I kept my hope just like I hoped to // Devin Pony/Any

I kept my hope just like i'd hoped tp
then sang to the sea for feelings deep blue

If asked, Rhaegor would be wont to agree with Litotes descriptions of the two kingdoms. The first being the kingdom of his dam; ashen, pulsating, the layer just below the topsoil as blood-like as the fluids that flowed through every living being. The second being his own birth home; ruled originally by his dam, who had brought his sire to rule too, not long before they conceived him and his sister and brother. Hyaline; he would smile to think of it, were he not busy getting to know Tephra. Given much thought, Hyaline is to Rhaegor warmth, and fond memories, and snow capped mountains; laughter and youth and undeniably pure.

Perhaps that is why he left, for now; in light of the chaos of the beach party, and then Ilma's scolding, he'd realized that his childhood was coming to an end. And as the graceful bones of young adult hood began developing in the fine lines of his face and the strong lines of his legs, he'd decided to leave Hyaline with as pure a sentiment as he could. He couldn't stand to mar his memory of it - it represents more than girlfriends ever could. It represent his siblings, and mothers, and all that they built there together.

For now, he needs to be away from that.
And he thought he'd been successful in his attempt - but it would seem that fate yet has other plans for the youth.

His ears flick back to catch the sound of an approacher, their tips flicked distinctively forward, welcoming the idea of meeting someone new who might help ease him into Tephran life. The colt shifts his weight to turn and greet whomever it may be, the narrowness of his hips glimmering in the ash-cloaked sunlight; but it would seem that this stranger has no intentions of allowing him an escape. In fact, his manner of greeting is quite the opposite.

Rhaegor gasps - the loudest sound he will muster throughout this entire confrontation, ethereal and svelte and undeniably boyish.
For he is only that: a boy, tall and handsome, with angular features and cool brown eyes that seems to perceive everything.

And, oh, do they perceive the stallion before him.

Litotes.

Heart thrumming in his throat, Rhaegor realizes that the two have yet to break the contact. With wide-eyed scrutiny, the boy steps away in one fluid motion, chin jilting upwards in a show of dominance. But the show does not last long, forced to an early finale as the pale man's words fill the space between them, nullifying his move for personal space. Seemingly growled through lips that begged a different kind of attention than any filly's could, he speaks as if he knows something he doesn't; something he could hold over the prince if he dared to disobey.

He circles, like a vulture - and Rhae realizes that he feels particularly hungry, himself.

With yet an upturned jaw, the golden colt studies his opponent through eyes which seek to leave scalding marks wherever they land on the cremello's well-bred conformation. Let him circle; it will only give Rhae more angles from which to admire the languid stallion. From the drop of his withers, along his broad spanish spine, to the slope of his muscled haunches as they propelled him round and round; Rhaegor drank each part of him in, making a point of finding Litotes' eyes but once or twice - and holding it when he did, a heat growing in the depths of his usually cool eyes. The legs, too, he admires from his slanted vantage point, forelock falling just so across his left eye such that his gaze may wander without Litotes' full knowledge of where its gaze lands.

Lie calls it an uncharacteristic lack of anxiety.
Rhae calls it unadulterated male arousal.

Rhaegor