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Kabru has started counting castle windows he could commit regicide from.
Royal advisor is an enviable position – food, board, an absurdly large personal allowance, and the ear of the king and his council. This is the sentence he writes in his personal ledger instead of screaming, because his chambers are between a highly trafficked alley and the scullery, and rumours fly faster than dragons.
His latest ledger is nearly full. He is beginning to run out of places to put them.
“I’m not budging on this, dumbass!” Alderman Tims informs the King of Melini. “We need to establish a national pension fund now or in thirty years – hell, in ten – you’re going to have thousands of arthritic ex-dungeoneers starving to death because they can’t work anymore.”
The King shoots Kabru a damp look. “Can we?”
Kabru closes his eyes. (Whether he rolls them once they are closed is nobody’s business.) “If it be your will, my liege,” he declares with a bow, pointedly not looking at the forum, where visitors, shoppers, and traders are watching the entire debate. They may be too far away to hear the conversation taking place on the council’s balcony, but the sight of the nation’s leader obviously deferring to an insignificant aide will not play well.
The King, with all the grace and poise of a minotaur at a glassblowing festival, says, “But am I allowed?” He practically whines.
Kabru shoots a look at Tims, who has kicked his feet onto the map of Melini gifted to the King by the Empress of the Eastern Archipelago. The half-foot shrugs and raises an eyebrow.
With a perfectly level voice, Kabru says, “You are the King. You determine what is or is not allowed.”
The King nods, big yellow eyes fixed on Kabru. “So, I’m allowed?”
“Yes, my liege.”
“Okay, cool. Chilchuck, is ten million gold enough?”
The alderman grins as Kabru starts writing in his ledger.
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
“You have to be clear with him,” the Royal Sorceress says. “Aggressively clear.”
“How am I supposed to be aggressive with the king?” Kabru asks, handing her a charter and a pen. “Either they won’t respect him, or they’ll think I’m impertinent.”
“Who’s ‘they’? The council? We all know what he’s like. You’re the closest anyone’s ever gotten to controlling his… you know. If anything, we think you’re a miracle worker. Is this relevant?” She hands him a rubbing of Utayan carvings.
“No, it’s caving directions. I’m talking about the people,” he says, tracing his fingers absently over the lettering. “If they see me ordering him about, how are they supposed to trust him to run the kingdom?”
“You think he’d be better off without you?” She hands him another rubbing. “This?”
Kabru splutters. “I think we’d be at war with about five different sovereign nations. But that doesn’t mean the people know that, or that they should. I just wish he could put up a better front.” He squints down at the paper. “It says, ‘Rama smells of spoiled milk.’”
“Damn. He’s not exactly known for putting up fronts, Kabru. One might even say that’s the thing he’s worst at.”
Kabru sighs heavily. “I know. Just a shame it’s ninety percent of politics.”
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
“My liege,” Kabru tries, as they sit down to dinner in the King’s personal office. With an all-night treaty development to work on, all they have time for is leftovers on rice brought up by a kitchen boy. “Are you aware of your public perception?”
The King pinches his temples and sighs heavily. With his mantle removed, he somehow seems half the size. “Sorry, Kabru, but could I finish eating before you tell me off? I’m sure I deserve it, but I had to skip lunch and…” And he is always hungry. They rarely discuss it, which Kabru suspects is in deference to his dislike of monsters. He is unsure how to feel about that.
Or about what Laios has just said. “I’m not telling you off.”
Laios perks up. “Oh?”
“Eat. I’ll talk.” He is met with a searing grin.
“Thank you!”
“To the people, you are their saviour. You might not quite be a chosen one, but to a layman there is little difference. As King, it is important for you to appear… less than fallible.”
Laios cocks his head in question. Every day he more closely resembles those mutts he insists on housing in the castle.
“You are human,” Kabru says pointedly. No matter what contention may exist between them over Laios’ monstrous interests, this is a clear fact. The way Laios ducks his head suggests he does not view it as such, but this is no matter. “But you are also King.”
