Chapter 34: Punch Line.

Chapter 34: Chapter 34: Punch Line.

"Do you think we should just invite him to the next one?"

Gurdet was well aware of the absolutely scandalised look his daughter was giving him. It was one of his favourite expressions on her.

"What?" he sniffed, shrugging lightly as though she was making a big deal out of nothing, "He keeps things interesting.

" He raised his glass towards his slightly ruffled attendant, flitting off through the dispersing crowd and dabbing at the thin red marks in his skin with the edge of his sleeve as he went. "And if he ever causes problems then I’m sure Vogrid would be delighted to step in."

Were Vogrid standing with them, he would undoubtedly look less than delighted by such a suggestion. As it were, Xena looked thrilled enough for the both of them in his absence, and Gurdet snickered playfully.

"Kidding, sweet daughter."

"No you weren’t."

So maybe he wasn’t. Was it really so wrong to occasionally want to spice up a stuffy formal gathering? But he didn’t bring that up with his daughter because she’d inevitably have something to say about it, and he was not about to waste his last few minutes of peace, seeing as there was undoubtedly a someone or two out there who had some things to say about how he’d handled the night’s proceedings.

He was sure it was going to be quite the charming encounter.

Even if he said nothing, she seemed to have an inkling of his train of thought because she rolled her eyes away like she were the parent dealing with a particularly petulant child.

A moment later she rose to her feet and brushed off some imaginary titbits of food from the lap of her dress as if to signal that the fun was over; shooting him a reproachful look.

"Well, if you’re quite finished," she sniffed primly, a condescending lilt to her head that he was certain she’d learned from him, "...I’ll be taking my leave."

"Who said I was finished?" he shot back, glancing down into his...well, he couldn’t quite recall what glass it was but what mattered was that it was nearly empty.

She tutted with disapproval so inappropriate for her young years and gathered up her skirts as a signal for her handmaidens or servants –anyone left in the vicinity after enduring the madness –to accompany her, well, anywhere that wasn’t there.

"I’m still leaving."

He let her leave without protest, soldiers keeping watch over her as she went and servants laying down mats as best they could so as not to soil her clothing.

But he did venture to call out to her as he lazily swirled his wine around the sides of his glass, "Sweet daughter, pout all you like, but don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the show even a little. You stayed, after all."

He didn’t expect a response and didn’t get one. But her silence, and the tensing of her delicate shoulders as she paused in her stride said enough –said that her expression had wilted into one of quiet nostalgia, the one where her eyes held a soft, faraway sadness and that she seemed to think he never saw.

But as always, he let her think that he didn’t notice, and shrugged dismissively, though the corner of his lip quirked up knowingly as she straightened abruptly and swept off without another word, leaving Gurdet with his wine in blissful silence for approximately an instant.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Ah, Gurdet would know that voice anywhere, loud, demanding enough to be rude but not excessively so, and dripping in ice.

And so it begins, he mused to himself with a grimace, knocking back what remained in his glass and turning to face the newcomer with a strained smile.

"Lord Sprida, always a pleasure."

The Lord Sprida, extravagantly dressed as ever, seemed to neither buy nor share the sentiment; his mouth pressed into an unpleasant, thin line and a fury in his eyes that made them seem to glint with red.

Gurdet’s feigned cordiality faded from his lips and his eyes narrowed to match the nobleman’s stormy, borderline hostile gaze.

"May I be of assistance, my good lord?" he inquired slowly, tone deliberately flat.

"I think you so, Your Majesty," Lord Sprida replied, the customary title holding some bite to it.

When he smiled, it was dry and sour, saying that there were a very many things he wished to draw attention to. Gurdet couldn’t wait to hear every one, in excruciating detail. "I was hoping you could explain to me why your man was so willing to let my son die."

"Willing to let your son die?" Gurdet parroted back innocently, scoffing as though the notion were absurd. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. It was difficult to tell with Vogrid sometimes.

"Some might say eager," he added, his accusation far too thinly veiled for Gurdet’s liking.

"Would they now?" he said, eyes narrowing and his voice taking on a light, dangerous tone that the lord standing before him either didn’t fear or didn’t quite catch. Both possibilities were equally foolish, "They would lack faith in their king’s decisions, then."

See, two could play at dangerous accusations.

"Believe me when I say that Lord Vogrid is rather adept at handling these...extraneous situations," he remarked dismissively. "I assure you, your son was in no real danger."

"In no real danger?" The man bristled, eyes flashing as he drew up indignantly, "Tell that to all the good men he’s injured tonight.

Look at this place! Look what’s he’s done! He’s dangerous!" He gestured in disgust at the scene before them, "You’ve seen what he’s capable of!"

"...Have we, though?" the king considered, humming to himself.

" –That barbarian held a knife to my son’s throat, drew on your own men –"

"That barbarian is of a royal bloodline, Lord Sprida –a prince," Gurdet corrected condescendingly for what felt like the umpteenth time, enjoying the way that the man’s expression soured at the reminder and made his handsome face pinch most unfortunately.

Squaring his shoulders, he gritted his teeth around his next words, as though they pained him to utter.

"...Meaning no disrespect, Your Majesty –"

Funny how men always seemed to say that when what they meant was inevitably disrespectful.

" –But there is nothing royal about him. That is not a prince," the man spat with disdain, his tone clearly hinting at what exactly he considered Prince Khobi to be. "He’s wild."

That was clearly meant to be the last straw of his argument, but Gurdet almost snorted at the irony. Impressively, he managed to maintain his composure, dramatically rolling his eyes skyward as he rested his chin lightly in his palm.

"...Oh? And we’ve never dealt with wild royals before?"