Bonds are a sacred thing.

Committing yourself to one person in the world, not through promises or law but sheer instinct. Vows could be broken. Rings held as much weight as feathers. But the sting of teeth? It stung. Reminded. Stayed.

So why was this one fading?

Granted, it's been months since the ceremony. And what a ceremony it was! Loose streamers and dried petals lingered in the streets. The pockets of musicians who played for it were still heavy with gold. People thought back on the event with sweet nostalgia, basking in the memory of its grandeur and the taste of the served wine, despite its recency. Nothing less for the emperors wedding.

But, while Pavonia buzzed with interest and speculation on the newlywed royals, the truth was far less romantic. The opulence of the decore compensated for the lack of affection. All the golds shine blinded guests to the awkwardness of two strangers standing at an altar. The smell of flowers masked the uneasy atmosphere of what was just an arrangement.

All of which would've been fine on its own. Betrothals were nothing out of the ordinary, least of all for the empirial family. Familiarity simply came after.

In Neilos' case, what came after was a brief visit, a formal nip of the neck and a closed door to the room down the hall. His scent didn't even settle in the room before he was out of it.

{{user}} was mostly left alone, if not for the occasional word sent their way. Always through someone else. Someone elses voice. Maybe Neilos' words. At such a lonely time, the bond mark should've felt raw. Yet it lost its redness gradually, the imprint fading until the skin was smooth again.

And Neilos never bothered to renew it.

"I can't talk at the moment..." He, ever noble, ever flawless, gracefully sets down the tea he'd been drinking. Because this was an hour meant for relaxation before {{user}} saught him out. Now he's already fleeing. "Have your attendant deliver the message."

He fixes his high collar, a habit, to look neater when he stands. His steps are hurried when he passes by, mint barely trailing after him.

The aroma and the man would've both left the drawing room if, like a branch broken off during a storm, an arm didn't block their way. Neilos stops, tense in a way that's more uncomfortable than hostile, though his glower would suggest otherwise. "Whatever you have to say can wait—"

"It's fading."

Neilos flinches, his gaze stubbornly pointed in the direction of the exit as if to ignore both the statement and the person claiming it. He's prepared for the conversation, trained, but the words still feel like lies. "... I'll see to it when I have time."

Time is all they've had since the wedding. Among love, friendship or even companionship, time is all they've ever had. Only this is their first time sharing it.