Common

He’s laughing at her, of course. As if it weren’t already bad enough, confessing just how sheltered she is, words spilling uncontrollably and her embarrassment quickly rising to the surface, this handsome king is amused. At the idea of her running, maybe? Or worse, at the idea of her father caring so little? His face softens, though, and Iscaie talks herself back from the rapidly-rising urge to hide her face or flee. It can’t be so bad, she reasons, because he leans in when she does and they’re suddenly side to side, pressed close enough that she can feel his warmth against her skin. A particularly large, shaky inhale has her ocean-damp side brushing his and Iscaie feels alight with how forbidden it all is. She knows that meeting a stranger, having a flirty conversation and sharing barely-there touches is hardly illicit, but it certainly feels that way to her, as inexperienced and young as she is.

When he speaks, she listens eagerly, intrigued by his warm, smooth voice. The wink he sends her way is almost too much so Iscaie glances away again, blushing. She’s flattered at his teasing but also knows that there’s no way this stallion doesn’t have anyone at home. Even her father, who had no power and no real space of his own had mares. Someone like Solomon, with his striking coat and his height and his bright eyes must have mares falling all over him - lord knows Iscaie is barely able to contain herself. The only reason she’s not a melted mess of girlish giggles and fleeting glances and begging to follow him around and hanging on his every word is because she’d really, really like to come across as even slightly more capable and experienced than she is. “Lonely, I would imagine,” Iscaie says quietly. She pauses for a second, thinking over his question, one ear twitching back before smiling brightly at him. “And empty,” she adds sincerely.

Solomon looks away from her finally, gaze landing on the horizon. She follows his glance, ears perking forward in interest because he’s looking exactly opposite the way she came from; she wanted a fresh start. If that’s Tinuvel, it’s about as far as she could ever make it from her father’s home. His offer is unexpected, and she’s breathless with excitement. “Really?” Iscaie blurts out. “Yes,” she adds, before he can take the offer back; she’s so excited she almost misses the compliment that neatly follows the invitation. When his comment finally filters in past her excitement she looks over to him and offers a shy smile. “You’re nothing like I thought you would be,” Iscaie murmurs. “I’d love to see your home,” Iscaie tells him, hoping that what she really wants to say ‘I’d follow you anywhere’. She glances around, looking further to the interior of the Commons and poorly feigning disinterest asks, “Now? I don’t want to hold you back from getting your news.” She’s eager to make it to Tinuvel, though, both for the distance from her old life and so that Solomon doesn’t have time to change his mind.

For the first time, Iscaie can see a future she might actually want spreading out in front of her, and she’s going to chase it with an eagerness that only comes with the youthful naivete she’s not yet lost to the world.