Chapter 438: Can’t Resist.

Chapter 438: Chapter 438: Can’t Resist.

​"Ah, I was afraid of that." Apparently not afraid enough.

He wonders if this is something he needs to broach with Drogger, and then, whether that would even accomplish anything.

As far as he’s aware –and he makes it a point to be aware –Silas has no one soldier amongst even his elite who could hold a candle to his nephew, and while Gurdet has faith in his own men, he only knows of a single person in his kingdom capable of physically stopping him at his most formidable.

​And that man has every reason to want Silas dead.

​"If he tries..." Voice dipped almost to a whisper, Loac swallows down the words like he can’t bear to even say them, but Gurdet catches his meaning nonetheless.

He swings his gaze to him, and the air inexplicably shoots right out of him like some unseen force has reached into his chest and wrung his lungs dry. "If he tries anything , I’ll kill him. King or not."

​The scariest thing is that it’s not even a threat.

​It’s a fact.

​The pressure loosens, just enough for Gurdet to find the will to speak.

"I know."

​"Good," Loac tells him simply, knocking back the rest of his wine.

And just like that the phantom holding his throat hostage vanishes, taking it’s crippling weight with it but leaving an unsettling chill lingering in the air. "As long as you know that."

​Ever since he was young, the castle has always had bad things to say about Loac; things born out of spite and jealousy, misunderstanding, and fear.

Gurdet hadn’t fed the whispers, but he had done his nephew a disservice in that he had done nothing to curb them, either. In truth, he’d once feared him a little himself --feared what he was capable of and that he might lead them into ruin --that he wouldn’t be able to control him.

But right now, despite the violent rage straining at it’s tethers within his nephew, Gurdet finds himself oddly unafraid of him. Instead, he’s afraid for him.

Because now he has someone he wants to protect so wholeheartedly that he would throw away everything in his world, and everyone else’s, to make it so.

​He admires him for that, too.

​"...I know you care for him, Loac." It feels like a dangerous thing to say; men can be unpredictable when cornered, but the statement, pitched soft and without accusation, seems to catch his nephew so unawares that instead of biting, he withdraws; throwing up walls like somehow that’ll stop Gurdet from seeing.

It’s too late though, after all this time, he’s finally looking, and he’s already seen. "...But please don’t go doing anything rash just yet.

Trust me, just this once?"

​Ah, there he goes, looking away again. "Why would I do that?"

​Gurdet smiles. A real one, for once. Loac does not seem to care for it, or rather, doesn’t seem to know what to do with it.

​"Good, there’s hope for you after all," he chuckles wryly, and offers him a light clap on the shoulder as he decides to tackle Drogger’s paperwork before he finds another convenient excuse not to. He suddenly feels quite exhausted.

"...I look forward to seeing you both at dinner."

...

Khobi winds up spending most of his day down at the kitchens.

The stew he and Rogard made is filling and very well-received by the servants who wind up getting a bowl, and they’re always happy for an extra set of hands.

The routine helps keep his mind occupied, which is good because today he’s not sure it’s a good idea to let it wander.

And when they finally kick him out with an unnecessary reminder that he has an important dinner this evening, he returns to his room to find an outfit already laid out for him on the bed.

​It’s maroon and black –Crade colours –and it looks brand new. It’s really, really nice; not some garish silk monstrosity, and it comes with a neat little note set atop it.

​Last time, I promise , it reads, and while Khobi’s never seen Binny’s handwriting, he would guess it’s probably from him.

​They...actually look kinda good on him. If he ever gets to go down to the town again he’s taking Binny with him and leaving Rogard behind because while he didn’t think he really cared about what he wore, it turns out he’d rather not look stupid .

It’s the same cut and same maroon and black as he’s used to seeing on the soldiers, and even though Khobi’s still more comfortable in old leathers the whole ensemble doesn’t feel half bad.

​It’s clear from the moment Loac walks in to find him finishing lacing up his jerkin, that he’s of the opinion that it doesn’t look half bad either.

The pants are a little more snug than Khobi might usually like, but from the way Loac’s gaze seems to snag as it roves down his body, he seems to appreciate that.

It’s a good thing Loac’s not wearing his uniform because if he was there’s no way on earth they’d be making it to dinner on time. If at all. As it is Loac’s hovering in the doorway like he’s debating whether it’s really that important they go.

​Binny would be probably be mortified to learn that his clothing selection had gotten him laid. Although knowing Binny, it could well have been on purpose.

​...What a horrifying thought.

​"My eyes are up here," Khobi smirks smoothly, gesturing towards his face but making no move to block his view.

​"Shhh,"

Loac shushes dismissively, eyes glued to his ass, "Can’t you see I’m busy?"

​" Asshole ."

​Khobi wonders when exactly he his insults stopped meaning quite what he meant for them to mean and started doing that thing where they come out laced with warmth instead of heat.

...

Loac’s mood is something that’s been steadily heading downhill all day, but things certainly start to look up when Khobi lets him grope him on the way out. And because he’s a gentleman he even lets him lead the way.

Looks like he might even be on time for dinner for once.

Uncle won’t know what fucking hit him.

​He’ll have to make sure he doesn’t make a habit of it.