Laios swallows. “Kings are human, though. Well, I suppose you could have a kobold for King, or an orc, or a dragon-”
“Indeed,” Kabru interrupts calmly, gesturing back at Laios’ bowl, to which he dutifully returns. “But a King – a Monarch,” he corrects, already seeing places Laios could misinterpret him, “is more than a person. When a person dies or abdicates, they stop being Monarch, and the next Monarch instantly takes their place. There is still a Monarch, even though the person who was the Monarch is not any longer. Once there is a monarchy, there will be a Monarch until the monarchy is forcefully removed. It is more than you, or any person. The Monarch – in our case, the King – is more than human, because they are more than any human. Does that make sense?”
Laios chews, swallows, and nods. “Yeah, it’s like a parasite.”
“What?”
“It travels between hosts, but it isn’t any of the hosts. It just wears them and discards them, like a hermit crab.”
Kabru frowns, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and sighs. Heavily. “Eat your rice.”
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
Kabru is mid-explanation to Alderman Tims that (no matter how nice it might be) there is no budget for his national pension scheme, and that unless he wants to be the one to announce a tax hike, he will back off for this financial quarter, when the sound of the argument reaches him.
The Royal Sorceress stands in the corridor (the public corridor, there are servants watching her!) and calls back into the King’s dining room,
“Like hell you will!”
Immediately, Kabru is preparing to drag the King out of sight and lay into him. But he has no need to.
“Marcille,” the King says softly, and he is not the focus of her attention. “This is a conversation to be had in private.” He casts a concerned look at the servants, who scamper out of sight (but not, Kabru suspects, earshot) and raises a calming hand to the Royal Sorceress, whose face is red, her eyes cold.
Duchess Touden walks out of the room after her brother and folds her arms, staring the Sorceress down. She seems less incensed than her lover, but more willing to cause a scene than her brother. “Marcille,” she says, loudly but calmly, “you have no say in the matter.”
“Like hell I don’t!” The Sorceress scowls. Kabru recognises the look in her eyes. It is one he has seen in himself more than once. Laios would likely compare it to a cornered bobcat. “How could you even think of seeing him?”
Gods, the windows are open. Today is market day. They can probably hear her in the damn wheat fields.
“It’s my decision,” the Duchess retorts, stone-faced. “And I am choosing to see him. What, do you plan on stopping me by force?”
The Sorceress recoils as if struck. “No, never. Falin, never.”
“Then build a bridge,” the Duchess says, miming a bridge with one hand, “and get over it.”
The Sorceress freezes, clenches her fists, and opens her mouth. Before she can speak, there is an almighty crash.
The King stands over a shield, pulled down from display on the wall. “Enough,” he decrees. “Marcille, you are about to say something you will regret. Not just because you’re feeling a lot right now – understandably,” he adds hurriedly. “But because you are in public. Please. Anything either of you says to the other right now will fail to solve the issue. And more importantly, it will be reported across the kingdom within the day. Falin,” he turns to his sister. “Give it some time. Let Marcille express herself calmly and privately and listen to her. Then if you still want to, at least you will have fewer regrets about how you did it.”
Sufficiently chastised, the two women simply stare at him. The King sighs.
“Marcille, perhaps you should take the rest of the day off. I think both of you could do with some time away from the castle. Maybe a weekend away, once you’ve cooled down?”
They share a look, much of their heat already leaving them. The Royal Sorceress deflates.
“I would like that, if you still-”
“Marcille,” the Duchess says quickly, “Of course I do. I just… he’s right. We have time. I’ll see you tonight?”
The Sorceress smiles, takes her lover’s hands in hers and kisses them. “Of course. Tonight.”
The Duchess retreats to her brother’s chambers, and the Sorceress bows to the King. “Thank you, my liege,” she says, looking down. “I will take your kind offer of a day off.”
It is incredibly surreal.
She passes Kabru as she leaves, and he squeezes her shoulder. She stops for a moment and smiles at him, then is gone.
Kabru looks at the king in awe.
Laios makes a hermit crab with his hands and winks.
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
The alderman has clearly sensed the futility of his battle, because he has started playing dirty. Kabru is making toast when Councillor Izutsumi corners him.
