Chapter 6: Meeting His Bride.

Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Meeting His Bride.

It was rare that Prince Loac Trent ever graced his family with his presence but when he did, he certainly knew how to draw attention to himself. Not that he ever seemed to care. Even as he sauntered across the room, Gurdet could see the eyes of the servants being tugged towards his nephew, and the looks and the soft whispers started up. There was something about his presence that could fill a room, something confident, arrogant, and even though he was unarmed and barely in appropriate attire, everything about the way he carried himself screamed that he was a force to be reckoned with.

The king returned to his meal, not at all surprised by Loac’s apparel, and long since weary of seeing it. Was it too much to ask for him to dress respectfully for a meal?

Of course it was. When was the last time he’d seen his nephew dressed like a prince? He had the looks for it, easily, a most striking man, even by noble standards. And where Xena was fair, he was dark, his eyes not the typical royal green, but rather, a rich, deep blue. And his were the kind of eyes that felt like they could burn but with a look, a haughty, condescending gaze that at times seemed both bored and intimidating.

But more often than not, it wasn’t just his looks attracting attention.

"Why good morning, my dear nephew," Gurdet greeted with a cordiality that may not have been entirely sincere, "So kind of you to join us." Unsurprisingly, he went ignored, a dark-skinned hand reaching out and snatching one of the plates from the table, ignoring the plate so obviously set for him. Xena’s brow creased disapprovingly, though Gurdet couldn’t tell whether it was at the appalling lack of table manners, or the way Loac had once again neglected to at least have the decency to re-button his shirt.

"Oh, leaving again so soon?" Gurdet sighed heavily, watching his nephew making to stroll off again, plate in hand, mouth half full and tanned chest exposed to reveal a torso riddled with purple love-marks and scratches that he had long since given up pretending were feline in origin. "...But Montrel just caught up to you..."

There was a low curse from the hallway through which Loac had just entered, and those present were greeted by the sight of the blond soldier staggering against the doorway, panting as though he’d just been running. He looked furious, and was clutching a likely once-again misshapen nose, blood dripping down his chin. Loac paused mid-stride to glance disinterestedly over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing when he recognised the soldier.

"Hah? You’re still there? Did you get slower?" he remarked condescendingly, picking at his ear before turning to survey his uncle. "...Stop sending your dogs after me."

"...I have to exercise them somehow," Gurdet replied playfully, motioning for Montrel to move no closer lest today be the day he finally snapped. He caught Xens glaring at him rather pointedly, "Ah, Loac there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, I suppose you’ve heard the rumours circulating around the castle?"

"Hmm?" Loac mused disinteresting, adding something else to his plate and casually wiping some of the grease off on the loose, white shirt he was wearing, "...Why would I care about rumours?"

"Well, because they pertain to a certain royal engagement," Gurdet explained, and Loac at least took the time to look in the slightest bit surprised.

"Engagement?" he repeated, before he scoffed with a scornful roll of his eyes, "So Xena finally quit her complaining and picked some poor bastard?"

"Loac!"

"It’s not her engagement, Loac," Gurdet elaborated politely, with an ever-so-polite sip of his wine, "It’s yours."

If he’d been hoping for some kind of outburst, he was disappointed.

"Again?" Loac drawled, as though the entire concept was far too troublesome.

"I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your enthusiasm," he commented as Xena interrupted him, quick to add, "Loac how can you still be so blasé about this? This is your potential marriage! I mean, I’ll try and talk father out of it, don’t worry but–"

"Why would I worry?" he snorted flatly, "It’s not like this changes anything..." Gurdet would have liked to pay a little more attention to the argument that seemed about to erupt, well, not so much argument as it was Xena trying to make a point and Loac ignoring her in favour of stockpiling his plate, but Vogrid had tapped him on the shoulder.

"Your majesty, it appears there has been an incident," he remarked stonily, and the king had the feeling that his attendant was giving Loac’s state of dress a look of disdain. Fair enough, really. Did he have to go flaunting such vulgar marks? And not even taking the time to readjust his hair or properly buckle his pants. It was almost amazing that he’d shown up in shoes.

" –It appears that our guest has...been making a nuisance of himself."

"Oh, good...and it’s only just lunchtime."

" –I just can’t believe you’re okay with this..."

"Tch, would you quit your nagging, Xena ?" Loac snorted, mouth half full of food and seeming like he was regretting coming to the dining room in the first place, "It’s not like this one’s going to be any different from the others."

There was a sudden yowl of pain from the edge of the room, and the royals had their eyes pulled to the source of the noise, a bloodied Montrel who had apparently just had his nose forced back into place by one of the servants.

