Chapter 226 - 224: Staring Hard.

Chapter 226: Chapter 224: Staring Hard.

​The protests come loudly and immediate, but he perseveres.

Ynoro-master’s techniques are just too powerful.

​"Jey, Rogard!"

​" Hey, don’t just go doing as you like!"

​The funny thing is, they’re both unfairly strong and certainly not beyond resorting to violence.

Both of them are easily capable of throwing him off and storming away.

​But neither of them do.

​Not even Loac

​...

​This atmosphere is frosty, even for winter.

​On second thought, maybe Rogard should have thought this through a little more.

​Oh well .

​"Seriously Rogard, what’s he doing here?" Khobi demands to know, which is honestly a rude question to ask about the person sitting next to you.

Trust Khobi to have no concept of subtlety. Rogard looks up from his meat just long enough blink at him innocently, smile blinding. It has absolutely zero effect.

​"I invited him," he replies simply. Montrel, on Loac’s other side and wearing an expression like he’s sitting next to a festering corpse rather than his prince, looks equally aggrieved.

​" Why ?"

​They’re being very dramatic.

​"Today’s enemies are tomorrow’s friends," Rogard chimes easily, unaffected by the frigid space at the table, "Isn’t that right, Khobi?"

​"When did I ever say that?" he complains, elbowing Loac for more room even though there’s already plenty around him.

Loac looks (justifiably) irritated at being shoved for no reason, and elbows him back.

​"It’s the principle of it," Rogard sniffs, "But never mind that, what’s with your plate?" He stabs his fork at the mound of food piled high on Khobi’s plate.

Even for his appetite it’s excessive, and he won’t accept Khobi saying that it’s just dinner .

It’s dinner for an entire family, is what it is, and even though Khobi has a way of cleaning his plate no matter how much food he’s buried under, there’s just no way he’s going to finish it this time.

​It’s a rough introduction to dinner time for Loac.

He’s got a stacked plate himself and even he looks mildly bewildered by the amount of food Khobi’s got in front of him.

​"I’m not getting any bread later, so this much is fine," Khobi states, when Montrel tells him to stop trying to eat the castle into ruin.

​Khobi says the strangest things, sometimes.

...

Khobi has grown quite accustomed to having an audience when he cooks.

He doesn’t mind it at all; the servants typically keep to themselves but when they’re not busy or hang around to watch, they’re always polite and interested in whatever it is he’s doing, and generally quite good company.

​Not today, though.

​Today, he has an audience of one, and it’s the worst.

​The servants have brought Loac an ale, and he’s nursing it on the other side of the bench, watching him work.

​"...Is it done yet?" he asks, for what must be the thousandth time.

​"It’s done when I say it’s done," Khobi grinds back, pulling a heavy pot off the flames and slamming it down on the bench.

Possibly with a little too much force. He lets out a huff as he uses the hem of his shirt to wipe a line of sweat off his brow.

The kitchens have all of the hearths blazing in here, which is usually not a bad thing, but it makes for hot work.

​Distracted by Loac reaching over to get a look inside the pot, he misses the way a couple of the nearest servants do a double take as his shirt rides up dangerously high.

​"Oi, don’t touch that, it’s hot –" he growls, automatically smacking his hand away like he might for a child before he can burn himself.

Loac looks as taken aback by his reaction as he is, and he yanks the pot away to hide his embarrassment.

"Are you an idiot?"

​Loac just takes a swig of his ale, and then takes in a deep whiff of the smells coming from the pot.

He doesn’t say anything, but Khobi takes it as a compliment when he distractedly licks his lips.

It does smell particularly good today, if he does say so himself.

​While the meat cools, he gets to work on the dough; sleeves rolled up high over his biceps to keep them from getting dirty.

This part is always hard after a heavy day at training but today he goes at it with particular vigour.

This is where it actually helps that Loac’s sitting across the bench from him, because it makes it really easy to pretend that the dough he’s pounding to within an inch of its life is his smug face.

​He’s worked up quite a sweat by the time it’s ready, and his stomach is starting to nag at him.

​He should’ve had more to eat at dinner.

​He’s going to be starving by the time he’s done.

A few of the servants swing by to help him with the final step –they know by now that stuffing the bread is the part that takes the longest, and how frustrating it is being so close to being able to eat it yet still having so much work to do.

​(They also know that if they help, he’ll make sure to set aside one for them.)

​Loac watches the whole time; eyeing the deft way he flattens the dough into the palm of one hand and packs it full with the other, neatly sealing it with a twist before moving on to the next one.

Khobi’s acutely aware of his gaze and the way it hangs on him like a living thing, tracking his every movement.

He glances across at him as he works, red eyes dark in the evening firelight, and while Loac’s expression is largely blank, there’s definitely something brewing behind his eyes and Khobi recognises what little he does glean as hunger .

​" –Like I said," Khobi suddenly feels the need to huff, because these things take time and he’s just going to have to wait, "It’s done when I say it’s done."

Loac’s eyes narrow.

​He finishes his drink.

​Loac’s halfway through his second ale by the time the bread’s finished.

It feels like it takes longer than usual tonight. It comes out good though, and Khobi’s a little heartbroken that it’s not for him.

He could’ve made two batches, but they would’ve been there all night.