“Chilchuck is getting my workers to strike for pensions,” she says. “There’s no one to receive deliveries, so all my road tiles were stolen. We’ve had a dozen complaints already about people falling into the pit where the library is supposed to go because they’re refusing to cordon it off. Worst of all, the canal is going to fill with water.”
“Aren’t canals… supposed to be-?”
“Not before their walls are built!” She regards him as if he is very stupid, which thankfully is not a personal slight. Izutsumi has a mild resting face of disgust.
Kabru groans, abandoning his toast. “Well, we can’t give them pensions,” he says. “Not this year, and honestly probably not for another five.”
“They say the King promised them.”
He beats his head against a wall. “Tims,” he grits out. “The King had no idea what he was promising them! If Tims had asked him for a golden unicorn, he would’ve said – no, actually, he would have known a golden unicorn was ridiculous. But you understand what I’m saying.”
Izutsumi frowns. “Then why’d you let him promise it?”
“Because he’s the bloody King!” She blinks slowly.
“…And?”
Kabru growls in frustration. “Does nobody understand how hierarchical monarchy is supposed to work?”
The kobold shrugs. “I don’t care how you do it, but we need public workers back. Make a deal with them or something.” She takes his toast and leaves.
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
He really does consider bringing the strike to the King.
Perhaps he would not have, six months ago. But slowly and surely, Laios Touden is becoming a man worthy of his title. He is holding more and more forums without Kabru’s help, asserting himself on matters of policy, learning his history and his people. Kabru has not written anything but random notes in his ledger for weeks. For one of the rare times in his life, Kabru feels like he can trust problems to someone else without returning to a wasteland.
But that is just it. The King is edging cautiously into competence, like Councillor Izutsumi trying to swim. Discovering that he had inadvertently caused the total cessation of governmental construction projects could send him running like an unexpected undine.
To be perfectly clear, this is not capitulation to the King’s emotions. Kabru could care less whether his feelings get a little hurt by a major governmental shutdown. But if the King regresses now, he may give up entirely, leaving Kabru to run the government singlehandedly. All he is doing is making life easier for himself in the long run.
Unfortunately, this means that in the short run, he is making his life a living hell.
In between trying to control negotiations with the Alderman’s bruisers (his eldest daughter and, bafflingly, Mickbell) Kabru must keep the whole affair from the King. Since the city has essentially shut down, this means he must keep the King out of the city.
“My liege,” he says, affecting a casual air, “I found this in the basement. Do you happen to know what it is?”
He watches Laios’ eyes go from glinting to shining. His mouth drops open, he runs his tongue over his lower lip.
“Are you… is this… are you pranking me?”
Of all the responses Kabru predicted, this was not one. “What? No.”
“Oh. My. Gods!” Laios squeals, sweeping Kabru and the scroll up into his arms and spinning all three of them around. “Kabru! I can’t believe you even found one of these! I’ve been looking for them since I was twelve! Where’d you get it?”
Kabru, slightly winded, pats Laios’ chest until he puts him down. “What are you talking about? I told you-”
Laios laughs, helpless and giddy. “Kabru, if this had been in the basement, I would have found it.” He shoots him a soft look. “Seriously.”
Kabru’s cheeks warm slightly. “I, uh, I heard it was for sale in a town on the Northern Border. I figured you’d be interested-”
“Interested,” Laios giggles. “You thought I’d be interested?”
“Shush. I sent a couple of pages to buy it for me.”
“But why’d you pretend?” He is terribly aware of his face, for some reason.
“Um… I don’t know. I thought, I suppose I thought you’d be more excited if I pretended not to know what it was.”
“Why?”
“So…” Why does he do that with his eyebrows? “So you could tell me about it.”
“Oh.” Laios beams. Kabru is finding himself surprised by how wide his smile can get. “Well, I’m sure there are things you don’t know. Come on!”
He unrolls the scroll on his desk. In one corner is a painting of a hydra. Sketches of the same are scattered about, but what Laios focuses in on – as Kabru had known he would – are the notes. They are untidy, placed thoughtlessly down in low light. But he has never seen writing so tiny.
Laios leans all the way back in his chair. He sniffs loudly. “I don’t want to cry on it.”
Oh. Kabru cannot think of anything to say except, “Tell me about it?”
