The Rising Tension

#16 for NaPo, #23 for my ongoing Epic (read the preceding 22 sonnets here):

23. The Rising Tension

Though fae and mortal kept their front of mirth
with wine and food and song to pass the time,
the castle’s mood turned often to the dearth
of laughter as their worries ruled their minds:
the mortal’s sighs betrayed no confidence
in winning Connacht’s fae to their appeal,
nor did the Dagda hide his own pretense
of allyship in such a doubtful deal.
But chief among the melancholy lot
was Angus, who had sealed himself away
to dodge, by night, the temptress of his thoughts
and sleep by every hour of the day.

So love remained adrift in nonchalance
as host and hall awaited their response.