Chapter 44: Prince With No Kingdom.

Chapter 44: Chapter 44: Prince With No Kingdom.

The servants don’t stop bringing out food until the table is piled high and the plates are practically overflowing. But, as hungry as he is, and as delicious as the food smells, Khobi refuses to eat.

Men who dined with Silas Luminus had a habit of keeling over not long after, and despite Bongo’s reassurances that not all kings are the same, Khobi’s seen enough men die at the tables of kings to warrant caution.

Obviously, it shows.

"It’s not poisoned, if that’s your concern," the king suddenly remarks, glancing up from his own breakfast,having noticed that despite his plate being full, Khobi hasn’t so much as touched it.

Frankly, that’s exactly Khobi’s concern, and his expression says as much.

"Poison is so outdated," he continues –so casual that it’s anything but reassuring, "And I know I don’t speak for all men, but personally, I find it in rather poor taste to invite a man to one’s table only to kill him at it."

It’s definitely not a good enough reason to trust him or his table, so Khobi makes no move to eat and gets a meaningful look in response.

"There are easier ways to kill you," the king reminds him, as though that were meant to make him feel any safer, "And even if I were inclined to have you killed, I can guarantee that my sweet daughter wouldn’t be here to watch."

It’s a slightly better reason, and defintely not good enough, so Khobi sends a look Bongo’s way,a question. The captain catches his eye and nods, and it’s infinitely more reassuring than anything the king could have offered him.

"So eat," Gurdet says, observing with great interest the exchange between his delightful guest and his oldest and most faithful retainer. "Drink, too, if you desire." And then he adds, more quietly, but still loud enough to be heard by his daughter, "...I know I do."

Xena shoots him a look of warning, and he makes sure to receive it with a smile.

It’s always unpleasant starting a meal on the wrong note –and it could be argued that trying to convince a guest that his bread isn’t poisoned was somewhat the definition of such –but even once they’d moved past said unpleasantries, breakfast didn’t exactly get any less awkward. Khobi ate, reluctantly, but the wine he left untouched.

Probably a wise choice, in Gurdet’s professional opinion –it was well documented, the things wine did to a man –not to mention anyone would have an aversion to the stuff after nearly drowning in it.

Xena–bless her –tries. She’s still suspicious that he’s up to something and sends him looks every now and then to remind him of such, but between veiled glares she’s smiling at their guest, saying how it’s so nice to finally meet with him, and lamenting that they hadn’t sooner.

It makes for quite good sport, especially considering that Khobi is having none of it.

She’s undaunted though, and persists, almost as though to spite her father.

He’s almost proud.

Eventually, though, and much sooner than anticipated, Khobi had had just about enough of the fruitless small talk.

He’d played along marvellously for a time –gritting his teeth and bearing his daughter’s inane chatter –but there was obvious malcontent boiling below the surface, and it was only a matter of time before it bubbled over.

"What am I doing here." It was an accusation, and came punctuated with an aggrieved clatter of his plate as he pushed it away from himself, having had just about enough of playing along with whatever game he thought they were playing. Xena jumped a little at the sound, but Gurdet merely met Khobi’s stormy red eyes across the table with a polished air of innocence.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated back, as though bemused by the question, "I thought you might like a change, is all."

"Bullshit," Khobi declared, slamming a fist down on the tabletop, and if Gurdet hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn he heard Bongo groan. "Up until now you’ve been happy to let me rot in that tower –"

"I take it then, that your accommodations have not been to your liking," Gurdet interrupted smoothly, unruffled by the display of force.

"...You could say that."

"A shame," he remarked forlornly, gazing down into his tea. The silence was loaded with heat, but it was clear that his response was one that Khobi hadn’t anticipated.

"Is it that it’s too warm?" he simpered, commending himself for how genuine he managed to sound. But when he glanced over at Khobi to gauge his reaction, his eyes were sharp, and cold. "Too dry? Too bright?"

"Father..." Xena hushes, but he ignores her.

"Do you not like being able to see the sky?" he persisted, "Or is it that the cells at Briyagi were more to your tastes?"

It’s so satisfying, forcing men to hold their tongues. And when Khobi’s jaw clenches, Gurdet’s grin morphs to a leer.

"That’s what I thought."

Xena disapproves, he can tell, but it’s not enough to ruin his breakfast.

"Let me tell you, Khobi," he began again as he perused his plate, lighter, and more cordial this time, "There are men in this castle –powerful men, mind –that would like nothing more than to see you thrown into our darkest, deepest dungeons in shackles.

Now, I’d rather like to avoid such unpleasantries, but I must say, you are making it rather difficult."

"Good."

It’s overwhelming, the urge to roll his eyes. Belligerence and stupidity are not known to be the most coveted of gifts, and it’s a wonder a man with unhealthily high doses of both managed to survive Silas Luminus –a man with a dangerously low tolerance for such things.

"I’m sure my guards wouldn’t agree," Gurdet remarked reproachfully, "Frankly, you’ve been making them look rather bad."

Khobi looked unrepentant.

"Not my fault," he shrugged, "They were in my way."

" –Which is where exactly, hmm?" Gurdet inquired curtly. And to the sharp eyes of his daughter, his grin widened infinitesimally. "...If you don’t mind me asking?"

There’s a dangerous look in his eyes now –the kind he always gets when he’s got a man exactly where he wants him.

"Khobi," he says, and his smile is wicked and sly, "All the guards in the world aside, beyond the city is a land you don’t know. And beyond that is another, and another. And somewhere out there is Briyagi.