Laios wipes his eyes and sits back up. He beams at Kabru.
“Okay. This is an adventurer’s scroll, from the Northern Continent. See, here? That’s a charm we – Northeners – use when taking perilous voyages. It’s probably a couple hundred years old, based on the language. These…” he inhales shakily. “These were used to construct the first dungeon guides.”
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
The scroll does its job. The King holes up in his rooms for a week, not even leaving for meals. In the meantime, the strikers demand pensions Kabru cannot afford and refuse to accept any promises that are not effective immediately.
“We can’t give you pensions now,” Kabru sighs, “but we can guarantee a pension fund will be started within five years.”
“Nope.” Ms Chils looks him up and down critically. “Sorry, but we don’t trust you as far as we can throw you. And, well.” She gestures to herself and Mickbell, then to him. “I doubt I could throw you very far.”
The glint in her eyes tells Kabru she might be less than serious about that.
“What about some other concession, then, until we’re capable of stating the pension fund.”
The negotiators huddle for a moment, then say, in perfect synchrony,
“Perhaps.”
Kabru smiles warmly. No point in batting his eyelashes, but he can at least appear amiable. “Please, tell me more.”
After exchanging another look, Mickbell leans forward with a sigh.
“Okay, the boss-” how strange it is to hear Mickbell use that word for Chilchuck Tims - “didn’t exactly want us bringing this up unless we had to, but a lot of the workers have families, children.” Kabru raises an eyebrow, waiting for something that could be an actual secret. “…And they struggle to feed them.”
“What?” He knows they pay public workers enough for food. It is well above the living wage, he calculated himself.
“They’ve got money, but they work through the hours markets are open. They’re struggling to pay for childcare, and when they get home, they’re too exhausted to cook.”
“Okay.” Kabru’s cogs were already whirring. He ran over the finances for the past month, employment records, and nodded. “Okay.” I can work with this.
“We’re trying to get a public school system up and running, but we haven’t even broken ground on the building. I’ll shift that to top priority, so older children are taken care of during the day. We can have the first one complete in six months. Maybe three or four, depending on population. In the meantime, we’ll subsidise childcare for public workers – and kids get all three meals at childcare. We can also cater lunch breaks, so they won’t have to pay for that. As for food shopping…” He grins. “Let me see what I can do.”
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
“So, what do you think?”
Senshi hums. “Possible.”
“But is it actionable? I’ll need a deadline to bring it to negotiations.” The dwarf clucks his tongue.
“Mithrun?” His business partner shrugs.
“Two weeks? Maybe less? We already have the basic setup; it would mostly be an issue of manpower.” He shrugs again. It is a favourite gesture of his. “To be honest, I’m surprised nobody is already doing it.”
Kabru grins. Mithrun gives him a thumbs-up, and Kabru beams with pride. They have been working on communication for a very long time, and every time he sees the fruits of his friend’s labour, he is struck by how far he has come.
“Okay, I’ll tell them two weeks.”
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
Two weeks later, Kabru goes to the King.
He has emerged from his research cocoon, wings still wet. Somewhat glassy-eyed, he regards the city.
“My liege,” he says, “are you hungry?”
The King cocks his head at Kabru. “Literally always.”
“Well, would you like to come to dinner with me?”
“Sure! Where were you thinking?”
“I’ll show you.”
They descend into the city with the smallest retinue they can get away with (two guards, both more likely to hinder their king than protect him from any real danger), turning corners almost at random. Technically, there is a more direct route, but for the King’s safety, it is best to be circuitous.
Also, Kabru does not want to spoil the surprise.
Laios’ head perks up as he starts recognising more and more buildings. “Oh, are we going to SenshiMi? Why wouldn’t you just tell me?”
“Because,” Kabru says, ducking past a curtain into a seemingly desolate alley, “we aren’t.”
Stepping into the night market is like entering another world. Not the dungeon, but somewhere out of time, where dawn and dusk are indistinguishable. Lanterns and signs protrude from stalls, advertising their wares bright and bold. Smoke half-obscures the walkways, sweet and sharp. People sit everywhere, on chairs and stoops and the cold hard ground, munching on food from different stalls. Further down, he knows, is the produce, with enough vendors to supply every public worker.
