I will be with you momentarily." With a curl of a finger, the door closes. The sound of a lock sliding into place is audible in the dark tower chamber, illuminated only faintly by a handful of cool blue magelights. Though it is mid-afternoon, in Essek's tower it is always night.
He drifts to his desk, intentionally turning his back to his guest. A hand presses to the dark purple Vermaloc wood. On its surface are laid out an array of tools he expects he may need today, from spell components to more overtly sexual implements. He reminds himself of each of them with a glance and determines himself adequately prepared before he joins Percival. He releases his anti-gravity spell only when he has settled primly in his own armchair with one leg crossed over the other beneath the layers of his dark robes. They are close enough that his dangling foot, only the toe of his leather boot visible, is mere inches from Percy's knee.
"I will conduct an assessment today," he says with that same silken certainty, "of your worth and suitability to marry me. As I was not given the chance before we were wed, I believe it is well past time. You will answer me honestly, you will submit to any test I may ask of you, and if you feel there is something you must say for yourself, you will ask my permission before speaking out of turn."
Though his authority is clear, there is nothing rude about the way Essek speaks or behaves. If anything, he is sharply polite. But his gaze is measuring, sweeping over Percival head to toe. His expression changes almost imperceptibly; one would have to know him well to notice it. But Percival knows him very well. His eyelids lower a fraction and his full lips purse together just enough to make the corners of his mouth tight. It is a look indicating that he has calculated the worth he expects from the man before him and found it wanting.
"Is this acceptable to you, husband?" His tone suggests that he expects a yes within the role he is playing, but it is a genuine question. If Percival has objections to his framing of this scene, he will alter it.