Midnight snack (open)

How long had it been that Alek had found his way into this very room only to be met with the surprise of the late Queen Roselyn, a woman he had considered friend, wearing a that infuriatingly clever little smile of hers as she held a strawberry tart in silent offering. It still eluded his mind to this day exactly how Queen Roselyn managed to oversee the runnings of an entire kingdom, deal with the high society and the burden it carried, all the while still managing to find time all three of her children, no matter how abhorrent her sleeping schedule. So much had changed since that time, Sophia had aged- he could see it on her face, she looked tired, she looked pulled thin, the same look she had when it seemed like weight of the world was crashing down upon her. He did watch Sophia for a moment, she looked much like her mother, and weary or not, still she looked lovely.

It was curious that it were night when she came out, that when the sun set and the darkness the Goddess cast was enough to tempt her to make the palace more her home. That she liked the comfort of the darkness. Alek himself once prefered himself the bright sunlight of a new day, alas the burning rays of the God meant death and he need content himself with the soft glow of moonlight. He join to upkeep a semi-nocturnal sleep schedule, as he called it. Although it was only a more sophisticated way of declaring he suffered insomnia, and struggled at attaining more than a handful of hours rest. He chose it because it were easier, when his mind was awake, when he knew that her face would not join him in dreams.

Blushing may no more be an issue, but he remained a touch unsettled as he poured himself a glass. A myriad of guilt and thirst weighed heavily upon him, though the latter won out. Alek didn't especially relish in letting anyone, be they household staff, royalty or his own men able to bear witness to his curse. "I'd ahffer to share as well boeht. I shooehld dink you wooehldn't like dis particular kend," he comments idly, a strained smile as he brings the glass up and sips on the (remorsefully) cold blood. A necessary evil required nightly indulgences; if he were careful about it he might catch the nurse before she went to bed and sing Saoirse a lullaby or offer a story. It repulsed him to think that he had so consume so much just to ward off any chance of being drawn to his child's blood. Whilst he lacked a great many things, it seemed even after death Meredith had saved him; through her many connections, friends and fellow physicians scattered over Taras he had been able to receive aid. Bloodletting were a common enough practice and technically it were a waste to simply toss the blood aside.

Yet it remained an activity Alek did not savour taking part in around present company. His reluctance was forgotten as the first taste touched his tongue and he sighed in blessed relief as he began to drink, slowing banishing the chill he was feeling. To say he did not get much pleasure from this, it was a lie, but a pretty lie he must tell himself to rectify the splintering pieces of the man he once was. The glass lasted seconds, full one, drained the next, and his brow creased as he refilled it again. There was a ever-present hunger that gnawed at him day and night, if he indulged more he wondered if it would finally quiet. The pensive furrow he wore was cleared immediately, a rare delight as he accepted the section of chocolate. "I can't seem to recall de last time I 'ad chahcolate," he marvels, unable to help small smile on his face. When he was a child, his relationship with the sweet was simple. He wanted it. His máthair rationed it, of course, but he had a mischievous side and would sneak a taste. It was a habit that seemed not to of been broken, clearly. The dark bitterness, irresistible taste of a heaven sweeter than honey... it's splendor had not changed. Alek practically inhaled the small piece of chocolate, as the morsel was devoured with ravenous haste undoubtedly impossible for one still wholly among the living.

Silence fell over between the as he thought over, a memory tugging at the edges of recollection. His eyes twinkled as it slid into place. "Ahh... I remember," a sharp smirk tugged at his lips, more than a sliver of fangs peeking out as he turned to address Sophia. "Queen Roselyn's cake... frahm yooehr Rahyal Entry ball. Dat was de last time I 'ad chahcolate." That had been ages ago, long before Roselyn had shown even the faintest hint of ailment. Sophia's first big debut into society, or at least in the eyes of courtiers now that she had been suddenly of age to marry. The late Queen had insisted on taking a role in making the cake, though many had offered to do it in her stead Roselyn had offered that secretive smile of hers, all sophisticated grace.

It's what my mother did for me, she'd told him later. The entire affair had been a hectic event to safe the least; Alek was left reeling, overworked by the man who'd been captain of the guard before him, and miserable when he'd drug his sorry arse into the ballroom with the explicit order to shadow Sophia for an evening and ward off the more overbearing courtiers. Her smile had brightened his day, though, and by the end of the night he found he had actually enjoyed himself. Sophia were a warm and welcoming person- able to lighten even his moods. She was one of the few Alek felt he did not need to keep a guard up around. "Urg, I also remember dat nahsey Coventry nahbleman dat kept tryin to roehn 'is sweaty lettle 'ands all over you," He grimaced at the memory, letting out a small huff of air. "I wesh you'd o' let me arrest 'im." It would of only been his pleasure to cart that slimey man off in irons. Sophia deserved more respect than he'd given.

The sour curve to his lips dissolved as he turned his head inquisitively towards Freyja as she made a small noise. Alek regarded her with his head cocked, silently ushering her to speak what notion she seemed so perplexed by. His eyes widened a margin as she revealed what had entered her thoughts. "Well I soehppahse it's because it's imprahper fahr a lady to show so moehch sken in poehblic," he mused, eyes rolling slightly in exasperation- directed towards the words, not Freyja herself. "I shooehld dink it is oehnfair, boeht I'm afraid i dahn't dectate sahcial cahntact." Alek had assumed it had something to do with comfort, honestly. His Meredith had constantly raised complaints that her back ached terribly thanks to her well endowment. Corsets upset her asthma, but she'd grit her teeth and bared it during her service to the Lord Sabal's estate for many years silently. It had been severe enough during the last weeks into her pregnancy she'd taken to donning only his shirts with nothing beneath, though he'd confess to keeping the curtains drawn tight.

That made him wonder if either women felt similar pains too, that they were likely also encouraged to linger in discomfort for the sake of others in long intervals. He felt a wave of sympathy wash over him, for all the times he'd been irked to hear of Freyja's wanderings bare as the day she'd been born. Was this because discomfort as well? He suddenly felt like a arse for enforcing a dress code on her, even if really there were no alternative. Perhaps he'd go easier on Freyja for her excursions... and doubly severe on any imbecile that eyed with without purely noble intentions.