“What are you in the mood for?” He asks the King.
“Kabru?”
“M-hmm?”
“Am I really that oblivious, or is this new?”
He bites back a laugh. “It’s new, Laios. It was part of our agreement with the public workers. They’ve been struggling because they can’t shop at normal markets, so I organised this with Senshi and Mithrun. They’ve got a stall somewhere.”
“It’s amazing,” Laios murmurs. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“They’re quite common elsewhere,” Kabru replies. “I suppose not so much in the North?”
“Nobody wants to be outside in the dark and the freezing cold.”
“Well, that makes sense. Anything take your fancy?”
With tacit permission to shop, Laios takes off, investigating every stall from top to bottom. He orders a few tasters, overpays exorbitantly, but never stays in one place for long. Until.
Kabru had guessed this might happen. The King’s tastes were no secret, and anything rare became desirable to a certain sort of person. He accepts his fate.
“Oh my gods,” Laios breathes, staring at the stall. “They sell monster.”
The King orders two of everything on the menu, and Kabru hides his wince. The King settles on the ground, his feast laid on a low table before him. He is drooling.
“Oh, walking mushroom!” he coos, as if seeing a childhood friend in a portrait. “And they’ve sautéed it! I’ve never tried it with that sauce!”
Kabru tries not to look blatantly queasy. He has done this before, he can do it again.
Laios looks up as if waking from a dream. “Oh, you don’t have to sit with me.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m going to be ages, you should go find something to eat.”
Kabru frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, look at all the food I have to try! You shouldn’t just sit here and watch me eat.”
“Oh. You…” He feels hot. “You ordered two of everything.”
“Yeah.” Laios looks down at his stomach. “I kinda missed lunch, and you know…” His condition. Kabru nods, trying not to blink too much.
Laios gasps. “Oh, you thought I ordered for you!”
Kabru now feels hot and stupid.
“Well, duh, you said you were taking me to dinner. Obviously that’s what you thought. I should’ve been clearer.” He looks Kabru right in the eye. “I know you don’t like monster. You don’t need to eat it just because I like it. Falin likes octopus, but I won’t touch the stuff, even if she’s eating it.”
Right. It seems a lot simpler when he says it that way.
“Okay. I’ll go find something else, then I’ll come back and eat it with you.” Laios grins.
“Sounds good.”
Kabru finds a stall selling noodles with tomato sauce and meatballs, writes down the name for Marcille. He gets extra cheese.
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
“Kill me,” Laios demands.
“Ah, once upon a time,” Kabru comments drily, closing the door behind him and setting two cups of tea on the desk.
“Kabruuuuu,” his King whinges.
“Laioooooos,” he retorts. After two days with only Laios to talk to, he is turning slightly strange.
It is the anniversary of the fall of the dungeon, which means everyone and their mother is off drinking and feasting on mock-dragon for a week. Except Laios and Kabru, who are barricaded in Laios’ rooms going over international policy. Kabru has been trying to get Laios to focus on these for months, and when they gave the servants the week off, he seized the opportunity.
Which has brought them both into new levels of hell. For Laios, trying to comprehend international policy, and for Kabru, dealing with Laios trying to comprehend international policy.
“What is it now?”
“People.”
“Ah.” Laios’ weak spot.
“I don’t get it. All this policy, it’s like… like…” he flounders to explain himself, then seizes his mantle, “like this! Like it’s just words. I know words. But they’re wrapped in all this,” he squeezes the wolf’s ear, “fluff. And I can’t get through it.” He shoves his face into the mantle’s fur. “I can’t see through it. And I just… I can’t bring myself to care.”
Kabru sighs. This has been their sticking point for longer than he cares to remember. Laios simply does not get people, and worse, he has no drive to try.
Then he remembers the hermit crab.
Hmm.
“Okay,” Kabru sighs, dropping onto the chaise and sipping his tea. “Let me try and reframe it.”
Laios turns around on his chair to face him, hooking his chin over the wooden back.
“You know how monsters can’t talk?”
“Some of them can.”
