Of wine, piano keys and soft whispers.

Ealdwine was, as his name would suggest, an elegant man. Graceful and careful, causing those who do not know the man personally to fall for him. Oh how their hearts fell. The king, graceful as he was, helped the city back to its former glory. Rebuilding old taverns and homes ruined from war. Every woman wondered, who, who did Ealdwine Paytonsson love. Did he have a woman in his life? Was she beautiful? Would she be their next queen?

Even Osborn, with his sly nature, wondered this. Subtly (or not so subtly) hinting towards a wife, a family. Or, most importantly for a member of the Royal family; a child. An heir. 

"My lord, i must advise you to bring children. You are getting on in age, as they say," Osborn drawls his S's and Z's, speaking in a slow but harsh edge of someone who does not speak much. His unfavourable look sours Ealdwine.

"I understand this, Sir Howlande, but i have not met the woman whom i deem appropriate to have children with." His voice monotone, the scripted and unspoken frustration evident. Bringing his faux arm to his forehead he breathes deeply. This was a lie, he had met many a woman who could be perfect child bearers. The problem was that in who he liked. "I have had enough of this topic, Osborn, please leave." With his freehand, Ealdwine gestures towards the door. He hums a tone.

Osborn leaves swiftly, his long scaly tail making a swift noise on the polished foor. The doors of the drawing room close slowly, as though Osborn was closing them himself. Ealdwine knew he wasnt.

The real reason Ealdwine hadn't found a suitable wife was because he liked someone else. Someone who was distinctly not female.

Denver Bonnet. He was quiet, softspoken and loyal. Deathly loyal. Ealdwine had loved the look of him, his beautiful fur and eyes, mismatched just like his own. Even the large, jarring scar across Mr Bonnet's face was beautiful. Though, to be fair, Ealdwine had only ever seen him in armour. It would be rude to peek.

Ealdwine had, given his status, been manipulating where Mr Bonnet worked. Meaning, most often than not he was guarding a room where Ealdwine was. Like now, he was outside the drawing room. He knew he was outside the drawing room. 

Ealdwine decided, since there isnt much to do when you aren't being pestered to marry a woman and have her children, to lay along the chesterfield day dreaming of things to come. Or not to. Either way, it was a pleasant waste of time. 

Ealdwine considered himself loved. This was, unfortunately, far from the truth in his personal life. While yes, he was the king. He was worshipped. However, when in a room with royal advisors and guards he felt utterly alone.

How can i be alone? He had thought once, curling in on himself in his overly large bed.

Ealdwine looked at the gold of his hand, it glistened in the warm light of the room. The warm greens and golds of the furniture matching the man as he lazily rolls off to fetch a book from his prefect bookshelf. He kept the books he would love to read to someone in this room, stories of far away lands and magiks far beyond his comprehension. Love stories and romances of those who should not be together. He thinks of the irony, only he would read something so similar to how he views himself.

The tiny clicks of his hoofs against the shiny, wooden, floor make him realise how alone the room is. Echoing, bouncing back towards him in a frenzied click. He sits, cracking open the heavy red and brown book. Its spine worn from readings he has lost count of.

The door to the drawing room opens ever so slightly, and the click and crunch of chain and armour welcome him.