Själ

He was charming, dangerously so, intriguing in the way that one regards a razor's edge and wonders how sharp it is. Though his guidance through the northlands and to the Basin's door was pleasant, almost fun, even, the girl could not help the suspicions that bubbled up within her breast. For all that he knew of her (little and less save her lineage), why was he taking her under his metaphorical wing? What did he have to gain from shepherding her, with a wolf's grin and a demon's wink, to her mother's empire? But it's his father's empire, now.

As they travelled, she laughed alongside him, cavorted in his wake, offered commentary on his achievements (all the while feeling the weight of her own insignificance). She danced through his valleys and pranced through his rivers, slipped through his forests and pressed through his drifts. His stories were brave, his tales were gallant, and the princess found herself enthralled in spite of herself. No matter how hard she tried to mistrust him, regardless of how many times she reminded herself that his intentions could not be true, she liked him. She wanted his eagerness to help her to be real, wanted to trust his help; and yet still she felt like a lamb being led to slaughter.

Had he spoken of vengeance, perhaps it would have made him feel more real.

The girl could not bring herself to trust motivations that she could not see.

The Basin's sentinels stood tall above her, drawing her eyes up thoughtfully. The prince grinned, inviting her, in all his charm, into his fiefdom; she paused, dropping her gaze to his cheerful, mischievous face. I want... What did she want? What had she hoped to accomplish by coming all this way? Why, after all this time, had she still been drawn to her mother's legacy, even after having denounced its veracity? -- Yours, -- the voice was quiet and disembodied, its owner having disappeared into the evergreens that dotted the northern lands. Was the griffin right? Were these snows, and all they covered, truly hers for the taking?

The girl looked at him closely, her emotions unreadable. She was no ruler, not now, not yet. But maybe, just maybe... maybe she could be.

"Show me," she requested, and it was almost an order. Her amber eyes were feverish, passionate, anticipation rolling suddenly off her in waves. Her head had risen to survey her surroundings regally, curiosity burning hot on the surface. "Show me everything." A wicked, giddy grin to match his appeared, and she skipped past the sentinels, laughing over her shoulder as she escaped her unending freedom.

"Speak."
--Ansgar.--