dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

Humphrey was fortunate; she knew the sense of him in her mind, and didn’t scream when he grabbed her. Too many things had her pulse pounding in her throat. One hand rose, involuntarily, to brush the rubies, and a slight, sad frown marked her brow.

“‘It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself against Love’s blows: so I went on confident, unsuspecting’,” she quoted softly. Green eyes searched his face. He /was/ jealous. She hadn’t meant that, hadn’t expected it. He’d been too far for her to know anything but his instant anger; not what might have swelled behind it, from her letter.

“You remember it,” Humphrey noted in a voice almost a whisper, “That was the poem I told you when we met in Westminster. When you caught me lying of who I am…”

“…She, who is the sun among those ladies, shining the rays of her lovely eyes on me creates thoughts of love, actions and words; but whether she governs them or turns away, there is no longer any Spring for me,” he added, his eyes cast on the ground. “I feel foolish,” he whispered.

“Don’t, my lord, please, don’t.” Summer didn’t pull away from Humphrey. “We … were both cruel, I think, in fear.” There was more she wanted to say, but the look on his face stopped her words in her throat. She searched his face for a long time. “Perhaps we might … try again. With greater understanding.”

“I know not what we shall do,” He said softly. “You tell me. Was I cruel? See I am a prince of the blood royal, none ever talks to me like you did and whatever you insist I wish to have nothing of that talk again…” He said. His pride was still hurt by how she talked to him. He felt that if he’d have to suffer then at least he wants to do it with dignity. He will not go beyond his pride or his dues for any woman, he swore it long ago. Not even for one he loved, or he felt like love.

Too many thoughts crowded to her lips, jumbling together and stopping themselves in her throat. ‘I spoke only the truth,’ she wanted to say, and ‘you /are/ a prince, do as you will,’ and ‘why are you so cruel.’ But she said none of those, in the end, looking away and trying to hide the tears rising in her eyes.

He had her heart as a toy, and didn’t even know. She hadn’t meant to test him, only to protect herself. “Why are you here?”

“Here, like, here?” He pointed at the ground confused. “Because I had to talk to you. Though I know not what to say, if I am honest…” He looked shamefully to the ground. “What would you have me say?” he asked softly, sighing.

“You know it is so cruel that once I find a woman who I seem to enjoy the company of, and it all goes wrong like this. You are a rare diamond to find, you know…”

“I’m not.” The protest was instinctive. “I am a river stone, ordinary and unlovely, or perhaps false gold, that deceives with sparkle but has no substance.” Summer twisted her hands together, blinking hard. “Do you not see? I would — I would have the truth. Will you not put me aside, will you not tire of me? I thought, if I … showed you that I did not expect … ” She stumbled over the words, and a tear slid down her cheek.

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

Humphrey was fortunate; she knew the sense of him in her mind, and didn’t scream when he grabbed her. Too many things had her pulse pounding in her throat. One hand rose, involuntarily, to brush the rubies, and a slight, sad frown marked her brow.

“‘It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself against Love’s blows: so I went on confident, unsuspecting’,” she quoted softly. Green eyes searched his face. He /was/ jealous. She hadn’t meant that, hadn’t expected it. He’d been too far for her to know anything but his instant anger; not what might have swelled behind it, from her letter.

“You remember it,” Humphrey noted in a voice almost a whisper, “That was the poem I told you when we met in Westminster. When you caught me lying of who I am…”

“…She, who is the sun among those ladies, shining the rays of her lovely eyes on me creates thoughts of love, actions and words; but whether she governs them or turns away, there is no longer any Spring for me,” he added, his eyes cast on the ground. “I feel foolish,” he whispered.

“Don’t, my lord, please, don’t.” Summer didn’t pull away from Humphrey. “We … were both cruel, I think, in fear.” There was more she wanted to say, but the look on his face stopped her words in her throat. She searched his face for a long time. “Perhaps we might … try again. With greater understanding.”

“I know not what we shall do,” He said softly. “You tell me. Was I cruel? See I am a prince of the blood royal, none ever talks to me like you did and whatever you insist I wish to have nothing of that talk again…” He said. His pride was still hurt by how she talked to him. He felt that if he’d have to suffer then at least he wants to do it with dignity. He will not go beyond his pride or his dues for any woman, he swore it long ago. Not even for one he loved, or he felt like love.

Too many thoughts crowded to her lips, jumbling together and stopping themselves in her throat. ‘I spoke only the truth,’ she wanted to say, and ‘you /are/ a prince, do as you will,’ and ‘why are you so cruel.’ But she said none of those, in the end, looking away and trying to hide the tears rising in her eyes.

He had her heart as a toy, and didn’t even know. She hadn’t meant to test him, only to protect herself. “Why are you here?”

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

Humphrey was fortunate; she knew the sense of him in her mind, and didn’t scream when he grabbed her. Too many things had her pulse pounding in her throat. One hand rose, involuntarily, to brush the rubies, and a slight, sad frown marked her brow.

