Chapter 111 - 110: Friends.

Chapter 111: Chapter 110: Friends.

Khobi feels stupid.

"Stop fidgeting, Khobi," Bongo advises for the third time as he announces his arrival at his king’s chambers with a hefty knock.

The guards standing to either side of the door dip their heads to him, and then, after a brief moment of hesitation, to Khobi as well.

As if he weren’t already uncomfortable enough.

"I look stupid," Khobi deadpans, and adjusts the way his tunic falls for about the hundredth time since Rogard had given up on something flashier and dressed him in it.

It’s not that it’s uncomfortable --on the contrary; it’s a good fit, and surprisingly easy to move in --but he’s used to Montrel’s well-worn hand-me-downs, none of which have been formal tunics.

"Not at all," Bongo assures him, looking him up and down and adjusting the pin holding his cloak in place.

He sends him a small, encouraging smile as he adds, "And even if you did, I can assure you that you won’t be the only one."

Khobi stares at him. So do the guards. He’s pretty sure Bongo isn’t meant to say things like that.

It makes him feel a little better though.

They’re not left waiting long before the doors swing open and the king emerges with his daughter in tow.

In true Crade fashion, they’re both dressed in traditional black and maroon, and the princess has two poor serving girls carting her train behind her.

"Good evening, Your Majesty," Bongo greets formally, his deep bow suggesting that Khobi should do the same.

He doesn’t, and he’s pretty sure he hears Bongo sigh under his breath.

"...Well, isn’t this a refreshing sight?" the king remarks dramatically, ignoring his captain in order to address the man he’s brought with him.

"Father," the princess chides disapprovingly.

"It’s a compliment, Xena," her father assures her dismissively, and appraises Khobi with approval, "I’m just saying that it’s nice to see Khobi actually looking like a prince for a change.

" He throws in a fox-like smile for effect, and it makes Khobi’s skin itch.

"--Please accept my sincere apologies," the princess gushes, swooping forward and boldly taking him by the arm to wheel him away from her father.

Her hand on his elbow feels tiny but she manoeuvres him with surprising ease. "You look very nice," she adds kindly, as an apology for her father.

"Where did you get it?" she asks curiously, inspecting his ensemble a little more closely. She’s still latched onto his elbow, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, or not do about it.

He flings an uncertain look Bongo’s way but the guard just returns it with one of sympathy and shrugs, like he doesn’t know what to make of it either. "It doesn’t look like the work of our tailors."

"At the fair," Khobi replies, wrinkling his nose as he inspects a sleeve with distaste. It’s nothing too extravagant --Rogard had been adamant that that sort of thing wait until the ball --but it’s still a whole lot nicer than anything he’s used to wearing.

He wasn’t sure about the matching black cloak but Rogard had insisted, and he has to admit it’s warm, and not too uncomfortable, if a little tacky.

"It’s not my sort of thing but Rogard said it looked good. But he said a lot of things looked good and they didn’t."

"Oh, please forgive me," she says quickly, covering her mouth like that’ll stuff the sound back inside.

Khobi raises an eyebrow and looks at her strangely, because what does he have to forgive her for?

"For laughing?" he guesses, frowning. She blinks at him, eyes big and pink and a little confused by the question.

"It...wasn’t appropriate," she explains, which makes even less sense.

"Why?" he scoffs. Maybe it’s one of these weird castle rules he knows nothing about. There seem to be an awful lot of those.

His aunt Mozry had always been telling his uncle off for doing things that weren’t appropriate for a king to do, and he’d be forever forgetting that they weren’t.

Things like taking a nap out in the courtyard, or coming to an early morning strategy meeting in his nightclothes.

"You thought it was funny, right?" He hadn’t really meant it to be, but the princess has a nice laugh so he doesn’t mind too much.

"Um..."

Gurdet has decided that Khobi is worth every one of Silas’s spiteful little words that he’s had to read.

The baffled look on his daughter’s face is utterly, delightfully priceless.

She’s inherited his affinity for words, and takes pride in her eloquence.

The world she’d been raised in demanded it, after all --kings were greedy and proud by nature, her own father included, and were always looking for a reason to find offense.

Xena knows how to talk to them. She knows how to play their games, and how to play them, and most importantly, how to do so without their knowledge.

He wonders if she’s finally realised that Khobi is not exactly your average prince.

"Or is it like a rule...?" he asks, frowning to himself like he’s trying to understand why such a thing would be a rule, and quickly giving up. "...I don’t know about this sort of stuff."

Clearly.

The poor boy,he actually sounds like he feels bad about it.

It’s not his fault his uncle lost a war.

Xena, bless her, quickly assures him that there’s nothing to worry about --a blatant lie, but a kind one.

There’s plenty to worry about --namely the fact that there are certain expectations of those of noble blood.

Conventions to be followed, etiquette to be observed.Gurdet hates it all too, but he abides by them all the same.

For the most part.

"...This’ll be a good chance for you to learn," she decides, wearing one of her brightest smiles --the ones that evenGurdet has to be wary of.

"...And for us to get to know each other. We’re going to be cousins, after all. I wouldn’t want us to be strangers."

"Right," Khobi says, without much enthusiasm. Gurdet can relate. His daughter can be exhausting. "...Of course."

"Of course," Xena agrees emphatically, and willfully misinterprets his sarcasm as enthusiasm. "Now, did you just say Rogard picked this out for you? As in Rogard Spidra?"

The face Khobi makes indicates that this is a question he’s been asked one too many times.

"That’s him."

"Oh!" she remarks curiously, "I was under the impression the two of you weren’t friends."

"--We’re not," Khobi immediately informs her, and after a moment, reluctantly clarifies, "...But I guess we’re not not friends."

This time, when she laughs she doesn’t apologise.

It’s the first time she’s laughed like that in a very long time.

Gurdet wonders if that means it’s real.