Courtship Stop #1: The Keats Estate
Orpheus attempted to keep a steady gaze despite Ilyas’ wandering eyes.
Could he not even pretend to be interested? What could he possibly be thinking about?
Orpheus’ jaw tightened again as he watched Ilyas with an ever-building anger rising in the depth of his chest.
[color= #D7BBA8] “But you know, I have to be mindful of my father’s expectations. Disappointing him by showing up with a slightly unsteady gait isn’t on my to-do list.” [/color] Ilyas’ confession surprised him, his words sounding more genuine than he had ever heard Ilyas speak before.
It was a shared sentiment, the fear of fatherly disapproval. It was something many noblemen carried, yet Orpheus had not considered the charming, arrogant, and obnoxiously composed Ilyas Keats to hold the same fear.
It was a moment of honest vulnerability, and for a moment, Orpheus’ mask of emotionlessness faded away, his brows furrowing in confusion as he looked on at Ilyas.
Was this his attempt to relate? To bond?
The feeling of unguarded and open speech felt foreign and uncomfortable between them. Orpheus attempted to fade humor back into their conversation.
[color= #BC0057] “Yes, it seems drunken outbursts are not a favored behavior among Dukes…” [/color] Orpheus nearly smiled, a joking lull in his tone despite the painful truth that was held behind it. He pulled down his sleeves as he spoke, and let his eyes gaze over Ilyas, curious and imploring.
Could he truly have changed like he implied?
There was a different sort of aura between them now that was unfamiliar and new. Something had shifted, yet as quickly as Orpheus began to let his guard fall, Ilyas, as always, opened his mouth again.
[color= #D7BBA8] “Well, isn’t that a novel concept, sincerity and apologies in the same breath. You might be setting a dangerous precedent, Orpheus. What’s next, civilized conversation and mutual respect? [/color] His words returned to their grating and antagonizing whine, pulling at the very feeble strings of Orpheus’ patience.
Like an insidious force, anger crept through the carefully guarded barriers, asserting its presence in the tightening of Orpheus’ muscles and the clenching of his fists yet again.
The rising tide of fury threatened to break through the composed exterior he had barely held onto. It was a battle to keep the storm of emotions in check, to resist the pull of anger’s undertow threatening to consume rationality as it always had when Ilyas was near.
Orpheus could rarely control himself around Ilyas, that had always been clear.
And it seemed, now was no different, no matter how hard he tried.
[color= #BC0057] “Novel, indeed…” [/color] Orpheus nearly hissed, grasping at the faint composure he still held. [color= #BC0057] “However, I am not sure you could manage a basic conversation free of flirtation or antagonizing quips, let alone anything civil…Ilyas.” [/color] Orpheus had attempted to use formal phrasing, yet Ilyas had reverted back to first name usage. A disrespect among noblemen that did not go unnoticed.
He had attempted to hold himself to a higher standard. And he had delivered the apology his father had wanted.
In fact, his sole reason for being in Ilyas’ presence had been satisfied. His father had stated he needed to apologize, and he had, he did not specify what should or should not come after the fact.
And Orpheus was growing tired of hearing Ilyas talk.
mentioned :
Ilyas (@Madilfill)