Chapter 164 - 162: Company.

Chapter 164: Chapter 162: Company.

It sounds hopeful.

​It sounds like even more of a confession, if that were possible. And there’s no way Drogger doesn’t hear it.

​"Not while your ankle’s like that," he tells him, with a sharp look at his injured ankle, and while neither here nor there, it isn’t at all how Rogard thought he’d respond.

Rather than a no, it sounds a little bit like a maybe next time.

Which is more than Rogard could have asked for. "Get some rest, Rogard," he advises quietly, and Rogard knows now that he says it because he cares.

He’s admitted that much, at least. Maybe more. Because while the moment’s passed, and Drogger hasn’t addressed what happened, and what that means, he didn’t stop him, and he kissed him back.

And that can only be a good thing.

​"Good night, master," he murmurs after him, wetting his lips, just so --just enough to be tempting, and it has to say something that before he turns away, Drogger’s eyes track the motion like he just can’t help himself.

​(It makes Rogard think that maybe, Drogger wouldn’t mind kissing him again.)

​...

​All in all, Khobi has to admit that he’s had quite a nice night. A really nice night, even. In the back of his mind he’d wondered, more than once, if this is what his life could have been like, in a world without Silas Luminus.

If his uncle and aunt would have thrown fancy balls like this, where everyone dressed up and danced, and if he would have gotten drunk and stupid with his friends; maybe even snuck off into the night with one of them. Maybe they did, and he never really noticed.

Young boys don’t really care about things like that. Maybe the day will come when Khojin Frost can throw a feast like this.

One where people came from all over to attend. Maybe even from Crade.

In summer, he decides, when there’s no snow on the wind, and the days are warm and so long that a party can rage long in the evening and never even feel close to the night, because tonight it’s pitch black outside by the time he leaves; even the stars having fallen dim, and the night air has grown stiff and bitter.

The walk back to his room feels very long, and very dark, despite the torches burning low to light his way.

The servants must have come ahead of him, because the shutters are all closed to try and keep out the late autumn chill. It doesn’t help much; castles are always drafty, and stone offers little warmth once the sun is gone.

It’s fine though, he doesn’t mind the walk --the clothes he’s wearing are warm enough and while he’s had a fair bit to drink tonight; more than any other night, in fact, he’s not had so much that he’s made himself foggy.

Unlike some of the other soldiers. Montrel was going to have a terrible morning, that was for sure. And he wasn’t going to be the only one.

For any of the king’s foreign guests who were leaving for their homelands the next day, it was shaping up to be an entirely miserable trip.

It’s a good thing, actually, that he’s not drank himself silly --just enough to have him feeling loose and a little light, but not enough that he’s incoherent or capable of rational thought, because the closer he gets to his room, the less he finds he wants to sleep there.

Because while the bed’s been noticeably vacant in days of late, it’s clear from the loud, aggressively impassioned sounds that assault his delicate, drunken ears from down the corridor, that tonight it’s not.

After the first few sounds Khobi doesn’t even go any closer to the room. It’s definitely a woman’s voice that he’s hearing, and she’s definitely enjoying herself; presumably not alone. Going in is not an option.

He’s not in the mood to ruin what has otherwise been a pretty enjoyable evening by walking in on something like that.

Sleeping there is obviously out of the question.

So when an extra enthusiastic moan reverberates off the stone walls, he immediately turns on his heel and hightails it out of there.

Straight to Binny’s room.

​The man is bleary eyed and yawning when he opens the door, but he doesn’t look surprised to see him.

​"Loac got company, huh?" Binny asks, rubbing his eyes and automatically stepping aside to let him in. Khobi’s grimace really says it all.

​"Yeah."

​Like always, Binny offers him his bed, but Khobi chooses the floor. There’s a small hearth there with soft embers, and a spare blanket Binny’s started keeping for whenever Khobi’s own room becomes uninhabitable, and that does him just fine.

There’s no way he’ll be able to sleep in these clothes though, so he tries to at least get the top layer off.

Tries being the operative word. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the stiff fabric, but when he tries to undress himself, he winds up in a losing battle with his shirt and gets stuck.

Binny, still yawning, automatically steps up to come to his aid and obligingly tugs on one of the buttons he’s somehow missed to free him.

​"Thanks," Khobi huffs, and throws the damn thing on the ground, wrinkles be damned.

Binny just snickers when the undershirt joins it, and clambers back into bed as Khobi slumps down into a pile by the fire and makes himself comfortable.

​"Did you have a good night?" he asks conversationally, voice tired. He must have spent the last few hours skulking around with the servants; Khobi had barely seen him for hours.

​"...Yeah," Khobi replies after a beat, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the room’s spinning to slow just enough for him to fall asleep.

He kind of expects a follow up, since Binny is notorious for talking, especially when he doesn’t want him to, but he falls silent almost immediately, and for so long that Khobi thinks he’s dozed off. And then, just when Khobi’s about to fall asleep himself, he finds his tongue.

​"...Did you mean it?" Binny asks quietly, more uncertain than Khobi’s ever heard him sound. "What you said, about training with you?"

​"Of course," Khobi replies instantly, wondering why he even has to ask, "Why else would I say it?"