It doesn't seem to bear the necessity of an answer, though Xiao notes that there has been no gratuitous violence, indeed as if the pure intent behind it all was as the general says, to meet. More courtesy than his own priests have given him, Xiao reminds himself of his duty to the kingdom and that the existence he leads is not his own; to have purpose is to serve. Yet the way Zhongli looks at him, speaks to him, makes him feel more close to human than he ever has felt, or what he imagines it ought to be. If he were anyone else. As far as he knows, the marriage is another way to provide safe-keeping for him. If it rings of other unspoken truths, Xiao is always too tired to pursue them, too dedicated to the role he was born into.
The knee-jerk reaction to back up is undeniable, but there is not much of anywhere to go when his betrothed closes in on him. This near, Xiao finds himself overwhelmed with the scent of him very nearly a taste on his tongue, eyes dilating and skin flushing. The General brings the warmth of the sunlit earth with him and Xiao has only ever known the isolatory cold touch of priests who hide him in a hundred ways. Summer, he thinks, and feels dizzy.
"I am not fearful," he says and it is true, peering up at him, adding, still quiet, "As for what they told me, it is only your praises in regards to your conquests, the fortification that reputation and presence brings to us."
With that, his gaze lowers, sharply aware of how his ear burns where Zhongli had touched, wondering if everywhere would burn the same. For the first time in his life to his memory, Xiao wonders what it would be like to wear something else, to go somewhere else. Even having been told their marriage will happen, to Xiao it is not real. A construct, a convenience. He wonders how much the priests offered to pay, not realizing this may not be the case.
His focus shifts to the other's clothing, his long hair impeccably kept despite being a man of the warfront, and then down to the side at his hands, also beautiful albeit battle worn on the underside, Xiao is sure. He has the foreign feeling of wanting to feel his touch again and stifles it, swallows it whole and unconsciously adjusts the veil responsible for shrouding most of his face. Through the sheer yet not quite truly see-through material, his mark glows in soft pulses, resonant. This, it has done since it came to him, and so it will always do, as long as Xiao is alive.
"Does...the arrangement displease the General? Did they not offer enough compensation?"
Not bitter, not worried, simply matter-of-fact. Xiao does know they do not hurt for money. The pious are generous even when they should not be. If his betrothed feels slighted or under-appreciated from the outset, that is not necessary nor acceptable. If nothing else, Xiao can make certain of this one aspect, though his hands are tied in most other ways. That someone would agree to this without money or some other valuable as a trade, does not occur to him, small hands folding neatly in his lap beneath the layers of silk.
no subject
The knee-jerk reaction to back up is undeniable, but there is not much of anywhere to go when his betrothed closes in on him. This near, Xiao finds himself overwhelmed with the scent of him very nearly a taste on his tongue, eyes dilating and skin flushing. The General brings the warmth of the sunlit earth with him and Xiao has only ever known the isolatory cold touch of priests who hide him in a hundred ways. Summer, he thinks, and feels dizzy.
"I am not fearful," he says and it is true, peering up at him, adding, still quiet, "As for what they told me, it is only your praises in regards to your conquests, the fortification that reputation and presence brings to us."
With that, his gaze lowers, sharply aware of how his ear burns where Zhongli had touched, wondering if everywhere would burn the same. For the first time in his life to his memory, Xiao wonders what it would be like to wear something else, to go somewhere else. Even having been told their marriage will happen, to Xiao it is not real. A construct, a convenience. He wonders how much the priests offered to pay, not realizing this may not be the case.
His focus shifts to the other's clothing, his long hair impeccably kept despite being a man of the warfront, and then down to the side at his hands, also beautiful albeit battle worn on the underside, Xiao is sure. He has the foreign feeling of wanting to feel his touch again and stifles it, swallows it whole and unconsciously adjusts the veil responsible for shrouding most of his face. Through the sheer yet not quite truly see-through material, his mark glows in soft pulses, resonant. This, it has done since it came to him, and so it will always do, as long as Xiao is alive.
"Does...the arrangement displease the General? Did they not offer enough compensation?"
Not bitter, not worried, simply matter-of-fact. Xiao does know they do not hurt for money. The pious are generous even when they should not be. If his betrothed feels slighted or under-appreciated from the outset, that is not necessary nor acceptable. If nothing else, Xiao can make certain of this one aspect, though his hands are tied in most other ways. That someone would agree to this without money or some other valuable as a trade, does not occur to him, small hands folding neatly in his lap beneath the layers of silk.