The Sea Gallery sat at the very end of the Guest Grove, perched upon the precipice of the cliffs that stood in the warm glow of the evening sun overlooking the sea. The broad, high arches of the white marble were ribboned by grape vines that fluttered in the salty breeze. At each pillar, a windchime sang into the air. From each open archway the sea greeted the onlooker, picturesque such that no single piece of art could quite translate its beauty.
Asemir stood in his lordly robes of greys and blues and silver, hands lightly folded at his back as he watched the sun slowly drift further toward the horizon. He might've been a statue where he stood, erected for a King said to be noble and wise, powerful and honorable, but no such statues had been crafted for Lord Kor Aren. Not because his people did not deem him worthy of such things, but because Asemir could hardly stand the idea of something so blatantly self-absorbed as a statue of himself while he still lived.
Wait until he was dead, he told them, where he could not decline the offer from his grave.
"My Lord," the Sidhe bowed as she paused at the end of the walkway leading to the Gallery.
Quietude greeted the ladies, a sober and fleeting smile over the shoulder of the Lord, "Thank you Calamae. That will be all for now."
Calamae bowed again, offered Ceilidh a smile, then turned and departed in peace.
"My father lived here for a time," Asemir began, "the Guest Grove was once his home, long before the Dusk Court ever existed. He built it himself. Called it his sanctuary away from Summer. When I was younger I never understood why," his brows raised slightly at the memories of short visits here with Veremir, "I understand now."
