Chapter 421: Royal Tailor.

Chapter 421: Chapter 421: Royal Tailor.

" So , how was your first official day of training?"

​Binny pulls the cold towel away from the side of his face just long enough to answer. "It hurt a lot." His voice sounds kind of funny on account of the swelling, and it currently hurts to stand, sit, and lie down but there’s no hiding that he’s grinning. ℯ

​"Yeah, that happens," Gandy remarks conversationally. He’s holding an identical cold towel, but over his eye instead of his jaw. He’s also grinning as he snickers that Binny’s probably glad they’ve got the day off tomorrow to recover.

The rest of them sure are. Real days off are as valuable as they are rare, and at this time of year the soldiers appreciate every damn minute of them. Rogard’s already spent most of the day bragging about how he has a date.

​If only Binny was so lucky. He’s got a date with Ynoro, and that it’s gonna be way more violent than Rogard’s.

But at least he’ll have some company; Jaga’s already volunteered to join him. And while Khobi would usually be chomping at the bit for extra training, the princess had dropped by the ring today specifically to ask if it would be all right if she brought her tailor by his room tomorrow for a fitting.

It had been phrased like a question but Khobi had gotten the distinct impression that he wasn’t being asked so much as being told, and Montrel had seemed both proud of and in awe of her for it.

​Blowing her off really hadn’t felt like an option.

​She’s promised to bring snacks, so there’s that.

​He must still look bummed about missing out because Montrel lets out a bark of laughter that has flecks of food flying out across the table.

​"Oh c’mon ," he chortles, wrapping an arm around Khobi’s shoulders and giving him a solid shake, "...I’ve never seen anyone so gloomy about missing extra training .

So you’re getting some clothes made, big deal . Gods know you could probably use some more." He drives home his point by tugging on one of Khobi’s admittedly rather raggedy looking sleeves. "You and Rogard make quite the pair, don’t you?"

​"I’m offended that you would lump me and Rogard together like that," Rogard sniffs. So he’s still got a collection of hand-me-downs, but the ones he’s got are nowhere close to the patchy state of the ones Khobi continues to insist on wearing.

​"Likewise," Khobi deadpans. And he has to admit that even though getting measured up for a fancy set of clothes isn’t his idea of a good time, at least Rogard’s not gonna be there to impose his will upon him. Khobi’s already had enough of Rogard’s fashion disasters to last a lifetime.

​How bad could it be?

​...

​Famous last words.

​"Ow, fuck ! That hurt!"

​" –Stop moving."

​Not so long ago Khobi made a solemn promise to the king that he wouldn’t punch his tailor.

​"I’m not mov– ouch , fuck ! Watch where you’re putting those things!"

Of all the oaths he made, this one might just be the hardest to keep.

Because not only is the guy is seriously punchable, but that’s gotta be the hundredth time he’s stuck him with a pin.

Khobi’s starting to think he’s doing it on purpose; if he’s even a tailor at all –what kind of person who does this for a living slips so many goddamned times?

​"Well, if you were standing still, like I requested , you wouldn’t –"

​"I am standing still!" Khobi grinds out, flinging a glare over his shoulder at Loac who for some reason gets to lounge about on the bed while he gets tortured with pins and a thousand ugly types of fabric, "Loac, tell him !"

​"Hah? What was that?" Loac drawls back absently, really selling the disinterest by picking at his ear, "I wasn’t looking."

​What a liar. Khobi can see him checking him out in the mirror.

​" Stop moving ." Another pin jabs him in the side of the neck as he whips his head back around.

There’s a muffled bark of laughter from the bed and the vein in Khobi’s forehead that’s been growing steadily more pronounced with each pinprick throbs violently. "And you better not bleed on my fabric."

​Khobi’s very tempted to remind him that he wouldn’t be bleeding if he didn’t keep putting holes in him but as it is the old codger is fussing with a seam a little too close to his crotch and if he is doing it on purpose he doesn’t want to give him a reason to get spiky while he’s down there.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take him too much longer to finished whatever the fuck it is that he’s doing, and he finally scuttles back to a safe distance to survey his handiwork.

​And he does not look pleased.

​No , no, Khobi knows that look. He’s already seen it twice today, and it means nothing good. And he’s not normally the type to beg, but to be perfectly honest he doesn’t care what he wears to this wedding, and he can think of at least half a dozen things he’d rather be doing than playing the part of a human pincushion.

​" Please don’t tell me we’re starting ag –"

​The tailor cuts him off mid complaint with a dismissive, "We’re starting again."

​Khobi groans, head hanging in despair as the tailor sets to work retrieving the eighty thousand tiny pins he’s spent the last however long meticulously placing so that Khobi can’t breathe without getting pricked.

He really, truly meant it when he’d promised the king he wouldn’t hurt his tailor. He just didn’t think it was going to be so difficult to keep.

​"What’s wrong this time ?" he complains, yelping as the dramatic slump of his shoulders jostle the pins hiding there.

​"This texture will just not do," the tailor tuts, shaking his head like he was a fool for even having considered it, " –What do you think, Your Highness? Please, be honest."