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Medusa gets a rather unexpected guest during the festivities.

Medusa sat on the balcony of the hotel, watching the revelers party in the streets. Her hair flowed freely, intricate patterns shaped in the air around her unconsciously. What she had expected to be a rather somber weekend had turned spontaneously into a party at the announcement of Barath's new position - and while she was not the type to celebrate in the streets, she was rather enjoying the spectacle that had broken forth on the ground. Somewhere in the distance fireworks exploded and exuberant shouting continued to ring through the streets.

The soft glow of green light against the marble of the balcony was almost indistinguishable in the light of the fireworks in the sky, and the crackle of them drowned out any sound that might have been made behind her. No evidence at all that Medusa was no longer alone until something warm and familiar touched the halo of undulating hair.

The touch was familiar, but still Medusa rose and spun around in surprise at her unexpected visitor. Her hair slowed in its movement, winding it's way around the tall man's hand for a brief moment before returning to a floating state behind her. "I was not expecting you." The words were simple, but the tone conveyed her pleasure at the surprise.

Crown prince Blackagar Boltagon smiled and pulled his hand back, his practiced fingers moving in a single word.

Surprise.

The dark-haired man moved to join Medusa by the balcony, his body positioned at a three-quarters angle towards her as he gazed out into the crowds in the street below. It seemed in keeping with the rest of the day, Blackagar signed.

"They say good things come in threes," Medusa said as she turned to face him, her back to the balcony. "If I had not announced my intention to return to Attilan on Friday, I would count that for the third." The hint of a smile tugged at her lips at the thought of returning to her home - to where she belonged.

The corner of Blackagar's mouth twitched up, and the hand that reached up to stroke a tendril of hair moving against her cheek communicated all that needed to be about that decision.

His touch lingered on her hair for a moment before he pulled away his hand. He took a step back from her, a small physical separation that signified an air of formality was about to be assumed. Now his body was turned towards her entirely, making it clear she had his full attention. No sign accompanied this, only a slight lifting of the brows and forward tilt of the head that, for them, was long-established code.

Question.

"Yes?" Medusa asked, tilting her head slightly to look into the face of the man across from her. She had already answered the only question present in her own mind - when her return to home and her loved ones would be. The sounds of the crowd had lulled for a moment, but another burst of fireworks lit up the sky in shades of green and blue, sparking a return of the noise.

Uncharacteristically, Blackagar hesitated. For just a fraction of a moment he stood motionless, taking in Medusa's silhouette against the fireworks. The light slid across the red of her hair as it breathed in and out around her like a living thing.

It lasted only an instant. A king could not afford hesitation, and a king was what Blackagar had been born to be.

His hands raised in no sign, one went instead to the pocket of his jacket and drew out a dark mahogony box, intricately carved and stained with age. Beneath the crackling fireworks and far above the noise and joy of the street below, the crown prince of Attilan went down to one knee.

He was not the only one to hesitate as it took a moment for Medusa to turn her attention down. It was the first time in her life she remembered looking down at Blackagar. She had known the moment was coming - not today, not at that time, but it was a moment she had known to expect for years. She had thought that would make it less special when it came. She had thought wrong.

Since he was thirteen years old no one had heard a single sound from Blackagar's lips. Not a word, or a sigh, or a gasp of pain. Silence was such a way of life that he never even opened his mouths but to eat and drink.

Looking up at Medusa, Blackagar opened the box to her and mouthed three words.

Marry me, Meda.

Bowing her head, Medusa's hair flowed out, surrounding the man she loved. A single tendril caressed his cheek as she held out her hand, finding that no words were needed to give her answer.