Chapter Text
Rue looked down at where their hands met.
A furred and clawed paw, for there was no other word for it, delicately gripped their fingers, and with the characteristic gentleness that betrayed his soft heart beneath, the very tip of a talon gently stroked their palm, unseen by the crowd around them. The sensation set their nerves alight, and though no doubt meant as some discreet comfort, their cheeks flushed with colour quite without their say-so.
They couldn’t quite dare to look up and meet the Captain’s eyes, so piercing and keen as to make them feel more exposed in hushed woods alone than standing before all the assembled courtiers of the Bloom.
‘…and so do we announce this most joyous occasion; the unity of two great Courts and two great lovers, of the devoted Rue who so wept for the gallant Captain of the Goblin Court that they were quite distraught to be parted from him, and of the hero of Briar Falls, who has impressed all those who beheld his triumphant duel with champions from the Unseelie and the Court of Hoof and Claw, who deigned to accept this match to preserve the honour and dignity of our dear friends at the most irreproachable Wondrous Court, may they be so received once more, and even in…’
The Lady Boil continued as Rue stared down at their joined hands, so different in form and texture. It was rather masterful really, framing the Mistrex of the Bloom as besotted with the pride of the Goblin Court. It swept any questions of past alliances off the board, and lowered Rue’s standing even as it raised their own.
And it wouldn’t have stung quite so much had it not been true.
…
As the duel concluded with Captain K.P. Hob’s declaration and he swept from the field of combat alone, many faces watched the young Prince of the Unseelie, shirtless and wet, though redeemed entirely by the words of the man he had confronted so rashly.
The rest were watching Delloso de la Rue.
Those too canny to be distracted by the young pup’s rashness watched them, standing alone on the hill.
Their armour chafed, no matter how well fitting, and though used to being the centre of many speculative gazes, this was different. This was not the polite dismissal of a suitor, to be greeted by rueful smiles as another of their number failed. This was not another charming peccadillo of the Lords of the Wing that Rue tidied up, to be turned into an amusing story or cautionary tale as audience dictated. This was an assault on their honour that had moved their closest companion to battle, clearly a personal matter and not a political one. The sharks were already gliding amongst the more astute Archfey, and Captain Hob’s announcement, though a brave attempt, would not stand against the rumour-mill even while his blood was still wet on the ground.
Whispers were beginning to surface already, and the breeze moved the porcupine quills gently as they stood, still and tall, quite unable to summon their usual veneer of civility.
Their dearest companion had taken the most intimate secrets of their heart and spilt them straight to the source. How they wished they had explained more fully, that the Captain had made them no promises that night, nor outraged their decency, but instead had been more real and true than anyone they had met in half a hundred Blooms. There was neither obligation nor compulsion to attempt to weave him in some net, only an honest and hopeful offer, a truthful choice that was his to make.
He had not made it, and so Wuvvy had felt the need to take up arms against him.
Hers had been a court of battles and bloodshed, of might proven by tooth and tusk, and so perhaps it had felt the only course of action she could take after seeing her mistrex so humiliated. Dear Wuvvy, their fiercest champion, yet still tactless in the courtly dances of refined society, had not realised that it was hardly fair to attempt to beat the poor Captain bloody for not returning their affections.
Rue had never been the centre of a scandal before, cursing their fit of pique in sending away Lady Featherfowl. Far better to have appeared cool and unaffected, but to have dismissed her so obviously instead of smiling politely at their adversary betrayed a real sundering in the relationship that was sure to have tongues wagging.
They stood still, atop the hill, gazing as though unaffected into the milling crowds below, countenance chill and dignified as they could manage while inside fury hotter than any they had ever known raged.
Anger at Wuvvy, for betraying their confidence and forcing Captain Hob to participate in this ridiculous scene, anger at the Lords of the Wing, for smearing their good name in return for all the times they had hushed up the results of their little games, anger at the Prince Andhera, for interrupting what was shaping up to be a perfectly solid bout, anger at the crowd of useless sycophants below, gorged and lazy on the stories of other more interesting people, and anger at Captain K.P. Hob, anger at him most of all, for crushing their rather pathetic hopes underfoot and doing it all so honourably it made him very difficult to despise entirely. If he had only been less clumsy in his charm, less startling in his sincerity, and less noble in his very bones, then Rue could have borne it.
Instead sorrow shattered their composure, a silent breaking of something constrained for too long, a cracking in their weak little heart, proffered so hastily and refused before even hope had bloomed.
Delloso de la Rue stood atop the hill, turned at the last to watch the back of Captain K.P. Hob’s uniform disappear into the Goblin Pagoda, and burst into noisy, embarrassing tears.
…