Chapter 423: Thoughts Of The Future.

Chapter 423: Chapter 423: Thoughts Of The Future.

Loac, who has remained concerningly quiet throughout this brief exchange, suddenly bolts upright with an abrupt declaration of, " I call Rogard !"

​"Wha – that’s not fair !" Khobi protests immediately, because, "What if I wanted Rogard?"

​"Then you should’ve decided faster."

​" – Loac ," Xena scolds, hands on her hips as she appraises her cousin, "You can’t just decide that a person’s a part of your retinue; it’s something you have to ask them!"

​Loac considers this. And, seeing as Khobi is currently at the mercy of his uncle’s tailor, merely offers him a small can’t be helped kind of shrug as he bounds off the bed.

​"Fine, I will."

​" Oi, get ba – " Khobi tries to give chase but immediately gets spiked and tutted at, which is worse. How is this stuff so tight ? Isn’t he meant to be able to walk in it? Breathe?

​" – You can have Montrel ," Loac hollers as he scarpers for the door, and as much as Khobi would like to dash out after him, he’s stranded as a giant pincushion and as such has to settle with just letting his voice carry out after him, " Jokes on you I was gonna ask him anyway !"

​Loac pauses in the doorway just long enough to scoff, " Montrel can’t protect you from shit ," before he’s off, leaving Khobi to fume in disgust; the vein in his forehead looking dangerously like it might pop if the tailor lets his pins get anywhere close.

​" Ah, I’m sure Rogard will be thrilled that you both wanted to have him," Xena placates with a light giggle, and Khobi immediately grimaces. He can hear the wails now.

Maybe it’s for the best Loac got to him first. Her expression softens as the sound of Loac’s retreating footsteps recedes in the distance.

"Loac seems in high spirits today."

​"I would be too if I didn’t have to wear this," Khobi grumbles flatly, sighing in relief as the heaviest of the layers finally come loose, "No offense, but I thought it was your job to make me look not terrible."

​The tailor appears to take offence.

​"It is my job to make sure you are appropriately dressed for your wedding," the tailor retorts, and if he’s not sticking him on purpose it’s some coincidence that Khobi feels the end of a pin dig into his shoulder right at that moment.

​" Ow . Quit it ."

​The tailor gives him a dry look, unrepentant. "You moved."

​"...Maybe we should start over," the princess admits ruefully, before the age old argument can strike up once more. And it’s not often that Khobi feels like crying, but this might just do it.

He doesn’t want to start over. Not again. She must gather as much because her expression softens, and she gives him a sympathetic look, "Another time, perhaps?"

​Thank the gods .

​" Please ."

​"Very well," the tailor harrumphs after a beat, clearly knowing better than to argue with his princess.

Somehow he still manages to prick Khobi with every damn pin as he pulls them out. He’s got half a mind to kick him, but he has a feeling that would get back to Gurdet faster than he could drop kick the guy.

That’d get him locked up again for sure, and now that he’s back out he doesn’t want to go back to that.

Not all over again. There’s too much going on outside those four walls and he doesn’t want to miss them.

He’s already decided that when summer comes for real he’s gonna make a real effort not to piss Drogger off.

(Drogger ought to be proud –he’d probably wished he’d figured that out sooner, but better late than never.)

He likes wearing himself to the bone as much as any self respecting soldier, but he’d much prefer doing it like a real soldier instead of running laps like a scolded brat.

​When summer comes for real .

​There’s a weird thought. It was summer when he was brought here.

​That feels like it was a long time ago. And Khobi’s accustomed to the slow passage of time; the winters in Briyagi had felt like they lasted entire lifetimes –and for some men they did –but it’s different here.

These last few seasons...the way these last few months have felt, it doesn’t seem like such a terrible thing if they were to go on forever.

​Now that he’s free of the confines of the four walls of his room he’s looking forward to summer again.

Warm nights. Hot days. Colourful markets and ale by the fireside again if he’s good, maybe. He’s got gold of his own now; maybe it’ll be his turn to buy Rogard something terrible to wear and make him wear it, just so he knows how it feels.

And then maybe something nice too, to show him how gift giving is meant to be done.

Maybe Montrel will be married by then.

​Shit, he’ll be married by then. To Loac.

​There’s a scary thought.

​Not quite so scary as it had once been, though.

​Khobi has never really put much thought into who he would marry.

Briyagi wasn’t exactly the sort of place one spent a lot of time daydreaming about a rosy future, and before then he’d been too young to have much interest in such things.

He’d already kissed his first girl and hadn’t liked it. Kissed his first boy, too, and liked that a lot more, so even from a young age he’d known which he would probably marry, but that was the extent of it.

He was a kid who wanted to be a soldier. Romance was for grown ups.

​But deep down, he’d always known he wanted what Khojin and Mozry had; that same unshakeable faith they had in each other.

​Someone who felt like home .

​Even when she was mad at him, Khojin always looked at her like she was his whole world. Like where they were didn’t matter to him as long as he had her.

And even when she was mad at him, there was still nothing Mozry wouldn’t do for him.

​Someone who looked at him like...

​Khobi’s thoughts flash briefly to the memory of blue eyes melted soft, but even as it crosses his mind he forces it down again; frustrated with himself for the hold it has over him.