No matter where you go, my men would hunt you, and believe me when I say that there is nowhere you could run, where they would not find you."

It sounds so cruel, when he says such things, but Xena knows that for once, her father speaks the truth.

Beyond their city the plains lie so open and vast that any man on foot would be run down by pursuers on horseback. And even if by some miracle he did make it into the forests beyond, only death awaited him.

The forest was thick and treacherous for those who didn’t know its roads and its secrets. A single man, wandering lost, and aimless, didn’t stand a chance against a forest that had swallowed up entire armies.

"So, I ask you again. Even if you were to escape these walls, where would you go?"

The silence that follows hangs hollow, and her father waits, almost curiously, for his response.

But, as much as he so obviously hates to admit it, Khobi has no answer for him.

And, like he’d known, Gurdet smiled.

"That’s what I thought."

Khobi’s knuckles, pressed into the table, turn white. There’s a tightness to his jaw and his shoulders that’s making the captain and the other guards look decidedly nervous, but her father doesn’t look in the least bit perturbed by the palpable tension.

In fact, he seems to be relishing it.

"There’s nothing for you out there," he says, like it’s that simple.

"There’s nothing for me in here!" Khobi shoots back, with such vehemence that Xeba is startled to find herself wondering if maybe he’s right.

Some forces in the world are not meant to be tamed, and there is a fire burning bright and fierce in his eyes that it seems all too much of a shame to smother.

That kind of spirit needs to roam free, else it withers and grows cold, and leaves only a husk, a shadow of what life it once was before.

Her father doesn’t see it. And if he does, then he has no qualms with letting it fade.

(He’s done it before.)

"Oh, but you’re so wrong," he sighs, savouring his tea and shaking his head at Khobi’s wilful ignorance. "You could have a good life here," he explained, "Maybe not a good one. Maybe not the one you want. But a life –and that’s more than Silas ever offered you."

" –And be locked up in a tower for the rest of my life?" Khobi scoffed flatly, "No thanks. I’ll take my chances."

"Dangerous words," her father chuckled, but there was little mirth to be found in his expression. "I’d be careful uttering them." Xena was inclined to agree.

Seldom did it bode well for a man who spurned the goodwill of a king. But, he remained nonplussed by their guest’s continued hostility, and shrugged away the thinly veiled venom he’d let slip into his voice.

"Surely you understand my position," he reasoned, "You really left me with no other alternative. What kind of king would I be if couldn’t keep the peace in my own castle?"

For once, Khobi had the sense to hold his tongue.

"Besides," her father adds, and a wicked glint in his eye belies the innocence in his voice, "I wouldn’t have to have you under lock and key if I didn’t think you would run."

Xena shoots him a sharp look that goes ignored, but Khobi must not hear what she’s heard because that wilful iron in his eyes is back with a vengeance.

"But I will run."

Gurdet’s eyes sharpen.

"Where?"

The entire room waits, with bated breath, as Khobi grits his teeth. They’re not close enough to see, and no one else would care to look, but Xena can see it in his eyes that this time, Khobi has an answer for him.

It reads like longing -deep seated, and wretched. And even though she can see it, written clearly in his features, it still breaks her heart to hear it.

"Home."

It’s an answer that brings disquiet to the hall. But it’s as if her father doesn’t sense the tension in the air.

"Khobi," he says, in the tone of a man about to break some bad news to a child, "You don’t have a home."

"Father!" Sometimes it truly horrified her how unkind her father could be.

"It’s the truth, Xena," he shoots back sharply, clearly unrepentant as he stares Khobi and lays the truth bare for him.

"Scargga lies in ruins, its people scattered through the wild, and its king trying to salvage what little is left of a broken kingdom. Even if you were to run, believe me when I say there is nothing for you to go back to."

He pauses for dramatic effect. "...No one for you to go back to."

Khobi’s jaw tightens at his words, and Gurdet smiles.

Xena, for what must be the thousandth time in her life, wonders what her father’s game is -because no matter what he tried to claim, this was definitely one of his little games.

It was inelegant, but not necessarily beneath him, tormenting an already tormented young mind for sport -but her mother had always warned her that her father was a man who was always up to something, and she had the feeling that he had some greater motive than to make Khobi squirm.

"Did you really think it would be as simple as running for your uncle?" Gurdet scoffed, picking at his food to hide his smirk. And despite Khobi’s stony expression, the mention of Khnoji made his expression waver, ever so slightly.

"My men could chase you to the end of the earth and you would still never find him." Her father says it like it’s the truth, and turns to her for confirmation. "Correct me if I’m wrong, Xena, but I believe Khnoji Frost has all but vanished?"

As much as she hates to admit it, he’s not wrong, and knows it.

"...Yes, father," she murmurs, hushed. "No one’s seen him in years."

Satisfied with her answer, he turned back to Khobi with his grin stretched wide, and smug.

"You hear that?" he tittered pleasantly, "No one’s seen him in years....Not his wife, not the allies who forgot him...not the man who has pursued him to the ends of the earth since the day his kingdom fell." With each word his voice grew colder, and laced with scorn.

"And you think you could find him?" he snorted, grey eyes flashing, "You think you could do what an army fuelled by the hatred of Silas Luminus has failed to do in a decade?"

He paints quite a bleak picture.

(Personally, he finds it rather beautiful.)

"No," he answered for him, "You’ll never find him.

But I can."