“‘It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself against Love’s blows: so I went on confident, unsuspecting’,” she quoted softly. Green eyes searched his face. He /was/ jealous. She hadn’t meant that, hadn’t expected it. He’d been too far for her to know anything but his instant anger; not what might have swelled behind it, from her letter.

“You remember it,” Humphrey noted in a voice almost a whisper, “That was the poem I told you when we met in Westminster. When you caught me lying of who I am…”

“…She, who is the sun among those ladies, shining the rays of her lovely eyes on me creates thoughts of love, actions and words; but whether she governs them or turns away, there is no longer any Spring for me,” he added, his eyes cast on the ground. “I feel foolish,” he whispered.

“Don’t, my lord, please, don’t.” Summer didn’t pull away from Humphrey. “We … were both cruel, I think, in fear.” There was more she wanted to say, but the look on his face stopped her words in her throat. She searched his face for a long time. “Perhaps we might … try again. With greater understanding.”

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

The invitation to feast occasioned a loud and long argument between father and daughter, but the result was inevitable. Faintly sulky, Summer rode behind her father, politely sidesaddle, adorned with Humphrey’s necklace and properly resplendent in deep red linen. Deliberately demure, she trailed her father within, hands clasped and head bowed. She would not look for Humphrey. She would /not/.

He was brother to the King, Duke in his own right. Let him look for her.

But she couldn’t help glancing around.

Humphrey watched. He insisted to the king that he shall indeed wait on him so he could busy himself with tasting food and wine and cutting them up and so on. Most of his time he spent seated behind the king as well or ordering the servants around. But he still watched her. She looked stunning, in burgundy red, probably Humphrey’s favorite colour. And he noticed the necklace she wore. Either she meant to show that they had a connection or she meant to show that she couldn’t care less, he thought.

The dancing started and the king departed not long after. Humphrey’s big brother hated these events. Humphrey sat at the high table once the king departed, watching the dancers. He waited for her to dance. She can’t resist everyone after all, it would be way too rude, and sooner or later her father would interfere. In the meantime Humphrey tried to think of what to do with his newly developed heartbreak. It was an unknown, unusual feeling, and he didn’t like it at all. It reminded him of Petrarch’s works.

Well, she might not want to look at him, but she couldn’t help sensing him. The ache of his heart almost, almost changed her mind. It spoiled her pleasure in the court and feast, as well, what little there was.

Finally, desperate for distraction, she submitted to dancing, taking the first to ask and trying to lose herself in the steps and partners. It wasn’t much good, though. Lord after lord asked her if she was well, if there was aught they could fetch her, some way to bring a smile to that pretty face.

It was … it was horrid, was what it was. At least Humphrey treated her with respect for her mind, not just her family or her face.

Just no respect for her heart.

Humphrey thought the sight of her dancing would entertain him, but on the contrary, it angered him. So this is how jealousy felt, Humphrey noted to himself, as he watched the lordlings grabbing close the petite body he made love to just a few days ago. He drank two glasses of wine trying to convince himself that he didn’t care for a merchant’s daughter. He was supposed to care for princesses. But princesses didn’t care for poetry, for learning, and she did, and through that she ensured to have all his attention and by now, all his longing.

He stood and moved to the side of the hall, close to the exit that led to one of the castle corridors. When she stopped dancing and stepped aside from the floor, she was close enough for Humphrey not to think, but go and grab her arm and pull her to the corridor through the tapestries that hid it.

He gently pushed her to the wall, a hand of his keeping her waist close to him. “Why are you wearing this necklace?” he asked.

Humphrey was fortunate; she knew the sense of him in her mind, and didn’t scream when he grabbed her. Too many things had her pulse pounding in her throat. One hand rose, involuntarily, to brush the rubies, and a slight, sad frown marked her brow.

“‘It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself against Love’s blows: so I went on confident, unsuspecting’,” she quoted softly. Green eyes searched his face. He /was/ jealous. She hadn’t meant that, hadn’t expected it. He’d been too far for her to know anything but his instant anger; not what might have swelled behind it, from her letter.

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

Summer sensed the guards behind her, and sighed. Then again, he’d no real reason to believe her capable of seeing to her own safety; they’d not made it out to the hunt, and so he could not know her proficiency with bow, nor had he any way of knowing her — particular skills. Anger spurred her to spur her horse in a vain attempt to leave the guards behind.

Well, there would be other occasions to speak again, though she’d half-hoped he would stop her leaving. Perhaps she had been wrong to mention his past, but surely he couldn’t possibly expect her to ignore it? If he truly expected to treat her differently, he should have done so from the start — well, from their first meeting at Court, anyway. But no, he had begun with her as he had always begun with his women, and so how could she possibly know that his intentions might be different?

Even for her, such things were difficult to discern. Hair-fine shadings of emotion, at a time when her own were in turmoil, could easily deceive. Sleep did not come easily to her that night.

The next day, Humphrey started early and his first visit was to his guards to hear if his lady reached her home safely. The guards were not there, so he worried, until they finally arrived an hour after sunrise, being simply locked into London for the night as the gates were closed behind them after they followed the lady Summer, and the gatekeepers would not open for them no matter what. From their looks, they didn’t mind tho’; they must’ve slept the night in brothels and ale-houses.

