Chapter 88: Midnight Guest.

Chapter 88: Chapter 88: Midnight Guest.

By the time Khobi’s finished with his bath, Loac has vanished. Nothing in the room has been disturbed since Binny finished straightening it up --it’s almost like he’s never been there at all.

"Better?" Binny inquires, smoothing Khobi’s shirt back into place along his shoulders the way he keeps telling him he doesn’t have to do for him.

"Better," Khobi sighs, and rumples his shirt again as he slumps down into his makeshift bed, sounding just about as contented as Binny’s ever heard him.

"So, how are you feeling about the tournament?" Binny asks conversationally, lighting a candle and heading towards the windows. Best to start closing the shutters at night, with how cold it’s starting to get.

"Uh, fine?" Khobi replies wearily, staring up at the roof and turning a knife over in his hands. Binny doesn’t need to ask where he got it --he’d recognise that thing anywhere --but prays he doesn’t drop it on his face. "I’ll win, obviously."

"Obviously," Binny echoes, locking the shutters with a light click. "Um, Khobi? If you don’t mind me asking...have you ever competed in a tournament before?" He knows the answer,he just wants to hear Khobi say it.

"Hmm?" he replies, frowning, "Uh. No? Not officially, I guess? Does The Pit count?"

"No," Binny deadpans, "No, Luminus’s fighting pit, does not count as a tournament."

"What if it was part of a tournament?"

"Also no."

"...Then no."

"That’s what I thought," Binny says firmly, wondering how on earth Khobi had managed to come out of Briyagi without a fractured mind and soul. "You’re just in it for the duelling, huh?"

"Of course," he snorts, as if there was any other answer. Which, actually, there was, but Binny’s not surprised he doesn’t think so.

"So, you’re not interested in the jousting?" he inquires,

"...Like with the horses?"

Oh, that’s not a good answer.

"Yes, Khobi," he sighs long-sufferingly, " With the horses ." He rolls his eyes and chuckles to himself, because as hilarious as it might be to see Khobi get thrown from a horse, he can’t bring himself to talk him into entering.

"Why? Do I have to?"

"Not really," Binny shrugs, "Like you say, it’s the duelling that matters. We’re primarily a duelling kingdom, after all.

We’re known for our swordsmanship. Crade," he corrects hurriedly, "Is known for its swordsmanship. The jousting and the archery is mostly to humour the other kingdoms. Let them show off, try to upstage Gurdet in his own castle."

"So why have them at all?" Khobi snorts, which is a classic example of why he would probably never be very good at politics. His uncle had probably hoped to someday find him a consort capable of doing the thinking for him.

Well, that obviously hadn’t gone to plan.

"Because even though they’re kinda just hobbies here in Crade, other kingdoms take them very seriously," Binny explains. Gurdet might be weighting the tournament in his own kingdom’s favour, but giving the others a chance to show off was a good way of avoiding offending them.

Even though he definitely planned on beating them at their own game. His king didn’t much care for losing. "...Kingdoms who’ve all come to celebrate your engagement, by the way.

You might have noticed, but our prince finally getting married is kind of a big deal. Engagements don’t really seem to stick, for some reason."

"...No kidding," Khobi snorts dryly, "What, they call it off when they actually meet him, or something?"

"...Yeah, pretty much," Binny admits flatly, "Or if, y’know, he uh, sleeps with his fiancee’s sister. Or brother. Or both."

"Great."

"Well hey, you don’t have any siblings so I guess that’s one less thing to worry about?" he points out, although it doesn’t do much to improve Khobi’s mood.

"Yeah, that makes me feel better," he snorts --although it obviously doesn’t --and crawls in under his blankets as Binny makes his way towards the door, candle in hand to light his way back through the castle. With the shutters locking away the moonlight it’s awfully dark.

"Always glad to be of service," he snickers in response, and he’s pretty sure he can hear Khobi rolling his eyes.

"...Anyway, Montrel won’t let me have a horse," he adds after a long moment, even though he’s made it clear that he has no interest in anything but the duelling portion of the tournament.

Which is probably good thing. A few too many people would seize the opportunity to skewer him with a lance with both hands. And wouldn’t that make for a bad engagement celebration? "Thinks I’m a flight risk , or something."

Binny likes that he says that as though Montrel’s being entirely unreasonable.

"Uh, Khobi? Gotta say, I’m with Montrel on this one."

...

It’s just Khobi’s luck that Loac comes back that night.

It’s not like he’s deep in sleep, so he hears him return, roused by the soft rustling of bedsheets and the low, arduous creak of a bed under strain. It’s only when he hears the breathless gasps of a woman in accompaniment that he realises that he’s got company.

"Oh for fuck’s sake," Khobi grumbles into his pillow, jamming as much of it over his head as possible in the hope that it’ll help him pretend, just for a second, that this is not happening.

It doesn’t help. It does little to disguise the telltale creaking of the bed, and there’s no escaping the suffocating scent of perfume that’s suddenly filling the room, too strong, and falsely floral and heavy to be sweet --the kind Khobi’s always associated with brothels.

It makes him want to gag. He’s never understood why whores liked to douse themselves in it, or why men who frequented brothels didn’t mind the smell.

Perfume was supposed to smell good. This was so overwhelming it was pungent.

He can’t sleep here. And it’s not just that he doesn’t want to,they’re being quiet now, which is awfully considerate of them, but Khobi is filled with uncomfortable certainty that they won’t be for long, and he does not want to be here when the moaning really starts.

"Oh come on ," he complains loudly, kicking his blankets off and clambering to his feet so that Loac is well and truly aware that he’s awake, "It’s the middle of the night ." The cold night air bites at him the moment the blankets fall off him, and for lack of winter clothing he starts yanking on his training gear, as obnoxiously loud as possible.

"No, don’t let me stop you," he growls in the direction of the bed, which has fallen noticeably silent, "I’ll go. You have a good night, Loac. Sleep well."

"...You too," comes the smug response, in Loac’s distinct, deep drawl. And somehow it manages to piss Khobi off even more.