Chapter 12: Midnight Rucus.

Chapter 12: Chapter 12: Midnight Rucus.

At this side of midnight, the King’s chambers should have been peaceful.

The candles should have burned down low. The halls should have been silent. The servants should have been out of sight, and his daughter out of mind. Gurdet should have been in bed, along with the rest of the castle at that.

But there he was, slouching at his favourite brunching table in his nightclothes, with no less than his third cup of tea already in hand and fingers pressed to his temple in an attempt to keep an impending headache at bay. No doubt it was a fruitless effort, no good ever came of a rude awakening, especially one that led to his Third Captain lingering painstakingly unfidgeting in the corner despite the extensive silence.

Gurdet took a long, and perhaps a little petulant, sip of his tea, ignoring the way his daughter’s gaze scolded him for his moodiness from across the table. He figured a little irritation was justified. It was, after all, an unreasonable time of day, his eyes were sporting dark bags and were still adjusting to the harsh candlelight, and more’s the pity, Xena had the audacity to still look well-groomed and bright-eyed as though she’d been up for hours. He did, however, take a little solace in the fact that Bongo didn’t look like he’d slept particularly long or particularly well, for that matter, he decided to take pity on the man.

His teacup settled back into its saucer with a light clink, and Gurdet cleared his throat with appropriate disdain to break the silence.

"...Not that this isn’t a charming time to be awake and all, Bongo –" The irony in his tone came out a little less veiled than usual, but considering the company and circumstances, he figured it couldn’t hurt. Almost disinterestedly, he glanced down into his teacup and mulled for a moment on how it was unsuitably weak. The servants should watch themselves, the Nobles would never be so generous as to let something like that slide. But as it was, it seemed like watery tea was going to be the least of his concerns.

So, with a touch of poorly disguised irritation, he glanced back up at his Third Captain and then out at the stars, still clearly lighting up the twilight outside, " –But would you mind explaining why exactly the entire castle seems to be awake at this ungodly hour?"

Bongo at least had the decency to wince.

***

"Khobi, get the fuck back here!"

***

"He did what?"

"...Climbed out his window, Your Majesty," Bongo replied blankly, maintaining an appropriately neutral expression as he watched King Gurdet physically press the heels of his hands into his eyes as though that might change the absurdity of the situation. Princess Xena seemed to handle the news slightly better, and giggled into her drink.

"Climbed out his window," Gurdet repeated in disbelief, shaking his head at the nerve of the foreign prince, "...Executed poorly, I should say."

"He didn’t intend to fall, Your Majesty."

"Well obviously," he sniffed, holding back a yawn, "What did he expect, trying to manoeuvre down a wall while it’s still dark out?"

"I don’t think he considered that it might happen."

"They never do," Gurdet snorted flatly, ignoring his daughter’s small frown at that, and taking another sip of his tea in the hopes that it might rouse him to life a little more, "I do hope he’s pleased with himself, disturbing the whole damn castle at this time of night..."

It was most unfortunate that, as a king, he had a duty to ensuring the safety of his people and the peace of his lands. Needless to say, that meant that when there was a perceived threat to the castle, he had to know about it.

In this case, it was the shouting of castle guards, and the squawking, distressed clamour of the nobles that had roused him from what might have otherwise been quite the peaceful slumber. Something had them in an uproar, and upon sending Vogrid down to investigate and summoning a suspiciously small squadron of the castle guard, he’d managed to deduce that all the commotion was not the work of a dangerous criminal roaming the castle, as many lords and their ladies could still be heard trying to claim, but merely the result of their guest prince having, not for the first (or presumably last) time, run amok.

"He has not as yet shown any remorse for that, Your Majesty," Bongo admitted dryly, "...From what I’ve gathered, he’s mostly just annoyed that Lady Grindi had started screaming."

"Well of course he was," Gurdet muttered, shaking his head, "Things might’ve gone a lot better for him if she hadn’t, am I right, Captain?" Something about the king’s tone made Bongo feel a little scolded and he couldn’t help but turn his gaze aside. It was true that the only reason some of his men had been aware of Khobi’s escape was because they’d heard the terrified screams from somewhere a floor below, and rushed to investigate.

By the time they had arrived on the scene, the hallway was teeming with pyjama-clad nobles all ranting about how a dangerous thug had clambered in through Lord and Lady Grindi’s window in the dead of night. Probably an assassin, the Lord himself had been heard saying, working for someone out to steal his fortune, no doubt.

He’d been brandishing a large candlestick as a makeshift weapon, and declaring most vehemently that while the soldiers were off snoozing, he’d been valiantly defending his lady wife from said violent stranger. Chased him from the room with his tail between his legs, he’d said, and luckily there’d been enough of a commotion that he didn’t hear Montrel laugh.

Unfortunately, such a commotion meant that not a single person in the wing was spared a rude awakening, an inconvenience that of course everyone seemed to need to vocalise just as rudely and just as loudly.

And it only got worse when Bongo received word that Khobi had unintentionally encountered some of his men. Gods knew that when he and his pursuers hit their stride, no one’s sleep would be spared.

"I apologise for allowing him to disrupt the peace of the castle," Bongo apologised dutifully, head dipping in a slight, modest bow.

"What are you doing apologising?" Gurdet dismissed, waving his words away with a scoff, "He was bound to try for the window sooner or later, and it was inevitable that he’d do something else to piss off the nobles."