Humphrey realised that it would be hard for him to escape the feast the next day: His brother sent him the seating plan and the menu, and as Chancellor of England summoned him to preside the feast. Now he was not only mandatory to attend, he was to wait on the king it seemed, though he was often summoned in his role only to sit at the king’s table like the rest of his brothers and uncles. With heavy heart tho, he rode to Westminster and learned all the details of the day ahead and what was expected of him. He couldn’t help but search the list of invitees to find the only name he cared for, and when he found it, he looked for the seating. He was terrified to see Summer and her father being seated with the once countess of Pembroke, and one of those culture-less Flemish merchants who was rumored her lover, they were known to be loudly complaining and arguing. He quickly revised the plan, before he left Westminster that night, noting that everything was as prepared as it could be.

The invitation to feast occasioned a loud and long argument between father and daughter, but the result was inevitable. Faintly sulky, Summer rode behind her father, politely sidesaddle, adorned with Humphrey’s necklace and properly resplendent in deep red linen. Deliberately demure, she trailed her father within, hands clasped and head bowed. She would not look for Humphrey. She would /not/.

He was brother to the King, Duke in his own right. Let him look for her.

But she couldn’t help glancing around.

Humphrey watched. He insisted to the king that he shall indeed wait on him so he could busy himself with tasting food and wine and cutting them up and so on. Most of his time he spent seated behind the king as well or ordering the servants around. But he still watched her. She looked stunning, in burgundy red, probably Humphrey’s favorite colour. And he noticed the necklace she wore. Either she meant to show that they had a connection or she meant to show that she couldn’t care less, he thought.

The dancing started and the king departed not long after. Humphrey’s big brother hated these events. Humphrey sat at the high table once the king departed, watching the dancers. He waited for her to dance. She can’t resist everyone after all, it would be way too rude, and sooner or later her father would interfere. In the meantime Humphrey tried to think of what to do with his newly developed heartbreak. It was an unknown, unusual feeling, and he didn’t like it at all. It reminded him of Petrarch’s works.

Well, she might not want to look at him, but she couldn’t help sensing him. The ache of his heart almost, almost changed her mind. It spoiled her pleasure in the court and feast, as well, what little there was.

Finally, desperate for distraction, she submitted to dancing, taking the first to ask and trying to lose herself in the steps and partners. It wasn’t much good, though. Lord after lord asked her if she was well, if there was aught they could fetch her, some way to bring a smile to that pretty face.

It was … it was horrid, was what it was. At least Humphrey treated her with respect for her mind, not just her family or her face.

Just no respect for her heart.

dukehumphrey:

iamthefirechild:

Summer sensed the guards behind her, and sighed. Then again, he’d no real reason to believe her capable of seeing to her own safety; they’d not made it out to the hunt, and so he could not know her proficiency with bow, nor had he any way of knowing her — particular skills. Anger spurred her to spur her horse in a vain attempt to leave the guards behind.

Well, there would be other occasions to speak again, though she’d half-hoped he would stop her leaving. Perhaps she had been wrong to mention his past, but surely he couldn’t possibly expect her to ignore it? If he truly expected to treat her differently, he should have done so from the start — well, from their first meeting at Court, anyway. But no, he had begun with her as he had always begun with his women, and so how could she possibly know that his intentions might be different?

Even for her, such things were difficult to discern. Hair-fine shadings of emotion, at a time when her own were in turmoil, could easily deceive. Sleep did not come easily to her that night.

The next day, Humphrey started early and his first visit was to his guards to hear if his lady reached her home safely. The guards were not there, so he worried, until they finally arrived an hour after sunrise, being simply locked into London for the night as the gates were closed behind them after they followed the lady Summer, and the gatekeepers would not open for them no matter what. From their looks, they didn’t mind tho’; they must’ve slept the night in brothels and ale-houses.

Humphrey realised that it would be hard for him to escape the feast the next day: His brother sent him the seating plan and the menu, and as Chancellor of England summoned him to preside the feast. Now he was not only mandatory to attend, he was to wait on the king it seemed, though he was often summoned in his role only to sit at the king’s table like the rest of his brothers and uncles. With heavy heart tho, he rode to Westminster and learned all the details of the day ahead and what was expected of him. He couldn’t help but search the list of invitees to find the only name he cared for, and when he found it, he looked for the seating. He was terrified to see Summer and her father being seated with the once countess of Pembroke, and one of those culture-less Flemish merchants who was rumored her lover, they were known to be loudly complaining and arguing. He quickly revised the plan, before he left Westminster that night, noting that everything was as prepared as it could be.

The invitation to feast occasioned a loud and long argument between father and daughter, but the result was inevitable. Faintly sulky, Summer rode behind her father, politely sidesaddle, adorned with Humphrey’s necklace and properly resplendent in deep red linen. Deliberately demure, she trailed her father within, hands clasped and head bowed. She would not look for Humphrey. She would /not/.

He was brother to the King, Duke in his own right. Let him look for her.

But she couldn’t help glancing around.