“And so the city is lost,” Haldiwen leaned over the railing, his gaze set firm on the horizon. “Can you imagine it? No one has seen it in over six hundred years, completely untouched.”
“Yes,” the steady tone of his mate droned. “This is all very interesting. I haven’t heard this tale every time we have seen each other for the past twenty years.”
“Anwarunya,” he turned to look at the patient face of his contract bound mate. “I apologize for such ramblings, the more I study my passion increases. How are things in the Eastern Embassy?”
Her eyes lit up as it was her turn to share her interests, “there is a new royal family in the Empire but my sister says it’s actually one of the scullery maids from three hundred years ago who happened to bed the right soldier.”
“I thankfully do not have to deal with the Imperial Court on a regular basis,” he smiled. “Father says they are rather rude to scholars so we handle only the official requests. We often make them speak Old Elvish too.”
“You do not,” she gasped at him. “Everyone knows that it is only used in script.”
“I know, you know, but the Imperials do not.”
They shared a smile and allowed the silence to grow.
“How is Faendaer?” He whispered.
“You are a kind soul, Wen, and your intentions are true,” she stood and crossed to the railing. “You love your studies, there is no one you long to hold, or touch.” She steeled herself and turned to face him. “We owe our people three children,” she began to unlace her dress.
Later, in the still moments of the night she told him about the woman her love was contracted to. She spoke without malice and he pretended not to see the tears.