Chapter 158 - 156: The Promise Made.

Chapter 158: Chapter 156: The Promise Made.

And this, he’d realised, was just another rhythm.

Stranger, and to the music of lutes rather than those of swords, but similar, and as each woman left his arms, and a new one found them, the sequence of steps became more familiar, and he’d grown more confident.

​(It had helped, being able to spot some familiar faces in the crowd. Like somehow, he wasn’t having to do it alone.)

​"...Yeah," he eventually admits, more to himself than to the princess, startling himself a little with the admission, "...I guess it was kind of fun."

She laughs, open and sweet, and Khobi automatically shoots a panicked look at the king, like somehow it was possible he could hear.

​"Don’t worry," she whispers, when she catches the look; her voice low and conspiratorial, like they’re children, exchanging a secret, "I won’t tell my father." He must look relieved because she giggles again, then redirects his attention to a cluster of soldiers who, having vacated the dancefloor at the end of the song, are loitering nearby, and are taking it in turns to expectantly looking his way.

​"...Your friends are waiting for you," she informs him softly, and Khobi isn’t listening closely enough to hear the wistfulness in her voice, "I best not keep you."

​"They’re not my —" Khobi isn’t sure whether the princess’ raised eyebrows halt his denial in his tracks, or if he stops himself.

Either way, he’s kind of glad he doesn’t finish the sentence, and small creases appear in the corner of the princess’ eyes when she smiles, like she knows.

​"Have a wonderful evening, Khobi," she tells him gently, relinquishing her hold on him and gesturing for him to take his leave.

"I’ll send your regards to my father," she assures him, even though he’s asked her to do nothing of the sort, "...And my cousin."

​"Right," Khobi states flatly, following her gaze back to her family, who appear to be expecting her to return to them in the same way his soldiers are waiting for him, except not nearly as excited, and much less inviting.

​The last time Khobi had seen him, Loac had been on his knees amid an empty field, alone and in pain.

It had taken everything Khobi had had left in him to make it out of that ring on his own two feet, and he wonders how long Loac had stayed like that; fallen before an audience that had never truly supported him, and if anyone had gone to him.

​The wounded look is gone now, and he’s standing like he’s no longer hurting, but Khobi’s sure the pain is still there; masked, or being channelled into something that Khobi had felt more than seen, when they’d fought. Something urgent, and primal, and tired of waiting.

​Something like hunger.

​(Khobi understands that feeling.)

He remembers the magnetic force that had emanated from Loac when they’d fought; reeling him in and propelling him back in even measure, and he thinks of lightning, and the way he’d revelled as pricks of heat danced across his skin.

​And of how he wanted to feel that on his skin again.

​And while he looks much the same as always; carrying the same disquieting, brooding air about him that sets men on edge, in the shifting torchlight Khobi catches glimpses of wild sparks prowling in his eyes, just below the surface, and gets the uncanny sense that somehow, he’s not quite what he used to be.

​(Khobi might hate it but the fact remains that there was a moment in their fight, when those eyes --when that man --took his breath away.)

​"...Could you tell him something else?" Khobi asks, suddenly, halting the princess in her tracks, "...Loac, I mean."

​"Of course," she tells him, tone neutral but eyes puzzled, "Anything."

​"...Tell him that I meant what I said," he states simply, expression serious and his jaw set, because even though he doesn’t know Loac, and doesn’t owe him anything, it feels important that he knows.

​"I-I’ll make sure to tell him that," the princess promises solemnly, and if she wonders what’s been said between them — and when — that could possibly be so important, she doesn’t ask.

​(Xena wonders. She wonders so very desperately.)

​"Cool," Khobi says plainly, "Thanks, Xena."

​She always looks a little surprised when he calls her that, rather than by her title, but she always looks a little bit pleased, too.

Bongo and Vogrid always look at him like he shouldn’t, because she’s a princess, and even her family name is too familiar, but she doesn’t say anything, so he keeps doing it. She curtseys, as she takes her leave of him, and smiles gently as he moves off towards the waiting soldiers.

​The reactions to Khobi’s first attempt at dancing are, on the whole, largely positive.

​Rogard cheekily tells him that he should’ve smiled more, because he looked like the girls were torturing him, but Montrel just good-naturedly tells him to shut his mouth and wraps an arm around Khobi’s shoulder to welcome him back.

​" — Not bad, kid, not bad," he grins, ruffling Khobi’s hair in a way that would make Binny cringe. He’d spent a lot of time trying to get his hair to behave itself.

"We’ll make a dancer of you yet." Khobi grimaces at the suggestion, and the entire group roars with laughter.

​"So that’s a no to a dance with Loac, then?" Rogard teases wickedly, and feigns horror when Khobi’s expression curdles, "But this is your engagement party!"

​"Drop dead, Rogard."

​"How mean~" Rogard doesn’t seem in the least bit offended, and lightly trills, "I know I’d be mad at my fiance if they didn’t want to dance with me."

​"Good thing you don’t have a fiance then, huh?" Gandy ribs, to a fresh round of snickers, and Rogard pouts at having been turned on again.

​"I could have one!" he sniffs back petulantly, "...I just don’t want one, yet."

​"Oh yeah?" Montrel smirks, elbowing him in the ribs, but not hard, "...Holdin’ out for someone special?"