Arrow Lake pronuntio

The Imperator revealed very little of his thoughts and life—of that, Meadow would have made bets. The rise and fall of his welcoming tones when he spoke was akin to whiplash. The stolen few moments where she had felt electricity from him alone—the brush of hard muscle against her, the soothing of a kind voice. And now—the aloof coldness he presented in no many ways.

Survival tactic it might have been, it felt disingenuous, and as he spoke of abandoning thought of possibly courting her because of the joy from his Legatus’ eyes upon speaking of her, she found herself at a loss for words.

He had felt he needed to recuse himself—a certain notion of falling upon a sword. Nothing was spoken of his heartbreak over his wife having gone—and she found herself blinking at him for a moment, considering everything he had just lain to her feet.

Perhaps the only solace she would gain from this interlude was that her imagination was not entirely out there. That, and perhaps she had finally found another who was perhaps just as if not more emotionally stunted than herself.

“If you wish for my high regard, Imperator,” she began, trying to keep the quiver of emotion from her voice. “Then don’t tell me in one breath that you felt the only noble thing to do for one of your men was to stand aside for his own happiness, after prior speaking of how little it affects you that the same soldier might need to migrate elsewhere.” He couldn't have it both ways.

She ushered a short breath out, the quiver of her muscles giving way to the soft autumn breeze that played across her fur before she began to dance from his reach, up and away from the shoreline of the lake.