Chapter 103 - 102: The Life He Never Had.

Chapter 103: Chapter 102: The Life He Never Had.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Really, Khobi can’t make himself any clearer. There’s no fucking way he’s wearing that.

No way. Sure, Rogard’s paying, but he’s the one who actually has to wear the damn thing, so he thinks it’s fair he gets a say in it.

"Khobs, it looks so good though."

Rogard has different ideas.

Negotiations quickly turning sour, Khobi turns to the other soldiers for aid. They’re absolutely no help,they’re all doubled over trying not to laugh their damn asses off.

Looking, to be fair, just as ridiculous as Khobi.

Rogard, the bastard, genuinely seems insulted.

"Well apparently only one of us has taste," he sniffs crossly, acting like he’s a second away from washing his hands of them.

One would think that after he so generously offered to give their wardrobes a much-needed overhaul, especially with an impending high-class event, that they would show him a little bit of respect. "I don’t know why I bother."

"No, come on, Rogard," Gandy snickers, "I just... I’m not sold on the orange."

"It’s very in right now," Rogard defends, looking Khobi up and down and finally admitting to himself that maybe, just maybe, he’s not quite on the mark just yet.

It looks good. He picked it, of course it does. But it doesn’t really feel very Khobi.

Needs less gold.

"Needs no gold, ideally," Khobi complains, and Rogard realises he’s spoken aloud.

"You need to make a statement, Khobi," he sighs wearily, and exchanges the powder blue coat that Montrel had so detested for a grey one.

"It’s your engagement party. And you’re a prince. There’s no harm in reminding everyone of that."

"I don’t feel like a prince," he deadpans back, "I feel like an idiot."

"It makes my eyes hurt," Montrel admits, and finally makes a noise of approval as he slips into the grey jacket.

It’s a fairly rude comment but he’s a little right. A fully gold ensemble is not exactly easy to pull off. And with Khobi’s shockingly red hair it does look a bit...much.

"Fine, I get it, everyone hates the gold," Rogard chimes a little sourly, rolling his eyes dramatically at the gypsy vendor who seems to be taking great delight in their antics.

And she should, with how much he’s apparently going to buy. His father is going to be so unhappy with him.

"Do you have this in red?"

...

The gypsy fair is something to behold.

It’s like nothing Khobi’s ever seen before in his entire life.

He’s never seen so many colours; so many people.

Their tents, gaily decorated and every one of them a different colour and offering different wares, go on for what feels like forever, extending in every direction out onto the plains like some kind of beautiful flood.

"Is it always like this?" he asks in wonder, gazing around at the mayhem around him with wide eyes.

They haven’t even wandered that deep yet, and already he’s seen weapons adorned with enormous gemstones that must be worth a fortune, and smelled all sorts of foods he’s never even heard of.

He’s actually halfway through some sort of skewered meat, with a pastry in his other hand. He’s already started to make peace with spending from Rogard’s purse.

Rogard seems less thrilled, but hasn’t refused him yet.

"Pretty much," Montrel replies with a small shrug, taking a swig from the wineskin he purchased almost as soon as they left the city walls and sighing in appreciation.

"Nothin’ like the gypsy season."

Khobi can certainly see that.

All around him there are men and women and children from all walks of life, wandering from tent to tent with delight.

He recognises noblemen, shopping for jewellery for their wives and mistresses, and sees soldiers he’s trained with bargaining for new armour, but mixed in among them are servants and commonfolk, spending their hard-earned gold on treats and luxuries rarely afforded to them.

It’s a somewhat odd sight, seeing people from completely different worlds, shopping almost side-by-side.

He kind of likes it.

"Where do they come from?"

"Who knows?" Montrel shrugs, and the wide grin he’s wearing suggests it doesn’t really matter to him.

"Everywhere? Nowhere, maybe."

"Are you drunk already?" Gandy snorts, and makes a grab for the wineskin.

Either Montrel is more sober than his answer suggests or is a particularly dextrous drunk, because he sidesteps with ease and holds it beyond reach.

Khobi snickers at the show only to find himself dragged away an instant later by Rogard, towards, heavens forbid, another tent selling clothes.

"Not again, Rogard," he complains, because he’s not about to spend any more time being a doll for Rogard to dress up.

"Khobi," Rogard sighs, exasperated, already searching through the gypsy’s wares with purpose, "You have one outfit." He says that like that’s not plenty.

"Fine. Have it your way," he sniffs when Khobi shows immediately more interest in the weapons the soldiers are drooling over at the next tent.

Rogard starts pointing at items, flashing a perfect smile at the gypsy girl and making her swoon. "I know your size now. I’ll just get everything sent up to your room, shall I?"

"Whatever you like," Khobi says distantly, shaking his hand away and making a beeline for the weapons.

"I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life," Montrel says with a small, breathy sigh, and it’s difficult to tell whether he’s talking about the sword he’s being presented with, or the young woman holding it out to him.

"How much?" Mural asks, since Montrel’s clearly too in love to ask. The young lady’s father answers for her, and all the soldiers abruptly yank their friend away before he can get too attached.

It’s hard to tell whether the price was for the weapon or his daughter, but either way it’s clearly more than Montrel will ever be able to afford.

"Keep dreaming," Gandy snickers, as Montrel glances back mournfully. "She’s a pretty one, but pretty ain’t worth that."

He sees Khobi lingering at the stall, and comes up beside him, leaving Jaga and Mural to console Montrel.

"You see somethin’ you like, Khobi?"

"Hmm?" Khobi frowns, distracted by a peculiar breed of knife, not one sitting out on display, but hanging at the gypsy man’s belt. "No, not really, I guess."

Weirdly proportioned and strangely weighted; it looks suspiciously similar to the one Loac had left with him.

"Well then come on, we’re here to spend Lord Rogard’s money, right?"

Khobi suddenly realises that he’s finished his food; just in time to catch a whiff of something his stomach definitely wants to get a taste of.

"Oh, right."

It feels like a different world out here, and the hours fly by in a blur of colour and sound. Wherever they wander, there’s music in the air, and gypsy children dance amongst the tents and give strings of flowers and beads to anyone who dances with them.

The soldiers don’t dance, but they drink, and they spend, and they fall for a gypsy girl’s pretty smile.

Montrel falls in love about half a dozen more times, and has his heart broken just as quickly, and Rogard hands out what must be half a year’s wages to servants just for carting all his purchases back up to the castle.

It’s all very excessive, but, and Khobi would never, in his life, admit it, but he actually really enjoys himself.

Once upon a time, he would have thought that this was his chance to make his escape. Let outside the city walls, with tipsy guards, and miles upon miles of tents to lose himself in; it would’ve seemed only too perfect.

But today, the thought doesn’t even cross his mind.

For the life he’s never had, he lets himself have this.