It was that dual annoyance/fear at Karyn that spurred Jon to overcome the urge to stay locked up in Allaria's gilded cage until someone came for him. Whatever joke Karyn had planned; she wouldn't get away with it. He'd stop her, or at the least, not make it easy. He didn't know exactly where to escape to, but anywhere would be less obvious than Allaria's chambers.
And so he stalked the halls, as non-descript as an elf womanlet in heels with a 2:1:2 chest-waist-hips ratio could. Which was not non-descript at all, really. Everywhere he went through the opulently decorated tree-stump that was Allaria's home; desperately searching for a place with no people, a gate he was allowed to pass, maybe even a window to jump out of; eyes were on him. Whether it was a servant immediately dropping their gaze in abased deference, or a lower ranking noble who was apparently afforded the freedom to look upon his royal visage.
He hated it.
The male elves, slender and much taller than himself, invariably gazed at his chest. Allaria's chest. The nobles were polite enough to be circumspect. He'd mostly only catch them out of the corner of his eye before they turned away. But he could feel them looking anyway, even as he passed. No doubt enjoying his side-boobs. Or even, absurdly, the barest hint of his back-boobs (yes they really were just that big) . The servants, meanwhile, had court protocol backing their boob-watching. They only ever bowed just deep enough to be eye level with her nipple.
Some of the female elves, oddly, also stared at his breasts. At first they all seemed polite enough, and for a while in Jon's wanderings he was glad to find himself in areas dominated by women, though it did curse him with infuriating knowledge of just how exceptional Allaria really was.The female elves were, on average, around his height or slightly taller. So at least he wasn't stuck looking up to everyone, just almost everyone. But the height wasn't so bad. What really burned him was that of all the elf women he saw in the palace... they were all slender, lithe... decidedly uncover. Allaria, and Allaria alone, seemed to bear the twin burdens of the hourglass Goddess's curse.
Thus the staring, he supposed. There seemed to be two kinds of stairs, just as there were two kinds of elves. The older ones, his 'mother's' age dressed in complex, poofy fantasy-Georgian wear. Princess Peach sheikh you might call it. Their hair was black, red, silver, even green or purple; with the rare blonde mixed in.Their hair was piled, curled, corded, coifed, or braided into meticulously complex styles that kept their hair entirely restrained. The ones around what Jon supposed must be his - Allaria's - age meanwhile wore harem outfits, boob-game ad costumes, or get-ups that barely existed; perhaps something from Frazetta of Vallejo's label. Their hair was largely lorn in loose ponytails, like Jon had had when he initially transformed into Allaria. The former, older she-elves seemed oddly pleased at Allaria's prodigious bust, stealing happy glances as she walked by. The young ones though...she passed them with frozen smiles and icy dagger stares. Jon quickly decided he did not enjoy being the tit-queen of elfdom, and so endeavored to avoid female places from now on.
Red building in his cheeks from stare after stare, breath puffing in and out at the apparently unaccustomed effort of doing absolutely anything, frantic for some kind, any kind of solitude, he stumbled upon one exception. A woman, appearing in her mid 20's. She differed from all the others not only in the lack of eye-daggers, but for her short brown hair, extreme (from his point of view) height, and ears that tapered to only the very slightest of points. She smiled at his approach, the rustling of metal on cloth accompanying the movement. She was in armor that no doubt sort-of almost protected parts of her midriff, and her weight was lazily balanced against a tall spear. She was the first woman Jon had seen armed.
"You know your mother doesn't want you leaving the palace today."
Jon and Allaria both sighed in exasperation. He struggled to think of an excuse.
I just wanted some fresh air? Lame, but all his shame taxed brain could manage.
"I only wished a moment of fresh air." Allaria pouted.
"Lame excuse, Princess. You were going to hide in the garden again, weren't you?" The smile turned into a casual smirk.
'Right. Real mature response to stress. Just hide Princess', thought Jon, choosing to ignore the irony.
"Yes..."
"You know your mother told us that if we saw you do that again we were to, and I quote 'take her and lock her in her chambers until she'd learned some sense'."
"Yes..." Great. I'm grounded. I'm 18 or 20 or 200 years old and I'm fucking grounded.
"Good thing I didn't see you, what with me doing my appointed rounds and all." With that, the woman propped the spear on her shoulder and swaggered away, whistling.
The gate was unlocked, and unguarded.
