Chapter 171 - 169:Wounds Of The First Captain

Chapter 171: Chapter 169:Wounds Of The First Captain

Not enough, clearly, because he’d let it happen, hadn’t he? Encouraged it, even, first with the late nights and the lingering looks, and then by giving over to the wine, and the moonlight, and the way Rogard at his realest makes his heart climb up into his throat.

He’d had every opportunity to stop this, to nip these feelings of his in the bud before they could grow into something beyond his control.

He could’ve distanced himself. Could’ve tried harder to convince himself that there was no way Rogard felt the same.

It wouldn’t have been too hard –this was Rogard Spidra, after all, a man who could have any one he wanted, so why on earth would he want him?

​He could’ve bid him goodnight at the party; backed away, when Rogard said what he’d said.

He could’ve just not kissed him back.

​But how could he have done that, when he’d looked at him like that?

When they were much younger, Drogger had always been able to tell which of Rogard’s many faces were fake, and which were real.

He seems to think he’s gotten better at acting, but he’s wrong, and Drogger knows what kind, in that moment, he was wearing.

​He should’ve known better; should’ve been stern with himself the moment he started looking at Rogard as anything other than another soldier, but he hadn’t, because even though he knew Rogard’s reputation as an insufferable flirt, he liked being the one his eyes were on.

​And he thought he was more than a slave to his more basal desires.

​How wrong he had been.

​All these years he’s been chiding Ynoro for losing his head when it comes to pretty faces, and in the end he’s just the same.

Worse even, because of who he is and the station he holds. He’s meant to be beyond reproach –supposed to have more self control than this.

He’s not supposed to be kissing anyone under the cover of dark, let alone someone like Rogard Spidra.

​But he did.

​And that’s only one part of the problem.

​The other part is that he’d do it again.

​Drogger has always been a strong believer that mistakes make the best teachers, but here he is, hypocrite of the century, all too aware that if presented with the opportunity to make the same mistake, he’s not convinced he wouldn’t just knowingly make the same one again.

​He’s not sure he’s ready to unpack the why of that just yet.

​So, all in all, not Drogger’s night.

​And now, to top it all off.

​This.

​"There better be a good explanation for this."

​(There’s not.)

​There’s no excuse in the world that’s good enough to explain why he’s stumbled across his prince bleeding out in his training grounds in the middle of the night.

It’s certainly not the worst thing he’s chanced upon in his tenure as a Captain, but it definitely ranks up there in terms of situations he would rather not be presented with.

​" –He’s not bleeding out," Khobi is quick to point out, as though that excuses the fact he and said prince have clearly been fighting.

Without armour, and with sharpened blades, the idiots.

Elite swordsmen or not, accidents happen, as evidenced by the nearby servant hastily pressing a makeshift bandage into an obviously fresh wound.

It says a lot about Drogger’s turbulent mental state that he doesn’t drop kick the pair of them on the spot, princes or not.

​"He’s not bleeding out, sir," the servant affirms, when Drogger demands a second, and decidedly less biassed opinion.

"It looks worse than it is. He’s just reopened a couple of wounds from the tournament."

​Just reopened a couple of wounds. That’s all.

​A cursory look has Drogger content that it’s mostly the truth, and although there are most definitely some new cuts and scrapes on both parties, most of the blood appears to be from the thick, partly scabbed over gash on Loac’s chest; probably torn open in the scuffle.

It never fails to astound him how foolish soldiers could be. Incredible, how much they cry for a break after running for a couple of hours, but cut them open with a blade and they itch for anything other than bedrest.

​Drogger just stares at each of them in turn –both unrepentant –then runs a forefinger and thumb along the wrinkling grooves of his brow with the heaviest and most anguished of sighs.

​"Back to bed, the both of you," he grits out, feeling the dull ache of a headache start to build in his temple.

It’s not necessarily an order; Loac of course, outranks him, both as a Captain and as a prince, but he sincerely hopes that they will both take his polite, forcible suggestion under advisement.

​"And Khobi? I don’t want to see you in training gear until you’ve been cleared by the infirmary," he adds, as Khobi skulks off to retrieve their blades and Loac shakes off the servant’s concerned hands.

"You can settle your debts here when you’ve had some rest, and not before."

​"Wait what?" Khobi complains, and Drogger feels his eyebrow twitch. "What am I supposed to do until then?"

That was a close one.

​Honestly, Binny is a little relieved (although not entirely surprised) that this is how the night had ended.

It had been only an inch or two away from disaster, after all, and it’s kind of insane that they’re both still (mostly) in one piece.

​Khobi, however, honestly looks pretty bummed, although it’s hard to tell whether that’s because he’s been barred from the training grounds (and rightfully so) until he’s no longer at risk of pulling open his own wounds, or from his fight being cut short.

Both, probably. It had been difficult to tell in the moonlight, even for his eyes, but up until the moment that Loac had stumbled, Khobi had looked like he was seriously enjoying himself.

It really hadn’t seemed like he’d meant to hurt Loac either --like wounding him had been a mistake; like he’d genuinely believed he would block him.

​Maybe, on any other night that’s how it would’ve played out.

But they were both tired and they were both injured, and it was dark and the middle of the night. Incredible as they both are, they’re still human.

​Mistakes happen.