Chapter 153 - 151: A Little Bitter.

Chapter 153: Chapter 151: A Little Bitter.

In the end, Binny’s worries --though entirely warranted --come to naught. Before disaster strikes, one Rogard Spidra; having spotted Khobi floundering from across the room, comes to his rescue before his foot falls out of his mouth and shatters the illusion of privilege they’ve so cleverly crafted.

Because of course the outfit had been handpicked by Rogard.

​" Khobi !"

​Even on an injured ankle Rogard navigates the crowd --an ocean of colour and sparkling spots of light --with ease, unbothered and unhindered by the sea of bodies swirling around him.

"Khobi," he repeats, at a more appropriate volume, once he’s within arms reach --close enough that Binny can see that his bright smile holds a shadow of a pained grimace.

"...Glad you could make it."

​He sounds like he really means it.

​(Rogard means it. He really does.)

​Honestly, he just said it because it’s what he always says --what you’re meant to say at gatherings like this, but as soon as the words are off his tongue he realises how genuinely glad he is to see Khobi up and about tonight.

​(He wasn’t worried that he wasn’t going to wake up at all. He wasn’t .)

​" --I didn’t have a choice," Khobi reminds him, after a beat; his sulky tone ruining their nice moment.

But while he still doesn’t look too thrilled to be there, he’s decidedly less tense than he was when Rogard caught sight of him a few moments ago.

Which can only be an improvement. Rogard went to a lot of trouble --and spent an awful lot of his father’s gold --to make sure he had the right look for any occasion, and honestly, right now, Khobi’s awfully compelling impression of a fish out of water is ruining it.

And while Rogard knows he isn’t exactly looking his best, it makes him feel a little better that up close, Khobi doesn’t look much better.

​He makes a great show of inspecting the damage to his face to pretend he doesn’t see Khobi checking out his, tutting all the while.

"You sure let Loac cut you up good, didn’t you?"

​It’s a small exaggeration on his part. Loac’s certainly left a good mark or two on him; the dark red lines etched into Khobi’s face by his blade aren’t too deep but they still look angry, and it’s difficult to tell right now if they’ll all heal clean, or if some of them will scar.

​"--I didn’t let him," Khobi immediately complains, to set the record straight. "And I won ."

​"...Yeah," Rogard says after a long moment, and then, a little more subdued than either he or Khobi had been expecting, "...You did."

​He’s not bitter. He really had meant it when he’d said Khobi wasn’t allowed to lose to anyone but him.

​But even so...he’s spent most of his living memory trying to get the better of Loac. He’s not sure what it says that Khobi’s gone and defeated him first.

​...Okay, so he’s a little bitter.

​But not as bitter as he thinks he should be.

​Khobi was phenomenal, after all.

​"Hey...Rogard?" There’s something in Khobi’s voice that draws Rogard out of his thoughts, and when he looks up into his face, he looks determined.

It makes the hairs on the back of Rogard’s neck stand right on end, and despite the glamour of his clothes, and the onlookers, and the setting, he instinctively wants to reach for a sword.

​"We’ll fight next time, yeah?"

​Rogard’s answer is out of his mouth before he even realises, his eyes glinting dangerously. He hopes Khobi doesn’t let his success go to his head.

The next time the stage is set for them, he has no intention of being a pushover.

​"Definitely."

​...

​Despite his immediate --and admittedly ongoing --reservations about the evening, Khobi is eventually forced to admit that it could have been worse.

​Sure, he’d pick armour over his current attire anyday, and he doesn’t quite get why there are so many people dancing when a lot of them look pretty terrible doing it, but he has to admit that the ballroom looks a little magical, the wine is sweet, and it makes a nice change to not have every second person looking at him with unadulterated disgust.

​They’re still staring, and he’s used to that, but it feels different, now.

​Less hostile.

​It’s strange, and he’s not sure quite what to make of it.

Most of them are foreign noblemen, or soldiers, all dressed up like kings, and where once upon a time they would grimace, or sneer, or see right through him, tonight they nod to him as he passes.

Whether it’s out of respect, or just by way of greeting, Khobi can’t even begin to wonder, but whenever they do --whatever is going on --it strikes up a warm, embarrassingly soft feeling in his chest, and makes the ballroom seem just that little bit less daunting.

​It’s huge; bright, despite the hour -- the sun having vanished while Khobi was still unconscious -- and packed with strangers all dolled up like they want to shine the brightest.

Until yesterday, they all hated him.

​He’s sure a lot of them still do, for some reason.

But fewer tonight, he thinks. Some of them he recognises as men he’d fought and seen fight the day before --they look different, in these clothes, and in this light --more like kings, than soldiers, really, but even though they’re decked out in silk, and gold, underneath Khobi knows that they’re still soldiers, and respects that.

A few Rogard even knows by name, and as he guides him through this strange, illuminated world, he fills in the blanks on who at the party is who, and who they’ve screwed and who they’ve screwed over.

​Castle politics sounds exhausting, and Rogard’s voice is sometimes irritating, but Khobi lets him talk, and nods like the names he hears mean something to him.

​They don’t talk any further of their missed opportunity. Khobi catches Rogard trying his best not to limp, and Rogard catches him doing the same.

It’s the same for some of the other soldiers. Many of them have bruises, and stitches, and grimace when they get jostled --they even pass a couple of men wearing their arms in slings like it’s nothing more than fashion.

Khobi doesn’t need Rogard to tell him to know that their bodies are just as wounded as their pride --if not more -- and that tonight they have to pretend they’re not; tonight they have to put on a strong face for their kings.

Only when they’re back home, away from prying, judging eyes, will they let the facade fall.

​It’s kind of sad, but Khobi understands. They all seem to; enduring in quiet solidarity.

​Eventually though, Rogard gets dragged away for another dance, and Montrel materialises out of nowhere to haul him into better company.

And of course, to laugh at Rogard’s misfortune when it becomes clear that for all her beauty, the girl --while eager, and particularly easy on the eyes --either can’t keep time to save herself, or is too thrilled just to be in his arms to bother.

Which makes all of Rogard’s gracious attempts to make her look good quite challenging.

It’s hilarious, watching him try to navigate the swirling dancefloor, and the sheer number of times they narrowly avoid headlong collisions with other party-goers has Montrel in stitches.

​Rogard sees him doubled over, just barely able to hold himself up, and while he refrains from making a rude gesture in their direction, he mouths something indiscernible, but which is probably a threat.

​It just makes Montrel laugh even harder.