Chapter 455 - 456: Paying Respects.

Chapter 455: Chapter 456: Paying Respects.

For some reason that makes Loac snort, and it’s weird but for once it doesn’t really feel like he’s laughing at him.

​"...So uh...how’s about it?" Montrel inquires, turning in his seat just enough so he can offer him a hand; expression hopeful, "Cousins?"

​It’s like Loac’s never heard the word before, and for a long moment there he just stares blankly at Montrel’s outstretched hand like he’s not quite sure whether he can bring himself to take it.

And while Montrel’s prepared to ask anyways; wants to marry Princess Xena regardless of whether or not Loac gives him his blessing, he knows how much the guy means to her, and if burying --or at least dropping --this hatchet between them will make her happy, he’ll do it.

And he’d really hoped that Loac would, too.

​"Can I ask you something?" Loac says instead, turning his gaze back to his drink and leaving Montrel’s hand empty.

​"Uh, sure?" he says, a little confused and honestly a little crestfallen at his response. Or lack of. But Loac just continues peering into his drink like there’s something particularly fascinating at the bottom.

​"...How’d you...know."

​He’s not sure what he was expecting him to ask, but that was not it.

​"Whaddaya mean?" Montrel can’t help but feel like he’s missed something. Know what ?

​Considering the vague nature of the question, he doesn’t think it’s too much to ask for some clarification.

But to his surprise, Loac fidgets in his seat, jaw clenched as he turns his mug on its axis almost like he’s trying to find something to do with his hands . "...That you wanted to...y’know," he says, as if it was obvious what he was getting at. "...Marry Xena."

​Montrel blinks. Sits back in his seat, and considers the question. It’s not exactly one he ever thought Loac would ask him, although honestly there’s a lot about this conversation that he never would have thought would happen.

It’s a bit embarrassing, talking about this sort of stuff with him. But he asked, and Montrel’s pried enough that he supposes he can answer him this one thing.

​"To be honest I dunno, really," he admits with a small shrug, "...I guess it’s like, one day I just looked at her and I just...knew? That she was the one." He chuckles at that, because it’s really just that simple.

"I dunno what the fuck I’m doing," he admits with a small grin, thinking fondly of the way she’d absolutely lit up at the sight of that shooting glove.

He still doesn’t really know what possessed him to buy it for her, but he’s glad he did.

"...But she doesn’t give a shit about that."

​There’s no telling whether this is the answer Loac was looking for; whether it’s what he wanted to hear or whether he accepts it as the truth, but it hardly matters because for whatever reason, after taking a moment to digest it, and with a deliberately deep swig of his ale, Loac offers him his hand.

​"Cousins," he decides, and it could be a trick of the light but for a second there as Montrel reaches to take it, he’s almost convinced he sees him grin.

​They shake once, and only once before their hands drop away again, and Montrel heaves the biggest sigh of his life.

​That went...better than expected .

​Maybe Loac’s actually more reasonable than they give him credit for.

​Right on cue, Loac proves him wrong by smirking. "...Does this mean I should start calling you Nii-chan again?"

​Montrel’s expression wilts , and he gives Loac’s face an affectionate shove.

​"Don’t get ahead of yourself, brat."

...

"Khobi, are you sure you don’t want the servants to bring up a bed for you?"

​It’s the same question Bongo has asked every morning when he’s opened the door to find Khobi Frost looking like death warmed up, and every morning he just shakes his head and rubs his eyes and tells him he doesn’t want to trouble the servants with something like that.

Which is noble of him and all, but Bongo’s under the impression that a lot of the servants are actually quite fond of him and would probably be mortified if they saw the state he was in.

After all, the couches here are more expensive than comfortable, and they’re not at all built for people of Khobi’s size to be curled up on night after night.

(Bongo’s back is aching just looking at the thing.)

​But Khobi is stubborn if nothing else, and has steadfastly fallen asleep on the thing every single night.

He’s accepted some actual pillows at least, but it’s clear from the bags under his eyes and the way he rubs at a crick in his neck as Bongo brings their tray of breakfast over to the table that he has not been sleeping particularly well.

​Terribly, one might say. You’d think that after finally having his family at his side again he might finally rest easy.

​" S’fine ," he mumbles, yawning mightily and sinking down into one of the seats there. His aunt and uncle are already up and moving about the room, filled with considerably more vigour than their nephew.

Funny how they’ve been the ones out in the wilderness for gods know how long, yet Khobi’s the one who looks like he’s just crawled in off a battlefield and is staring down a siege.

​"...Ah, good morning Captain," Khojin greets pleasantly, falling out of the sequence he’s been pacing around the room to greet him.

It hasn’t escaped Bongo’s notice that he does it every morning, and then again every evening; walking out the same steps and the same shapes, each one polished like new steel, but exuding the kind of power afforded only to those who have weathered many storms.

He has no blade, but dangerous men don’t need to be armed to be dangerous, nor for others to know they are.

Khojin Frost may be a king, but he’s a soldier first and foremost, and at times it shows.

​"Bongo is just fine, Your Majesty," Bongo assures him, chuckling as Khobi immediately reaches to start on some bread and has it promptly slapped out of his hand by his aunt as a reminder to watch his manners.

Khojin laughs too, and wipes the pout off Khobi’s face by ruffling his hair as he drops into one of the vacant seats and replies, "Then Khojin is just fine, too."