Chapter 356: Anything For Love.

Chapter 356: Chapter 356: Anything For Love.

Loac fidgets in his seat. Ah, Gurdet probably shouldn’t take such glee in watching his own family members squirm under his gaze, but old habits die hard. If his wife were here she would most certainly scold him for it.

​"...You should know that I’ve begun making the necessary arrangements for your wedding," Gurdet casually redirects, returning to his tea, "Silas is getting quite insistent."

That honestly doesn’t cover the half of it.

The man is starting to catch on that he’s stalling; there are really only so many times he can claim his messengers got waylaid.

"By the time summer’s here you’ll be a happily married man."

​Another piece of fruit joins the other somewhere on the ground. The crumbs go with them.

​"Whatever you say." And here we are again; back to not looking directly at him.

​"What? You’re not going to tell me to stall?" Gurdet remarks with a raised eyebrow, because his daughter has sure been giving him an earful about it.

Although considerably less, recently; preoccupied as she is.

​Loac makes an indiscernible noise under his breath. "...Would it change anything if I did?"

​"No," he informs him thoughtfully, and in all honesty, he didn’t really expect him to.

All these years Loac has never been anything but apathetic to any of his betrothals and from the beginning this one had been no different.

And yet, of all the disastrous matches that have been arranged for his nephew, this is the one that’s stuck the longest.

"The invitations have already been sent. I’m sure it’ll be quite the turnout. It’s not every day a prince gets married, after all." It’s really a pity that most of the guests likely won’t be there to celebrate.

They’ll be there hoping it will fall to pieces in dramatic fashion. And up until recently, that would have probably been the most likely outcome.

None of his nephew’s other matches have ever eventuated, after all.

​But now? Gurdet’s not so sure.

​"...He’ll still be a prisoner, won’t he." It’s not a question, and the words make Loac’s lips pull tight. "Even if he marries me."

​Gurdet can’t quite tell whether it’s the words, or the manner in which they’re said that makes something in his chest tighten.

And if he hadn’t already figured it out, that’s when he would have known.

Because men are terrible at keeping secrets, and they don’t realise that for all their words betray them, they give away so much more with what they leave unsaid.

​He wonders if Khobi has any idea --and whether Loac has even realised it for himself --that despite all odds, expectations, and reason , his nephew has come to care for him. Quite deeply, it would seem.

​So transparent, sweet nephew.

​"...As long as he is a ward of Briyagi," he replies softly, and it’s strange but in that moment he suddenly finds himself wishing that he had a different answer for him, "Yes. He will still be a prisoner."

​A shadow crosses Loac’s expression. And with a grimace he rises to his feet; his chair scraping angrily across the stone as he pushes it back from the table.

As he does so, his collar shifts, and Gurdet catches a glimpse of fresh dark marks trailing down his throat before he adjusts his shirt and they’re hidden away again, in what has to be the first time ever that he’s made some effort to hide what he’s been up to.

And from what Bongo had reported from the night before, he thinks he knows just who might have made them.

​Ah .

​He understands a little more, now.

​(Despite her temper and her wild ways, underneath it all, Loac’s mother had always been quite the hopeless romantic.

She’d filled his daughter’s head with foolish notions of love and romance, it stands to reason that she’d done the same to her own son’s.)

​"...I have to punish him this time; you do know that, right?" he says to Loac’s back, because he has to.

What did he expect? If Silas hears that not only did he let him out but that he didn’t punish him for it, he might just command him back to Briyagi.

And even if he didn’t know what he now knows, Gurdet had already decided that he wasn’t going to let that happen.

​"What, you gonna toss him in a cell?" Loac bites back icily, and Gurdet wonders if he realises how angry he looks.

How angry he sounds . Whether he knows his hands have curled into fists like if Gurdet gives him an answer he doesn’t like he might just hit him.

​And while Gurdet doesn’t particularly want to be hit, it’s strangely for his nephew’s sake, not his own, that he thinks long and hard about his answer.

​"No," he replies slowly, watching as the tension slowly starts to leave Loac’s shoulders, "...I don’t think I will. I think his current accommodations will do just fine, don’t you?"

​"...Whatever you say," is what Loac mutters, but when Gurdet catches a glimpse of his expression as he wheels towards the door, he looks relieved.

​It’s easy to not care. It’s much harder to pretend you don’t.

​"...Thanks, Uncle."

​It comes so late and so quiet, and the words so unfamiliar that for a moment there Gurdet thinks he’s imagined them.

But it’s obvious in the way that Loac glances back at him then, expression unusually soft, that the words were real, and meant for him.

And it makes Gurdet’s chest hurt.

​It’s been a long time since he called him that.

​"Trent, wait."

​Hand on the door, Loac stops and looks back. He looks as confused to hear his given name as Gurdet is to have found himself using it.

​"What?" he drawls, as Gurdet slowly gets to his feet and takes a few steps towards him.

​"...There’s something I’ve been meaning to give to you." He’s not sure what exactly compelled him to call out to him just now, but for as long as he’s carried this wretched thing in his pocket, now of all times, finally feels like the right time to pass it on.

Wordlessly, and regarded with suspicion every inch of the way, Gurdet reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring.

He can tell the moment it hits the light that Loac recognises it, even after all this time.

​"Ma’s ring," Loac murmurs quietly; voice touched with a softness that Gurdet’s never heard from him. But then a shadow crosses his expression, "...The bastard’s still alive, then."

​"He is," Gurdet replies, just as quietly, "Was. Will forever? I don’t know. I don’t know where he is now. But he asked me to give this to you."

Loac’s mouth turns down at he stares at the ring, but he reaches out to take it regardless, turning it over in his hand.

Gurdet wonders just how many years it’s been since he last saw it in the flesh.

Probably the day his father took it. He doesn’t think he’s seen him, since then.

​"Still couldn’t even spare a minute to give it to me himself, huh?" he mutters darkly, wrinkling his nose as he turns the ring over in his hands, "...It’s still just as ugly as I remember. Dunno why ma liked it so much."

She loved it because your father gave it to her .

​Gurdet doesn’t say that. He gets the feeling he already knows that.

​"...Regardless, it’s yours now," he says instead, withdrawing so that he knows he’s dismissed.

He doesn’t feel so good; this whole encounter has left him feeling wildly off-kilter and it’s not a feeling he’s sure he likes, "Do with it what you will.".