Chapter 116 - 115: Next Activity....

Chapter 116: Chapter 115: Next Activity....

As the day wears on, the crowds grow restless. It could be the crisp breeze in the air, but Gurdet suspects that it’s because they’ve finally realised that their favourites never even had a chance of outshining his finest archers.

As if he could allow that to happen, in his own home. The feats of skill had been increasing in difficulty for hours now, but Vogrid took to them all with a calculating, unwavering precision that really seemed to antagonise his opponents.

​Or maybe that was just his personality. A couple of the other archers down on the field seemed like they had half a mind to try put an arrow in his back. Which would have been interesting, if damaging to the relationships between their associated kingdoms.

If Gurdet was a gambling man he would have wagered that the man who tried to maim Vogrid Vector would come off second best, if he came out alive at all.

​Unfortunately, none of the archers have been stupid enough to try anything of the sort, so Gurdet has had to settle with displays of bowmanship, keen sightedness, and dexterity.

The most entertaining moment thus far had been when an unexpected wind had blown an arrow wildly off course, it would have skewered a servant if his good Second hadn’t been on hand with a shield.

​The crowd had been suitably impressed by Drogger’s sharp eyes and quick reflexes, but Gurdet had had the sneaking suspicion that they were a little disappointed by the lack of drama.

Usually that was Khobi’s area of expertise, and judging by the amount of attention their royal box has been garnering --each guest praying that they get to witness one of his legendary disasters --his reputation has certainly preceded him.

​But bless him, the boy is on his very best behaviour. In fairness, he’s elbowed Montrel a few times, nearly spilled his wine in Xena’s lap, and has fallen asleep twice more, but for the most part he’s been quite the obliging political prisoner.

Gurdet really does have to commend whoever’s dressed him --somehow they’ve managed to turn a beast into some semblance of a prince.

​If some of the circulating whispers are to be believed, the general consensus amongst the foreign ladies is that he is in fact, rather handsome.

​For a pauper, that is.

​Unfortunately, it also comes with an underlying hue of dissent --not wholly unexpected, seeing as most of the nobles visiting on his invitation are yet to have even caught a glimpse of the very prince whose engagement they’re supposedly here to be celebrating.

It had been a bad look when Loac hadn’t shown up to their welcome feast --rude, even; it was a good thing Xena was so sweet, and the prospect of facing Gurdet’s army so daunting, or his absence might have caused some offence.

​Some of the more optimistic have been periodically craning their necks their way to see whether or not the notoriously wayward prince has decided to show up, but the seat at Khobi’s side is as vacant as it’s been since this morning.

​Gurdet does so hate to disappoint them, but he’s not even sure Loac will make an appearance at his own wedding day.

​They probably know that. They’re probably whispering those very words where they think he can’t hear. And worse things. Khobi Frost may have built himself a reputation, but over the years Loac has too, and his own has spread far and wide, carried by the spite and jealousy of castle gossip, and not for the good reasons.

​A real shame, too.

​He could have been such a good instrument towards gaining military might, or land, or gold. Even another kingdom, if Gurdet had played his cards right. But Loac just had to make things difficult.

​He’s the best swordsman in Crade --possibly this side of the sea, even, and yet all people seem to care about is how many beds he’s slept in, and with whom.

He’s a legitimate prince, and yet, when people look at him, all they see is his gypsy father.

​Wild, untameable, and decidedly un royal.

​....

​For his first tournament, it was really nothing special.

​The archery was one thing --sure, he’d fallen asleep more times than Bongo probably would have liked, but it was impressive enough, and as much as he dislikes the guy it hadn’t been hard to tell that Vogrid had been the clear cut favourite to win the day from the start.

But he’d spent the day uncomfortable, dressed like an idiot, and feeling like every single person in the stands had spent more time muttering and pointing at him, or the empty space next to him than actually watching the archery.

Quite frankly, it had sucked .

​Honestly, he’s glad it’s over.

​Unfortunately, that seems to mean another feast.

​Which Khobi would usually have no problem with. Feasts were for food, and for beer, and he was growing fairly fond of both things now that he was getting them on the regular and without having to fight someone for them.

The problem was that nobles just had to go and make feasts fancy , with dress codes, and etiquette, and small talk that was equal parts making nice and slinging shade.

​Khobi was pretty sure feasts were meant to be like dinners down at the soldiers’ dining hall; loud, disorderly, and kind of a mess.

​And he can’t have been the only person who thought so, because there were definitely a whole lot of guests busy working on that last one.

Much to the displeasure of, well, pretty much everyone else.

​"They must be confident," Rogard remarks dryly, turning his nose up at the foreign soldiers currently indulging themselves in some good old fashioned gluttony, and making trouble for any pretty serving girl who happened by them. "I wouldn’t be drinking if I were them."

​"I hope they throw up in their armour,"

Montrel snickers snidely, from Khobi’s other side.

Not in Loac’s assigned seat, because apparently that wouldn’t be at all appropriate, never mind the fact that the guy had missed his last how many scheduled public appearances and was likely not going to appear for his next. "There’s always one.

Always funny, too."

​"Not if you have to clean it up," Khobi mutters, as someone who has had to clean it up.

Much to Silas’s obvious enjoyment. He takes a swig of his ale and gestures out around the bustling dining hall with distaste, "Anyways, how does this work? Is there gonna be a feast like... every night?"

