Luneshale Pass [aaf] the weight of history

One evening beneath only the eyes of gods and their own, where he might talk with Toula, the woman, as Raemka, the man. Even now he soaked in the splendor of his birth and the ceremony that came with the title of Sphinx; gloating in the glow of his pale Queen’s amity. But he would not know her sincerity and she would not see his, not in the hundred eyes that hungered for her or in those that prayed he met a swift end. In every step he felt those stares even as his own rounded over the gentle curvature of Toula’s back in her glide.

“You flatter, my Queen. Would you believe,” his whisper was low as the crowd broke for them, “this was my first time dancing the man’s part? Youngest of three brothers: I always drew the short stick, if given one at all,” he glossed with a muted laugh, eyes running over the edge of her glimmering cheeks.

Rashepses brought his nose down to the crest of her ear, “I’ve never seen another move like you. You saw it, didn't you?"