Col's words had been spoken in good spirits, but he could understand why some might interpret such a jestful statement as a passive-aggressive one. After all, passive aggression was commonplace in noble courts. Image was everything to the Great Houses, and few wanted a reputation as violent or volatile. Thus, disdain was exchanged with delicate subtlety. No fistfights or shouting contests, just backhanded compliments and underhanded political moves. Col understood the purposes of such behaviours well enough, but he was hardly the type to engage in them, not like his politically savvy sister. No, he much preferred poking fun without consequence. Jokes lost their fun when given such weight.
Thus, when Bastion sank briefly into a self-indulgent spiel, Col was all casual amusement, not a trace of derision in sight. "Ah, that is certainly kind of you to say, Lord Col. I find that reputations are far more like rumours, where us Nobles are concerned. So many opinions spread through so many lips - it's impossible, the amount of knowledge that others seem to have in regards to the persona of any person without ever having laid eyes upon them." Col nodded, raising his glance once more with a wry smile.
"I suppose that is the price to pay for privileged lives such as ours. But if it means I get to sup on such delicious wine with such delightful folk, I must say that it is a sacrifice I am very much willing to make."
"I have no stock in rumours. If all rumours were true, I'd be but a phantom that haunts the halls of the Black Keep." The comment pleasantly surprised Col, glad to know that, for all her apparent nervousness, the princess felt at least comfortable enough to join the conversation. He could sense a touch of immediate regret in the young woman, however, so he quickly replied with a warm smile.
"And what a relief that isn't the case- we'd sorely miss your company, and the presence of a ghost in the Black Keep would make this visit significantly less appealing."
"But enough about me. It would be incredibly impolite not to ask how each of you, and your lands, are faring." "I fear you ask the wrong person about the state of the Vale, or Blackvale itself. I merely know, what my brothers tell me. It's been the better part of a decade since I've been off the grounds of the Keep... But the weather is divine. I beg your pardon, Lord Alec. Would you mind passing the wine? I afraid I'm quite parched."
Truth be told, Col too found the discussion of such things very dry. He'd come to a new place- he had no desire to discuss the past one. Regardless, he sympathised with Westerly; even he often felt suffocated by his noble lifestyle, and he had the freedoms of being a man,he couldn't imagine never being able to leave the Keep. It was a beautiful place, for certain, but a gilded cage is still a cage.
"I'm sorry to hear that- I feel like I would have made several escape attempts by now, were I in your position. Probably failed ones, considering the calibre of the Royal Guard."
As soon as he said it, he glanced about himself, realising the boldness of his statement, and verbally waved off the remark. "Apologies, princess. That was out of term- you're clearly a far better and more respectable scion than I am. Furthermore, considering the dangers beyond the keep," He gestured to the wounded Lord Avery, whose cut, though cleaned and tended to, still marked clear and prominent. "I'm sure that such measures are necessary." He said it out of respect for the royal family, and their decisions, but he did not belief his words. He could not imagine imprisonment as ever being necessary- it felt more like suffocation than protection, and suffocation could kill just as deftly as a blade wound. Perhaps his dubiousness leaked into his words, but he maintained his well-manneredness, and in turn hoped that the princess was not discomfited by his comments.
Isolde glanced at her brother, catching his words, as she was wont to. She had always been the sharp one, the one who spoke with careful deliberation and tact. She could be jovial too, but there was always intent behind her words- she played people in a constant game of chess, one they weren't aware of even as she took piece by piece, moving ever closer to checkmate. Her brother was not even slightly so calculated, and such a thing became clear when he spoke, expressing his own passions and interests, his own vibrant thoughts with little consideration beyond keeping people happy and at ease. It was a lovable personality, but not necessarily a lordly one.
"Welcome friends. For a moment there I thought I scared everyone away. No one wants to sit with the other royal." He wasn't wrong, not necessarily, but Isolde gave him a lilted laugh all the same.
"You are too harsh on yourself, your grace. Crown or no, you're still a Castillon." She raised her filled glass in a mirroring gesture, taking a small sip. She was far from a heavy drinker, and she did not intend on falling prey to drunkenness. Once again, it was a reminder that she was not Col.
Nor was she Emery, who lacked her calculative nature, but possessed the same knack for politics. Such a thing might have revealed itself eventually in the raven-haired bastard, but the softness in her would keep it at bay, just a touch, especially considering her absence of ambition, and her pleasant surprise at the royal currently supping with her.
"The pleasure is ours. It's not often we are graced with the presence of beautiful faces, or good company."
Emery was touched by his honesty, which she could sense beneath what was, in most of these social situations, usually pretense and hot air. "That might be something we have in common, your grace." She felt a tremor however, resisting the instinctive flinch when his finger hooked on her hand. She wasn't used to the gentleness, and it made her heart flutter before she reminded it that she was an adult, outgrown of fairytales.
"Forgive me for my boldness, my Lady, but, these hands say you know your way around combat as well?"
