So, I finally brought that tub home, and I’m slowly filling it with prompts. I have about 15 in there right now. Since I am only looking for prompts that will move my work-in-progress forward, I’m being choosy. But they are coming. And if you have any suggestions, please leave a comment. I love comments as they really drive home the point that I’m not just talking to myself…
This week’s writing prompt was: He whispered in her ear and walked away. As with the other prompts, I make it my own rather than keeping it “as is”. I do hope you enjoy. I’m not certain this will make it into the WIP, but it helps me look at the plot line…
“Don’t follow me about like a sad little puppy. I’ll have no embarrassing talk about someone to whom I am attaching myself,” he whispered harshly in Elixabeth’s ear before turning and walking away, cutting off any attempts at denial or claims of innocence.
Anger burned her cheeks, spots of red forming, as the light quickly died from her amethyst eyes. Light that had only quickened as he came toward her. Light born of the hope that he would finally notice her; ask her to dance; converse with her for a few minutes. Anything other than the way he typically stood across the room from her, barely acknowledging her, not even as the beloved daughter of his host and High King. She turned toward Nikita, her constant companion. The daughter of Harald the Druid, trusted adviser to King Jamus, her father, Nikita was one of the few Mortals within the Immortal Realms, and the one she considered her truest friend. She had hoped for some sympathy, but was unsure of the emotions dancing through Kita’s eyes. Was that guilt? Embarrassment? What had the blonde to feel guilty or embarrassed of? Or was it embarrassment of Elixabeth’s apparent lapse in manners.
Surely that was not it? Rough around the edges though he was, Brennus and she had been promised to each other for most of her life, though it had yet to be officially announced. That would come after her initiation as the heir to the Summer Court, which was the following eve; her eighteenth birthday. What was wrong with her looking at the man who would be her consort, the King of the Summer Court upon the retirement of her father?
Nerves threatened to overwhelm her, nausea rolled through her insides and blanched the stain of embarrassment from her cheeks. Faint, she instinctively reached out to steady herself, not even noticing that Kita had moved away from her outstretched arm until she tumbled slightly, one pale hand meeting the rough stone wall of the Summer Court ballroom. The walls came to life beneath her touch, humming and warming, which brought her immediate comfort. Her fiance might find her an encumbrance to be endured under duress and her friend might be ashamed of the stolen glances sent his way, but the very being of the Sacred Island recognized and welcomed her.
Across the room, Brennus stood in deep conference with Harald the Druid, a man so much a part of her life she viewed him as a beloved uncle rather than political adviser; her father certainly considered him friend and confidante first, adviser second. From so far away, the discussion looked to be almost heated with both sending furtive glances between her side of the large room and the dais where her parents watched the festivities with joy. Though Brennus was often at court, he and Harald had interacted so little previously that it immediately sent shivers down her spine, though she dismissed the misgivings as quickly as they came. The nerves of an upcoming initiation ceremony, at which she would be on public display for all of the Immortal Realm, were getting the better of her.
Beside her, Nikita let slip a wistful sigh, bringing Elixabeth’s attention away from her own troubles and back to her closest friend. The beautiful blonde looked spectacular in a gown of silvery blue, perfectly matched to the color of her large, soulful eyes. The thought that Nikita more closely resembled a good majority of the Summer Court than she did wormed its way to the forefront of her mind, as it frequently did when she dared compare herself to the prettier girl. Nikita looked like an angel, the celestial beings of the Mortal Realm with her blond hair and blue eyes whereas the Crown Princess felt like one of the Daemons, feared monsters of a Mortal religion with her inky hair and amethyst eyes. Her mother had the same coloring as she came from the distant Bheur Clan, a small court that was once as powerful as the Summer Court, yet still she felt an outsider.
Kita had been asked to dance plenty of times, though she had declined each one. Perhaps it was out of loyalty to a friend who would only dance with her intended, who clearly was not going to ask.
“What’s wrong, Kita? Do you wish to dance?”
“No, I do not wish to dance. I wish that I could – well, never mind that. Tonight is, after all, in celebration of you and I certainly do not wish to spoil it by talking of unwelcome wishes and desires.” This was said without any heat or anger, and a furtive glance at someone across the room, though Elixabeth could not determine exactly who.