Damien
oh, let's take a chance and roll the bones
try to forget all them enemies and debts
try to forget all them enemies and debts
Damien lets the faint smile linger, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s weighing how much to lean into her tease before settling on a slow, dry chuckle. “‘Your highness’... wouldn’t have suited me,” he says, voice low but edged with humor. He doesn't think it suits her either, especially by her tone, but keeps that to himself. “I’m not exactly court material. But,” he pauses, lifting his hand to adjust his sunglasses, “I guess what I’d do differently is not wait until after the fact to realize who I was dealing with. I should’ve known, or at least asked. Instead of just focusing on the job, I’d take a moment to acknowledge you—the queen, the woman behind the plans. That respect belongs up front, not as an afterthought.” He’d treated her mostly like any other client, not the queen of Torchline.
His gaze flickers up as he studies her calm ease on the driftwood, the way the sun softens her features and makes her hair gleam like spun gold. Then back to her eyes. “Though, truth be told,” he adds quietly, voice steady and thoughtful, “you don’t act like any queen I’ve heard of. Not high and mighty. You don’t look down on me, either.” He inclines his head, the barest trace of a frown knitting his brow—not from doubt, but from puzzling admiration.
As he finds a new place to sit somewhere in the sand beside the log, the sand crunches beneath his weight and a stray breeze tugs at his shirt. He runs a hand over the back of his neck before crossing his arms loosely, forearms catching the sunlight and glinting with faint beads of sweat.
“Good,” he says of the construction, voice low and sure. “That house will be in steady hands, then.” His eyes flick to the neatly stacked timber palettes, their pale edges glowing bright in the sun. “I’ll keep the deliveries on schedule — no delays from our end.” His jaw tightens ever so slightly, the muscles working under the sun, betraying the focus beneath his calm exterior.
His gaze drifts to the small dragon spiraling overhead, then back to the ocean’s edge. He glances toward Flora again, the faint smirk returning as he leans forward, resting one forearm on his knee. “If you need anything else while the build’s underway, I’ll hang around the coast for another day or so.” He lowers his sunglasses to meet her eyes. “Might as well give that Torchline rum another shot,” he adds, the challenge light but genuine.
His gaze flickers up as he studies her calm ease on the driftwood, the way the sun softens her features and makes her hair gleam like spun gold. Then back to her eyes. “Though, truth be told,” he adds quietly, voice steady and thoughtful, “you don’t act like any queen I’ve heard of. Not high and mighty. You don’t look down on me, either.” He inclines his head, the barest trace of a frown knitting his brow—not from doubt, but from puzzling admiration.
As he finds a new place to sit somewhere in the sand beside the log, the sand crunches beneath his weight and a stray breeze tugs at his shirt. He runs a hand over the back of his neck before crossing his arms loosely, forearms catching the sunlight and glinting with faint beads of sweat.
“Good,” he says of the construction, voice low and sure. “That house will be in steady hands, then.” His eyes flick to the neatly stacked timber palettes, their pale edges glowing bright in the sun. “I’ll keep the deliveries on schedule — no delays from our end.” His jaw tightens ever so slightly, the muscles working under the sun, betraying the focus beneath his calm exterior.
His gaze drifts to the small dragon spiraling overhead, then back to the ocean’s edge. He glances toward Flora again, the faint smirk returning as he leans forward, resting one forearm on his knee. “If you need anything else while the build’s underway, I’ll hang around the coast for another day or so.” He lowers his sunglasses to meet her eyes. “Might as well give that Torchline rum another shot,” he adds, the challenge light but genuine.