She smiled, slightly sheepish. "Ah... Yes, your grace. My birth status may incite some scorn, but I must admit there are some privileges of it that I quite enjoy." Her thumb moved across the worn grooves of her fingers, "The opportunity to learn unarmed combat being one of them."
Thus, when Bastion sank briefly into a self-indulgent spiel, Col was all casual amusement, not a trace of derision in sight. "Ah, that is certainly kind of you to say, Lord Col. I find that reputations are far more like rumours, where us Nobles are concerned. So many opinions spread through so many lips - it's impossible, the amount of knowledge that others seem to have in regards to the persona of any person without ever having laid eyes upon them." Col nodded, raising his glance once more with a wry smile.
"I suppose that is the price to pay for privileged lives such as ours. But if it means I get to sup on such delicious wine with such delightful folk, I must say that it is a sacrifice I am very much willing to make."
"I have no stock in rumours. If all rumours were true, I'd be but a phantom that haunts the halls of the Black Keep." The comment pleasantly surprised Col, glad to know that, for all her apparent nervousness, the princess felt at least comfortable enough to join the conversation. He could sense a touch of immediate regret in the young woman, however, so he quickly replied with a warm smile.
"And what a relief that isn't the case- we'd sorely miss your company, and the presence of a ghost in the Black Keep would make this visit significantly less appealing."
"But enough about me. It would be incredibly impolite not to ask how each of you, and your lands, are faring." "I fear you ask the wrong person about the state of the Vale, or Blackvale itself. I merely know, what my brothers tell me. It's been the better part of a decade since I've been off the grounds of the Keep... But the weather is divine. I beg your pardon, Lord Alec. Would you mind passing the wine? I afraid I'm quite parched."
Truth be told, Col too found the discussion of such things very dry. He'd come to a new place- he had no desire to discuss the past one. Regardless, he sympathised with Westerly; even he often felt suffocated by his noble lifestyle, and he had the freedoms of being a man,he couldn't imagine never being able to leave the Keep. It was a beautiful place, for certain, but a gilded cage is still a cage.
"I'm sorry to hear that- I feel like I would have made several escape attempts by now, were I in your position. Probably failed ones, considering the calibre of the Royal Guard."
As soon as he said it, he glanced about himself, realising the boldness of his statement, and verbally waved off the remark. "Apologies, princess. That was out of term- you're clearly a far better and more respectable scion than I am. Furthermore, considering the dangers beyond the keep," He gestured to the wounded Lord Avery, whose cut, though cleaned and tended to, still marked clear and prominent. "I'm sure that such measures are necessary." He said it out of respect for the royal family, and their decisions, but he did not belief his words. He could not imagine imprisonment as ever being necessary- it felt more like suffocation than protection, and suffocation could kill just as deftly as a blade wound. Perhaps his dubiousness leaked into his words, but he maintained his well-manneredness, and in turn hoped that the princess was not discomfited by his comments.
Isolde glanced at her brother, catching his words, as she was wont to. She had always been the sharp one, the one who spoke with careful deliberation and tact. She could be jovial too, but there was always intent behind her words- she played people in a constant game of chess, one they weren't aware of even as she took piece by piece, moving ever closer to checkmate. Her brother was not even slightly so calculated, and such a thing became clear when he spoke, expressing his own passions and interests, his own vibrant thoughts with little consideration beyond keeping people happy and at ease. It was a lovable personality, but not necessarily a lordly one.
"Welcome friends. For a moment there I thought I scared everyone away. No one wants to sit with the other royal." He wasn't wrong, not necessarily, but Isolde gave him a lilted laugh all the same.
"You are too harsh on yourself, your grace. Crown or no, you're still a Castillon." She raised her filled glass in a mirroring gesture, taking a small sip. She was far from a heavy drinker, and she did not intend on falling prey to drunkenness. Once again, it was a reminder that she was not Col.
Nor was she Emery, who lacked her calculative nature, but possessed the same knack for politics. Such a thing might have revealed itself eventually in the raven-haired bastard, but the softness in her would keep it at bay, just a touch, especially considering her absence of ambition, and her pleasant surprise at the royal currently supping with her.
"The pleasure is ours. It's not often we are graced with the presence of beautiful faces, or good company."
Emery was touched by his honesty, which she could sense beneath what was, in most of these social situations, usually pretense and hot air. "That might be something we have in common, your grace." She felt a tremor however, resisting the instinctive flinch when his finger hooked on her hand. She wasn't used to the gentleness, and it made her heart flutter before she reminded it that she was an adult, outgrown of fairytales.
"Forgive me for my boldness, my Lady, but, these hands say you know your way around combat as well?"
She smiled, slightly sheepish. "Ah... Yes, your grace. My birth status may incite some scorn, but I must admit there are some privileges of it that I quite enjoy." Her thumb moved across the worn grooves of her fingers, "The opportunity to learn unarmed combat being one of them."