Chapter 442: We Are Going To get Out Of Here.

Chapter 442: Chapter 442: We Are Going To get Out Of Here.

Bongo doesn’t speak, because this feels like a moment he daren’t disturb.

Instead, he simply glances up towards his king, and knows that his expression does the talking for him.

And when Gurdet’s expression softens at the edges, sinking into one he seldom allows himself to wear, he knows his request has been heard, and granted.

​Go ahead, Bongo .

​Carefully, so as not to startle them, Bongo reaches into his pocket.

All this while Mozry has been set to one side, transfixed by the sight of her nephew and her husband meeting again as though this is moment she wants to cherish forever, but this subtle movement still makes her tense like on some level she’s still been on guard.

As he would expect.

She makes no move though; no indication that she’s seen, but it turns out she doesn’t need to, because the moment Bongo takes a step towards her, he comes face to face with Khobi.

​It’s been a long time since he’s stared down his wildfire; a long time since it has been directed at him, and today, even with tears streaking down his face and the whites of his eyes struck bloodshot the red of his eyes is burning more ferociously than he’s ever seen it.

More even, than the day he was brought to this place, more than the times he tried to escape and failed.

​Rage is a powerful thing, but there are many powerful things in this world. And none are both so heart warming and heart wrenching as the love of a man with something to protect.

​" Khobi ," Bongo says firmly, and understands the way the fire in Khobi’s eyes flickers, wavers, and then forges steel when he says his name.

​I don’t want to hurt you , it says.

​But I will.

​So don’t make me.

​"It’s all right," he tells him evenly, because he’s never feared Khobi’s wrath in the way some men have, and when simple words aren’t enough to reassure him, Bongo merely extends his hand; palm to the sky and fingers unfurled.

​For two, bewildered heartbeats, Khobi stares wordlessly at the key offered up to him.

And then the fire burning in his eyes shimmers, smokes, crackles, and like the sun peeking up over the horizon at the end of a long, dark night, Bongo sees the sparks turn to light.

...

Gurdet Hector may have his flaws, but he is also a better man than many give him credit for, and at the end of the day, Bongo is proud to serve him.

​The first crack of the heavy irons hitting the stone rings out like thunder across the mountainside, and the second set, falling only moments later, barely even begin their echoes before Khobi’s arms are around both his aunt and uncle and theirs are around him; clinging to each other like at any moment they’re going to be torn apart all over again.

And just like that Khobi’s crying again;

heavy, full body sobs indistinguishable from laughter, as relief and radiant, unbridled joy radiate off of him in tumultuous waves.

​The princess is crying, too. She’s trying so hard not to, because she’s been told so many times by her father and her mother that princesses shouldn’t cry, especially in company, but Bongo can see the pink rising to her cheeks and her face starting to pinch, and she’s got Montrel’s hand gripped tightly in hers atop the table as if to keep herself grounded.

​It’s a useless effort; Montrel’s already crying.

​Wordlessly, like perhaps he too understands that this is a moment he best not disturb, Gurdet offers his daughter a handkerchief.

And then he turns to his nephew; watches the tension start to wilt from his shoulders as he sinks back down into his seat, having instinctively risen to his feet at the same time Khobi had moved.

This whole time he too has been transfixed upon the scene before them; hasn’t looked away, not even for a moment.

​He looks away now to direct his gaze towards his uncle; his brow creased and blue eyes shadowed with confusion.

​"You asked me to keep them safe," Gurdet tells him simply, quiet enough that the words are for his nephew, and him alone. "This was the only way."

​...

​Hope is something that is both burden and light; a fragile little thing that Khobi Frost has diligently kept burning all these years, something that gave him purpose and kept him whole.

Never too pure or too wild lest it be stamped out, but merely something glimpsed in flashes; like a passer-by catching a candle in a window. But deep within, that hope had been so lovingly and painstakingly tended to; embers burning on and on, just waiting to catch alight.

​Today, those embers flare blinding and brilliant, and Khobi’s eyes burn and his throat burns as emotion spills from him so violently it should hurt, except that this is a moment of elation, not pain, so that’s what he feels instead.

​Because they’re here. They’re alive, and they’re squeezing the life out of him through his eyes, and Khobi doesn’t fucking care .

He wants them to never, ever let go.

​Aunt Mozry is crying. He’s never seen her cry before, and he doesn’t want her to, but he can’t find a way to tell her that because there are tears pouring down his face as well and his chest is shaking and he’s shaking, and he doesn’t even recognise his own voice anymore because he’s sobbing as he holds them both to him like if he lets either of them go they’re going to vanish and he absolutely won’t let that happen.

​"What are you crying for, Khobi?" Mozry chides, even though she’s crying too. She’s just teasing him though, he knows she is; smiling through the tears as she reaches up to press a palm to his cheek like she’s checking to make sure he’s real, too.

"...You’re supposed to be happy to see us."

​" I’m so happy to see you ." He doesn’t so much say the words as they spill out all on their own; raw and aching so much that it tears his throat up to say them. He says them anyways, because they need to be said. " I missed you so much ."

​"We missed you too," Khojin Frost whispers back, pulling back just enough to get another, better, lingering look at his face and smiling at what he finds.

It just gives Mozry more room to touch; patting down his shoulders and staring helplessly at the pristine leather and understated finery he’s all dressed up in.

Crade colours, he remembers, somewhat bleakly. "...When they said you were okay I almost couldn’t believe it, but...look at you, Khobi."

​"I’m okay," Khobi assures him, and cracks a smile so that he knows he means it. "I’m fine."

​"I’m glad," Khojin Frost breathes warmly, shoulders sagging with relief as he drops a hand onto his head like he used to do when Khobi was small.

And then he leans in to press their foreheads together so that when he drops his voice to a whisper no one else will hear.

​"We’re going to get you out of here."