Her name on his lips . . . She couldn't quite get the sound of it out of her mind. It held promise and a yielding ardor. Ever since this mornings unexpected meeting with the King, Desmirra had spent the day in somewhat of a haze. Her mother had had her royally torn to shreds with her words and not let her out of her sight until Desmirra had begged headache and was granted leave by her lady mother. Not alone of course, Nona had escorted her back to her room and was to keep an eye on her. Luckily, Nona did not take long to doze off and Desmirra took her chance to escape and explore. Naturally she found herself in the comforts of the library of the manor.
Her head was fine of course, though, she did not think she could have stood another moment of the women's idle gossiping, her mother's chiding or the glares she was receiving from some of the young ladies. It astounded Desmirra, as she lounged in an alcove by a window book in hand, those girls were envious of her. It was so very novel experience for Desmirra. She did not like it. She had no liking for being known. In fact, she had decided to stay out of sight for the rest of their stay. Yet, that voice that promised a meeting after the hunt, bought a smile to her lips and evoked a longing inside her. But no, she could not allow this to go any further Desmirra told herself solidly. She had seen the fury in both her parent's eye earlier today. Her father, she couldn't bare to disappoint or hurt him.
No. The next time she came across Leolf Duhamel, she would ignore him. Yes, that's exactly what she would do, she ordered herself as she opened the book and tried to read the same line five times. Alas, she could not concentrate for the life of her. Information among noble ladies was like a commodity and it spread like wild fire. Just before Desmirra took her leave of her mother the room had been alight with news from the hunt. A Lord had been killed in an accident and there was the possibility that it was an attack on the King. There was that feeling again in the pit of her stomach, ever since she had heard that tidbit. Was that dread? Oh why did she even care?! She barely knew the man and no doubt her family would rejoice at his demise but . . . Desmirra did care. She longed to know of his well fare. From her seat she saw the somber return of the party put from this height she could not make out who was who.
That was when she heard him. The dark tones of his voice breaking her idle musings. Turning her head, she gazed at him as an unexpected relief washing over her. He was in one piece, dark and foreboding before her. All but that one hand she noticed. Even as he brooded she couldn't help but have a small smile light her face. Her plans from earlier to ignore him going straight down the drain.
"In the library again." She conceded with an amused expression. "I prefer the company of books to people I confess and technically," She stood up taking his injured hand and pressed a piece of silk against the wound that she carried in the pocket of her gown to halt the bleeding. "I wasn't stealing I was planning to borrow." Desmirra grinned.
When he arrived she could sense his mood. Almost feel the darkness as a physical entity. Desmirra looked up at him momentarily through downcast eyes hoping she had made a chink in his caliginous state of mind. She looked back down at his hand, removing the silk to see the blood flow had been stemmed.
"It's easy to live up to their expectations." She commented as she blotched at the blood staining his skin, before tearing a piece of frippery from her otherwise plain gown and began to tie it around his hand. "The difficult thing to do is to change their minds, difficult but more rewarding. After all, the true meaning of ruling is to serve. There." She smiled up at him letting go of his now bandaged hand. "Good as new."