“Shut up, I’m getting to it. Some monsters,” he shoots Laios a pointed look, “can’t speak human languages. Others can. But even the ones who can’t, you can still understand them, right? To a point, I mean. A dragon might not speak, but you can tell what it’s going to do by seeing…” here he struggles.
“Its eye movements, tail motion, the sound of its ignition, claw engagement-”
“Exactly. And the same for loads of monsters. Right? Your whole thing is understanding a monster that can’t talk to you.” Laios nods sceptically. “So, think about those monsters that can talk. Do they have the same nonverbal signals?”
“…Yeah, I guess. You can tell a lot by seeing where a monster is looking, how it’s holding itself, stuff like that.”
Jackpot.
“Exactly,” Kabru enthuses. “People are the same. We have verbal and nonverbal signals. Most humans are experts at reading nonverbal signals, so they don’t always verbally communicate things that they consider obvious, and sometimes they act on nonverbal signals.”
“Like dogs,” Laios considers. “Dogs can learn commands and act on them, but if the same command has a somatic element, they can extrapolate to just the somatics. They don’t need the spoken command to know what you want, so they do it without.”
“Yes! Yes, Laios, that’s it. And sometimes, they’ll react to a signal you don’t know you’ve given off.”
“Like mantis wraiths.”
“Huh?”
“Mantis wraiths can see in extra dimensions,” Laios elaborates. “They can see emotions, and spiritual energies. Sometimes, they look like they’re staring at nothing, but they’re actually responding to something humans can’t see and don’t know is there.”
“Yeah,” Kabru says. “And figuring out what it is can be hard, but also cool, right? The more you learn, the more you understand. It’s like another language, but tenfold. And people have ‘accents’, you know? Some of them are more exaggerated, more with their hands or less with their eyes. There’s so much to work out, to observe, to understand.”
Laios looks down, wets his lips. “I think that actually helped.”
“Yeah?”
“You were right, it’s easier for me to visualise it like that. Don’t expect me to be on your level any time soon, but… yeah. Thanks, Kabru.” He beams, and Kabru can’t help but mirror the response.
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
He should have known, of course. Nothing stays good for that long.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he mutters, storming through the corridors, slamming the Council chamber doors open.
The Royal Sorceress and Councillor Izutsumi turn from their chess game to regard him with surprise.
“Kabru?” The Sorceress asks.
“My mother is coming.”
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
Kabru paces the Council chamber like he’s trying to complete the world’s shortest marathon course. He wants to bite something.
“I understand your stress,” Marcille says softly. “But you have done an incredible job on the kingdom. She should be proud.” Her tone suggests that if Milsiril is not, words will be had.
“She will find fault with something. She could convince the Elves to withdraw support,” he frets. “Our school project is barely above water as is. Without their magical education stipend, it’ll fall apart.”
“Kabru,” Falin, who had been nearby when Kabru let out a scream of frustration, speaks calmly. “You are taking possibilities and making them realities in your mind. I know parental pressure can be especially nervewracking,” she says, reminding him how little he knows of the Touden parents. “But you are the single most vital member of this Council.”
“Your brother is on the Council.”
“I said what I said.” He rolls his eyes. “If she is not impressed by that, so be it. And if she threatens our funding, we will go to the elves ourselves.”
He tries to take in their comfort, but all he feels is dread running hot and cold through his spine.
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
Kabru drops a dossier twice the size of his torso on Laios’ desk.
“This is an incomplete guide to the treatment required for my mother and her retinue,” he says. The King regards him calmly and says,
“I’ll read it.”
“You need to memorise it.”
Laios narrows his eyes. “I’ll read it twice.”
Kabru runs a hand through his hair. It will have to be enough.
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
“Darling,” Milsiril effuses when she sees Kabru. She moves towards him, but halts when she sees the King at his side. “My Lord,” she greets cordially.
Kabru is readying to grab Laios by the scruff and make him respond when the King bows from the waist, a quick motion lowering his head to the usual height of his shoulders before returning to his full height. The textbook bow of a monarch to high-ranking foreign nobility.
“Lady Milsiril,” the King acknowledges, managing a convincing smile. “Our warmest greetings to you and your retinue.” He inclines his head to the elves flanking her without making eye contact.
