Limerence

Chapter VII- Light Words

Notes: conversing, banter (both sides), teasing (both sides), tension, undressing (shoes), Cath mention, advice and implementation (both sides), suggestiveness, kissing/making out, cliffhanger
.
.
.

   "Her majesty should be here soon, my liege. I apologize for the inconvenience." The assistant bowed and then sheepishly turned towards the expectant artist— the one who had been painting the royal Camelot portraits for ages— as if looking for an answer. The painter didn't seem to notice the panicked gaze, she was focused on preparing colors. So the assistant took a breath to fill the silence in his nervous wake. "You know, I'll send a maid to—"

Arthur, who had been standing off to the side near the wide bay windows, lifted a hand in dismissal that immediately silenced the anxious assistant. "There is no need." He said and turned around with a smile. "I'm sure she'll be here any moment." That put the room at ease as the assistant nodded and left.

Truth be told, the king was growing increasingly worried. Throughout the morning, he could only recall bits and pieces from the early light; where he had felt your touch and heard your voice in a way never before. Every time he remembered, the memories seemed to fleet as if he was slowly forgetting them while simultaneously trying to engrave them to memory. He could hardly focus the entire morning meetings; it was only when the afternoon break commenced did he relax ever so slightly. He hoped his letter and slight condolences would reach you— in the form of a special breakfast and the red box (both of which he was unsure you even accepted). He guessed time would only tell.

"Say," Arthur began, turning towards the painter. She only cast him a glance and went back to prep. "Windows open or closed?"

"Closed if you want it to look like all the other dungeon portraits. Open if you want to curse your marriage." She gave him a dubious look. Arthur gravely nodded. It was a tradition to never have the studio room's windows uncurtained by the red velvet drapes— which provided a luxurious backdrop. However the following effect was of a maroon dim that contrasted nicely for the colors sure— but it offered very little to ease the royal intimidation of the monarchs. Yet, as silly as the superstition was, Arthur chose to slowly draw the drapes back shut and only left a little light filter in: he didn't want his already rocky marriage to crumble completely.

"Look, Arthur," The painter began. "My paints are going to dry out if we don't get started." She turned in her stool to look over the side of the canvas and at him. A certain mischief flittered in her eyes. She had known Arthur for a while, having become fond of the young king as soon as he donned the throne many years ago. She seemed not a year over forty but was certainly much older due to the straightforward wisdom she bestowed (sometimes uncalled for but she was always right). She saw everyone equally, and appeared to always know something you didn't— evident in her glittering eyes just behind bejeweled frames.

"They're oil paints, it'll take days before they dry." Arthur dubiously countered with a grin. She laughed a smokey sound and turned back towards the canvas.

"Has she run away already? Just what have you done to her, mister?" The artist pointed the bristled end of the brush at him. His shoulders dropped.

"I could wonder the same thing..."

The defeated look in his usually solid violets made the painter pitifully tilt her head. She knew the history between him and the new queen... it wasn't quite the most glamorous one. On one hand she felt sympathy for you and your clear conflictions (of which she was sure Arthur was too oblivious to notice). On the other hand, she was worried for how the king was going about all this; he wasn't taking the proper steps and she was concerned it would drive you away— not like it hadn't already. With a sigh, she turned towards him.