Chapter 152 - 150: Among The Crowd.

Chapter 152: Chapter 150: Among The Crowd.

She’s barely back in his company for a minute before the next oblivious fool approaches them.

Gurdet’s aware that appearances can be deceiving, but from the light sweat the man breaks out in just from climbing the few steps to them, he’s got an inkling that the next few minutes are going to be excruciating for his daughter.

​All the more so because one of the guests she has been so anxiously awaiting has just arrived.

​Xena --hilariously, considering how frequently and desperately she’s been looking, hasn’t seen him.

In fact, no one but him seems to have even noticed.

​Considering Khobi Frost’s history with parties, and his apparent inability to not make a scene at one, Gurdet had honestly been expecting his eventual arrival to be a little more eventful.

But it looks like he’s just walked right on in, like he’s just any other guest. In fact, Gurdet really only notices him because he’s always had this helpful, but some might say nasty little habit of always being on the lookout for signs of weakness, and while he’s dressed like any other guest, the boy looks desperately uncomfortable and well and truly out of his depth.

And those are exactly the sorts of things that just snare his interest at gatherings.

​Xena’s already on her way to the dancefloor so Gurdet doesn’t point him out.

She’ll notice him eventually, and he rather hopes it’s as her dance begins, so she has to spend an agonising few minutes knowing he’s there and being unable to go to him.

​(Bongo catches his expression and must know his mind because while doesn’t roll his eyes, he certainly looks like he’d like to.)

​Khobi looks, for lack of a better word, lost.

​Gurdet watches with unbridled amusement, as he is buffeted through the living labyrinth of the glittering, ever shifting crowd, seemingly unsure of where exactly he is, or how to get out.

​Someone, bless them, has managed to tidy him up and dress him appropriately.

The red and black outfit they’ve chosen for him --Gurdet is under no illusion that Khobi had any say in the matter --highlights his formidable shape, and has a tasteful silver trim that makes him look rather regal, so that even with his face a little cut up (courtesy of his betrothed), he still somehow manages to look like the kind of prince most princesses --and even a handful of princes --would give anything to marry.

​More than a handful, even. And not just princes and princesses, it would seem.

​People are starting to stare.

Heads are starting to turn, as the crowd starts to catch on to just who exactly has wandered into their midst.

And so come the whispers, moving through the room like wind rustling a forest’s leaves; indistinct, but gaining momentum.

Gurdet knows that the grapevine grows strong in his castle, with deep roots and ears under every leaf, and these days Khobi, whether he knows it or not --or cares --is often at its heart.

Wherever he goes, and whatever he does, whispers follow, like nasty little shadows.

​But tonight, for once, it looks like it’s for all the right reasons.

...

​It’s on nights like this that Binny finds being a servant particularly hard.

​Nights like this are supposed to be unforgettably beautiful and disgustingly extravagant, and it’s a servant’s job to make it so.

He and his fellows have spent the better part of the day, most of the night, and some of the day before, making sure that the ballroom is at its most breathtaking.

The clear night sky, filled with stars and visible from the many open balconies, does some of the work for them, but the gold and the silver and all the crystals that ring each high pillar and adorn every wall has all been painstakingly polished to perfection by servant hands.

​Binny’s arms ache from the work, but he has to say, the look on Khobi’s face when he walks in, and the stunned, involuntary intake of breath that follows, fills him with no small amount of pride.

​He just wishes, like all servants wish, that he got to be a part of it; that he got to enjoy a night he helped to create.

There are servants here, of course, all dressed in their absolute best in honour of the occasion, but they don’t own jewels to wear, or get to dance or enjoy each others’ company.

Instead, they’re busy carting around platters of food and drink for all their king’s valued guests; still, despite their silhouettes catching the dancing lights, invisible.

Present for the revelries, but by no means a part.

​He’s no different. Even though he’s right at Khobi’s side, urging him deeper into the room of strangers celebrating him, every time someone approaches Khobi, and looks right through him, he feels a world away.

And, to Khobi’s (understandable) confusion, they do approach him. In nights gone most of the castle populace would be giving him a wide berth, but hearts can change, and judging from the mood of the crowd by the time he’d stepped into the arena for the last time, Binny thinks it’s safe to say he’s won himself more than just gold.

A few greet him. Some even offer him their congratulations. None of them seem to notice how he grimaces when they call him Lord .

​None of them see Binny.

​He sticks with him all the same, Khobi alternating between desperately trying to pick out a familiar face in the crowd and cussing Binny out for making him come tonight, even though they both know that Binny had no say in the matter, obviously.

There’s no spite in his curses though, and oddly enough, it makes him feel a little better, and every now and then he has a private cackle to himself at how distressed Khobi looks whenever he loses sight of him in the crowd.

​Which is often.

​The further into the ballroom they venture, the more heads start to turn in their direction, and the more Khobi gets waylaid.

And Binny hovers anxiously, biting his tongue, because while he is no stranger to Khobi’s straightforward, borderline rude approach to conversation, the nobility of this kingdom and most others, are not, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he --inadvertently, or otherwise --offends someone.