Nova Peak that I must love a loathed enemy

edit: before this

Morning's aurora brush those phantom fingers weave through Sagtannet's keep;
the aria of chittering bird-breast cast a fairy-tuned melody;
as the silverveil ventures close to his eisen's densite.

True, in the days he'd been kept to her breast; their interactions had been curt, and so brought to life was the subconcious uncomfort in his mind when he was next to her body.
They were never meant to be. The ruler was not his mother.

Taking pensive measure, step by step, does he approach the threshold of where her scent is strongest...
Astraeus' surveys the copse for those golden eyes, he'd know once his body felt ever so infinitesimal in their presence.