"Father, language."

"I’m a king and I’m half-asleep, Xena, I’ll talk how I like." Bongo never ceased to be amazed at how royally un-royal his king could be in the early hours of the morning, but wisely kept a straight face. There were times that he wondered if his ability to show indifference to some of his quirks was one of the reasons he’d been a captain for so long.

Gurdet hung his head in resignation and gazed mournfully into his tea," –Especially since I just know that later today, Lord Grindi is going to give me a very long-winded and undoubtedly exaggerated recount of what happened. And if Lord Spridra comes complaining to me one more time –"

"Father," the princess admonished, daintily lifting the teapot and refilling her father’s cup for him, "You really shouldn’t speak ill of Lord Spridra –" She gave Bongo an apologetic look, pleading for him to keep his silence about her father’s thoughts on such a highly regarded noble, and he shrugged as casually as he dared, privately, he too found the man grating.

"Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with him so much if you just agreed to marry his son," Gurdet grumbled into his tea, "He’s bright, and handsome, and half the young girls in the castle want him." The princess wrinkled her nose at the thought and let out a light scoff.

"Father, let’s not forget which of us thinks Lord Spridra would be a beastly in-law," she reminded him pointedly, and the king begrudgingly kept his silence on the matter.

"In any case," Gurdet sighed, sitting up a little straighter and making no effort to hide the weariness in his eyes, "Please tell me that your men have been successful in escorting our dear guest prince back to his room?"

Bongo mulled over his words for a moment.

"...Last I heard, he’d been putting up a fight, but Jaga has a solid plan for apprehending him –"

"Bongo, that is really not the same as what I asked."

"Rest assured, Your Majesty, they’ve got him cornered."

***

Montrel wasn’t by any means nearing his twilight hours, but it damn near felt that way these days. These chases were taking years off his life, and he was aware that it probably showed. In fact, considering the circumstances, he decided to count it as a small blessing, seeing as a single look at his stormy expression seemed to send the throng of people crowding the hallways scurrying out of his path.

"Move along, head back to your rooms," Jaga was declaring in his firmest and most placid voice, "The situation is under control, and we need you to –"

" –Whoa, are you only catching up now, montrel?" Hasbar remarked cheerfully as Montrel nudged his way past his fellow soldiers doing their best to try and disperse the crowd that had begun to gather, "Could you have been any slower?" A vein twitched in Montrel’s forehead, but Hasbar, with no shred of self-preservation, continued, " –No wonder Prince Loac always gets away from y –mmmff –" and was promptly cut off as Albi clamped a large hand onto his bald head and squeezed.

"Cut it," he deadpanned, and inclined his head down the dead-end hallway that their quarry had been unfortunate enough to flee down. Montrel chanced a glance and groaned when he saw that despite a certain redhead being backed up against a solid stone wall, he was doing a pretty good job at keeping his would-be captors at bay. "We thought we’d tired him out, but as you can see..."

"Where the fuck is Bongo when you need him?" Montrel groaned, running a hand down his face and steeling himself for the trial of getting Khobi back to his room without a fight.

"Uh, reporting to the king," Albi replied dryly, "And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be the person telling him that our guest escaped on our watch again, and that we had him in ropes."

"Well, obviously they didn’t work," Montrel huffed , stalking past his comrades and heading towards the fray, just in time to see Fricha and Hadza securely wrestle Khobi’s hands behind his back and wrench him away from the wall. He was wheezing, and he stumbled when he put a little too much weight on his left knee, and there was a pretty looking shiner, courtesy of Montrel himself, blossoming over one eye.

"Ow! That hurts, you bastard!" Khobi snarled, as Hadza shouldered him forwards and tightened his grip on his wrists.

"It wouldn’t hurt if you stopped struggling," Hadza pointed out, not looking as though he’d managed to escape from the brawling unscathed either. In fact, all of the soldiers present were looking just a touch worse for wear, like they’d all recently been involved in a sort of large-scale bar scuffle.

"Okay, fun’s over, Khobi," Montrel growled, stalking forwards and getting a good grip on Khobi’s elbow and receiving a beady glare for his efforts. He rolled his eyes, adding, in a politer, but no less exasperated tone, "Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about punching you in the face –" Khobi tried to yank his arm away but he was having none of that today. Not again. Tonight’s chase was over, and it was going to stay that way, if it killed him. "Quit your fighting, kid. We caught you, and you are going back to your room right now."

Montrel should have known there was about to be trouble the second Khobi stilled.

His face relaxed, and the tension and fight dropped from his body, and for a moment Montrel entertained the fleeting notion that maybe they’d won.

That was, until he saw the fire still burning in the corners of Khobi’s eyes as fiercely as ever.

"Make me."

Oh for fuck’s sake.

And then, with an almighty snarl, Khobi reared back and ploughed his forehead into the swell of Montrel’s cheek so hard that his ears rung and stars burst behind his vision. It was probably good that he was momentarily rendered blind else he might have had something to say about the self-satisfied little smirk the redheaded prince sent his way. As it was, he was instead doubled over with his face smarting something awful, and his mouth spouting the only sorts of words that could accurately translate his pain –all terrible, and terribly inappropriate.

To his credit, he didn’t loosen his grip on Khobi’s arm.

"Gods, Khobi, it is too fucking early!"