Milsiril glances from Laios to Kabru and her eyes soften ever so slightly. Without looking back to the King, she asks, “May I greet my son?”
“If the Royal Advisor so wishes,” Laios says. The position of his hands is perfect etiquette, Kabru notices.
Milsiril steps forward and opens her arms to Kabru. “Dear one.”
When she looks at him, he wonders if she sees how young he is or how much he has aged. For her, it has been a brief separation. He softens his gaze, slightly relaxes his posture, and smiles up at her.
“Mother.” He steps into her embrace, letting her poke and prod at him until she is sated.
Milsiril steps back and regards the Council before returning her eyes to Laios. It makes Kabru itch.
“Your party has been granted full use of the North Wing, which is prepared for you now,” the King informs her. “I do not doubt your journey was long. All servants have been instructed to follow your every command, but if you need anything before dinner, feel free to ring one of the bells for our senior staff.”
Milsiril regards him with mild interest, then nods. This is enough to send her retinue scampering away into the North Wing. Kabru’s room is in the southernmost part of the castle. She squeezes his elbow and murmurs,
“I heard the King was a Northern barbarian, but I see you have civilised him. I would expect nothing less, my lamb.” She pats his cheek twice and departs.
Kabru can hear nothing but his and Laios’ breathing. He feels as if he has escaped a flock of harpies on foot.
He turns and beelines for his room, catching Laios by the collar as he walks. If the guards and servants think anything of it, they decide not to make it an issue.
“With me,” Kabru mutters. “Now.”
𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
Once his bedroom door is shut and locked, Kabru turns on Laios.
“You read the guide.”
“Twice,” Laios says, face neutrally curious. “I said I would.”
“But, but, but you retained it.” Kabru has been attempting to teach Laios formal terms of address for five years.
“Oh, yeah, that’s thanks to you. Remember that whole thing about monsters communicating and stuff? Well, I realised that thinking of people kinda like monsters made me remember better. So I…” he rubs his neck sheepishly. “I pretended your mom was a monster.”
“Hmm.”
“Like, a monster with a telepathic ability to communicate and extrasensory perception. I thought, how would I deal with a creature that was communicating with me in a language I didn’t speak, couldn’t even perceive? Learn the language. And obviously, I couldn’t actually learn it, but you wrote that giant guide, and I figured, what if I imagine it’s a dungeon guide? And I’m learning how these creatures communicate. And I guess… I dunno. That helped it stick.”
“Hmm. Laios?”
“Yes?”
“Get on the bed.”
Laios does, sprawling backwards in confusion. Kabru climbs between his thighs and sits up to lean over him. “Kabru?”
Kabru slides a hand around Laios’ neck, tilting his head back and forth ever so slightly. “Yes, Laios?”
“Um, feel free to tell me if I’m reading this wrong, but… could I kiss you?”
Kabru doesn’t give him the chance, surging down to press their lips together himself. Laios gasps and leans into the contact, bringing his hands to ghost over Kabru’s thighs. Kabru grins against his mouth, running a tongue over Laios’ lips. Laios opens his mouth immediately, that evergreen hunger rearing its head again.
When they finally part, Laios looks half-drunk, eyes shining up at him. “Is this… because I bowed right to your mom?”
Kabru rolls his eyes, throwing his arms over Laios’ shoulders. “Of course not.” He corrects himself, “Not only that. Laios…”
Laios sighs inaudibly, a little huff of air against Kabru’s lips. “Yes?”
“You are a good king.”
“Oh! Thank you.” His cheeks are pink and Kabru wants to kiss them. Later.
“And we will talk about this. However. What time is dinner?”
“Um, an hour and twenty, probably ten minutes now.” Kabru grins, tucking a blond curl behind Laios’ ear.
“Okay. So we can either spend an hour and, let’s call it twenty minutes, talking, or we can talk later.” He raises both eyebrows, hoping Laios understands. From how his face reddens, it seems so.
“Oh. Um, yeah. Later’s good.”
“Good,” Kabru grins. “Take your shirt off.”
As Laios complies, Kabru muses that he might never finish that ledger after all.