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“It is a beautiful piece, is it not?”
The voice startles her out her thoughts, leaving her blinking in surprise at the man with the posh accent who has interrupted her train of thought. “It is,” she agrees slowly.
The man smiles, something soft and sad in his eyes as they sweep from her back to the painting. “This is my personal favorite of them. There are more stately pieces, but this one…” he sighs and trails off. She thinks there is something old, almost ancient, about him, but he looks no older than early forties. “This is my favorite,” he finishes, that sad fondness that seems to define him coming through in her tone.
She turns back to the painting. It truly is lovely, the royal couple captured in a moment of private peace. The King of Unification sits at his desk, a goofy grin on his lips as his queen leans over him, her lips brushing against his forehead. Her hand is on his shoulder, the king reaching up to hold it. She can almost imagine the warmth radiating off his skin, can hear his soft chuckle at being interrupted from his work in such a tender manner.
“It’s because they’re happy here, right?” she asks. “All the other paintings of them are state ones. They are both so regal in those, but they’re also serious. This, this one is different.”
“Yes,” the man agrees. “All the histories say their marriage was one of convenience, so that they could unite their nations. But then I see something like this, and I think maybe there was something more to it. There is true love there.”
She hums softly, critical eyes once more scanning the piece. There are little things there, open books on top of a spread map, a child’s toy left on top of the desk, the queen’s coat draped over the back of his chair, all giving her the feeling she is looking at some private moment she should not be privy to. “Maybe, perhaps it grew after their marriage.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know how much of those histories I believe. They claim she was some kind of goddess, but she looks like a normal human to me.”
“So does Sothis in the existing depictions we have of her,” the man points out.
She turns her eyes back to him, and for a moment she could almost swear she recognizes him. “It makes more sense if that were propaganda as well, the same as their marriage. They were fighting a war after all. If you’re fighting with a goddess on your side, wouldn’t your moral be raised? But honestly, aren’t gods supposed to be immortal? Why isn’t she still around then?” She does not mean to be confrontational, indeed her voice remains soft and even, but these are questions that have plagued her since she was old enough to start questioning the stories of her childhood.
The man makes a somewhat noncommittal noise, turning back to the painting. It has to be her imagination, but a sorrow passes through those ancient eyes, becoming much too difficult to look at her any longer. “If she were some immortal goddess, does the fact that she is no longer around simply further the theory that they truly loved one another?”
She tilts her head questioningly. “How so?”
“If you loved someone that much, would you wish to live without them throughout the long millennia with only their memory at your side?”
She knows the answer immediately, twists the ring on her finger just to reassure herself it is still there. “No,” she whispers. “No, I would not.”
He turns back to her, and...are those tears gathering in his eyes? A smile tugs on his lips, but it is interrupted by hurried footsteps.
She feels her own smile pull at her, her heart leaping as her fiance crosses the room towards her. Those green eyes sparkle, all mischief and love, as he sweeps her into his arms. He kisses her, her heart doing a happy little flip as it pounds in her chest. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologies in a rushed voice, breath warm against her lips. “Did you already go through without me?”
She shakes her head, hand sliding down his chest until she feels his own heartbeat beneath her fingers. “No, not yet. We were discussing this piece.”
His head lifts, finally having eyes for something other than her as he realizes the green haired man she had been talking to has stepped away, giving them a small measure of privacy. Her fiance nods his head in greeting, the gesture returned in that same slow, sad measure that defines the man. But her fiance is taking her hand and leading her away.
“I wanted to see the displays for the nursery,” he says, his whole world going back to only her. “Iggy said he’s taking inspiration for ours from here.”
She laughs, throwing a wave over her shoulder at the man before allowing herself to be led deeper into the museum. “And why would he do that?”
He shrugs, that smile she loves so well still on his lips. “Don’t know, but he said it seemed to fit us, so I wanted to see it. Apparently their advisor used to write fairy tales for their children, and Iggy thought one of them would be perfect to paint across the spare room.”
“The nursery ,” she corrects. It was supposed to be his office, but when she had told him the news, he had all too happily given it up. Her hand flits to her still flat stomach, the feel of his ring on her hand a comforting weight.
And she knows, if the options were presented to her, this is what she would choose. Every single time.
/
Seteth watches them leave hand in hand. The years have brought him more pain than happiness, but those sweet moments are worth it when he manages to catch a glimpse of them, even if they no longer recognize him.
As the couple passes through an arch into another room, his eyes go back to the painting. “I am glad you two managed to find one another again,” he whispers to their memory.