​"What, during the tournament?" Montrel snorts, gesturing with a hunk of bread in one hand and chomping down hard on a piece of meat with the other.

"Yeah, pretty much. Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? You love eating stuff."

​"Well yeah ," Khobi snorts, yanking on the red trimming of the outfit Rogard’s gone and dressed him up in today.

He’s spilled sauce down the front to match the smudge on his face, and Rogard’s definitely noticed, "But who dresses up like this to eat? I can’t believe you used to dress like this all the time, Rogard."

​"Wow rude , Khobi. I don’t insult your clothes."

​"...Yeah, not anymore ," Montrel points through a snicker

​" --And why do you think that is?" he shoots back brightly, before returning to scanning the room like he’s been doing periodically since the feast started.

"Hmm...I wonder where Vogrid is. He’s meant to be the guest of honour. Your guest of honour," he adds pointedly, and seems to understand Khobi’s grimace all too well.

​"And he’s...not here," Montrel drawls wryly, "Well that makes two, I guess."

​"I haven’t seen him since he got his prize money," Rogard wonders aloud, "You know, I congratulated him earlier, and he totally blanked me."

​"We know," Khobi remarks through a mouthful of stew.

​"We were there," Montrel reminds him, and Rogard pouts as he adds, "It was brutal."

​"I can’t believe we used to be friends," he sniffs morosely.

​"What’s his problem?" Khobi asks flatly, and flings a wary look in Bongo’s direction as he adds, "Guy seems like a real asshole." But Bongo must have changed his stance on the use of foul language around the princess because he’s wilfully turning a blind eye.

Or rather, prioritising his king’s increasingly tense conversation with a clearly intoxicated nobleman.

​"Dunno," Montrel shrugs disinterestedly, "Used to be an okay kid. Weird, but okay. Then he got kinda mean. They all did." If Rogard notices the sidelong look that comes his way, he pretends not to.

But the comment doesn’t seem malicious so Montrel must have gotten over whatever nuisance Rogard had made of himself in the past. "It happens."

​"Believe it or not, we all used to be good friends," Rogard chirps nostalgically, expression soft and faraway, like he’s playing back fond memories, "Me and Xena, I mean, the princess...and Loac....Vogrid, too."

​"That guy had actual friends?" It’s not clear whether the guy that Khobi’s referring to is Loac, or Vogrid, but Montrel’s answer covers both.

​"Yeah," he huffs vehemently, like maybe he isn’t quite over his past traumas, "And they were all real pains in my ass."

​Rogard opts to ignore him.

​" --Even back then Vogrid wasn’t exactly friendly with anyone," he continues airily, like Montrel hadn’t spoken, only to pause for a moment to sift through his memories, "Except... there was that one kid, a servant, right? I think they were close."

​"You reckon?" Montrel remarks curiously, "He always annoyed the shit out of Vogrid."

​"He always kept him around though,"

Rogard points out, and Montrel concedes with a shrug.

​"He’s pretty persistent," he admits, and slurps up the dregs of his stew with a sound that has the entire immediate vicinity looking scandalised, Rogard included. "Right, Khobi?"

​"Huh?" Busy with his meal, Khobi’s only vaguely registered the conversation for the last couple of minutes; it’s a miracle he even realises he’s being addressed.

And even though persistent and servant are two words he’s sure could mean anyone, one person in particular immediately springs to mind, and it just so happens that he’s the only servant he actually knows by name.

"Who, you mean Binny?"

​" Ahhh~ Binny ," Rogard sighs, like the name is rife with nostalgia, "That’s it. He and Vogrid always used to chase down me and Loac and drag us back to classes when we got away from Montrel --" Montrel takes his turn at ignoring a loaded comment, but his execution isn’t quite as smooth. "They were good, too."

​"Yeah, he sure hasn’t lost his touch,"

Montrel admits reluctantly, "He might’ve even been in the running to win every event if he wasn’t such a snob about jousting."

​"-- Even a monkey could joust ," Rogard quotes stonily, mimicking Vogrid’s stiff tone in response to Khobi’s lost expression, "Can you believe him??"

​"Well they probably could," Khobi deadpans, and from Rogard’s indignant expression you’d think he’d just tipped upended a bowl of stew over his head, "It’s just riding with a spear, right?"

​"Just riding with..." Rogard splutters as Montrel roars with laughter, "Khobi, you pay close attention tomorrow, and I’ll show you what jousting is!"

​"What, you joust?" he asks, and sounds so genuinely surprised by this information that Rogard’s jaw drops open so far that Montrel nearly chokes on his food.

​"Don’t sound so surprised!" he exclaims, offended, "For you information I’m actually a favourite to win tomorrow!"

​"Seriously?"

​" Rude ," Rogard pouts, put out at their lack of faith in him, and jabs a fork at the hearty second helping of stew Montrel’s helping himself to, still grinning like an idiot like Rogard’s suffering is bringing him great joy.

"I can’t believe you’re eating more of that. Aren’t you competing tomorrow, too?"

​"Nope. Royal duty," Montrel replies

dismissively, jabbing a thumb in Khobi’s direction. "Captain’s orders. Gotta make sure this one doesn’t get in trouble.

Or assassinated. Or fall asleep again. Don’t worry, I’ll be duelling though. Gotta kick Khobi’s ass obviously."

​"Obviously," Rogard agrees.

​"I am right here ," Khobi growls flatly, and gets two fierce smirks in return.

​"Oh, we know."