"Montrel, you should really just stop provoking him," Gurdet advised, pretending that he didn’t hear a number of low, grumbled expletives directed at the prince, who didn’t seem to care.

"Tch," the blond scoffed, gratefully accepting a cloth to clean his face, "Ow. And uh, your majesty; I think we’re about to have company." He jerked his head back down the corridor he’d emerged from, and it became apparent that there was some kind of commotion going on down the hall. Gurdet exchanged a look with Vogrid , who just adjusted his glasses knowingly and didn’t comment.

"Get your hands off me! Fucking untie me!" an aggressive voice was crowing, its owner obviously struggling, judging by the sheer noise and frequency of grunting.

"...You’ll just try and hit us again. So I can’t do that," came the patient but somewhat long-suffering response.

" –Is that Bongo ?" Xena inquired curiously, "And...what’s going on, father?"

"Hmm, I would very much like to know that, myself," he remarked dryly. "Would you care to explain, Bongo?" he added lightly, as Montrel stepped aside to allow for the Crade’s army’s Third Captain to enter the room, somehow retaining an air of dignity despite the fact that he seemed to be extraordinarily dirty. "I mean, it’s nice to see you, and all, but I’m having a frankly rather rare family moment here...what was so important?"

"...Our...guest broke out of his room," Bongo explained flatly as several of his equally dirty men appeared in the doorway, practically wrestling with said guest. If he hadn’t had that layer of mud, Gurdet might not have even recognised Khobi Frost, he seemed to be a whole lot cleaner than when he’d first appeared before him, and he was dressed in new, but admittedly now-ruined clothes.

"He broke out of his room," Gurdet repeated, raising an eyebrow curiously at the man being unceremoniously shoved into the room and straining against the rope tying his wrists at his back.

"Yes, your majesty. Broke the door down," Bongo replied, as though this was a routine report, "...We only just apprehended him."

That would explain why his men were looking so exhausted and a little battered.

" –And you had to tread mud into my dining room?" he sighed in disappointment, "And I suppose you’re treating him like a common prisoner because..."

"...Because they know that if I had my hands I’d be beating them," Khobi piped up, barging the nearest guard in the chin with his shoulder and making to do the same to another before Bongo had drawn his sword and pressed it to his throat. He flinched away from the cold steel, but the man who had managed to capture him didn’t release the pressure.

He’d thought when he’d gotten the door down that things would go relatively smoothly. Binny had said they were on the third floor, so he’d figured that finding three flights of stairs, or even two...even one, wouldn’t prove too difficult. But it had turned out that it was rather problematic having zero idea of where he was, or of where the castle corridors led.

And gods those guards were a lot faster than he was expecting. A couple of them had tried tackles once or twice, and being flung to a stone floor was something that Khobi had never really enjoyed or gotten used to. There had been a lot of rolling around but he’d managed to shake them a few times before finally being cornered by their captain and tied up again.

And now here he was again, brought before that King and that princess, and in a room full of the most delicious smelling food, but this time there was someone new in the room, someone that seemed to have at least some of the guards wary, someone whose very presence made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in warning.

"Those are big words for someone who’s looking so pathetic," a deep voice remarked, oozing condescension. There was something in that disdainful, almost arrogant tone of voice that made Khobi’s hands clench into fists against his restraints; the low, dangerous rumble of some kind of predator.

Red eyes quickly honed in on the owner of the voice; the one that the soldiers holding him captive seemed to be eyeing almost...disapprovingly? "...Untie me, and we’ll see who’s pathetic," Khobi challenged aggressively, ignoring the way his bruises were flaring up all over again. It was almost eerie, the deafening silence that followed.

Almost thoughtfully, the man lowered the plate of food he was holding, letting it softly clatter to the table as he turned to survey the man who had seen fit to interrupt his lunch. To Khobi, he didn’t look like a noble. He wasn’t dressed like one, he was dressed much like the redhead, in fact...tight, simple pants, and a plain white blouse, though this man’s was completely unbuttoned to reveal a rich, tanned chest. His torso, also like Khobi’s, was riddled with bruises and scrapes, but where the redhead’s were large, blotchy, discolourations from being battered about, those...those were the small, deep purple of a much better kind of ferocity.

And then slowly, Khobi’s gaze drifted higher; drinking in the strength in that body that might have gone unnoticed by those not used to evaluate threats. His eyes finally settled on his face, a face that might have even been handsome if wiped of the arrogant sneer that curled up from his lips...and then there were those eyes, blue and superior, and, Khobi was sure, hiding a spark of something dangerous.

And then, even as he met this man’s cool gaze, he felt a surge of anger and something akin to resentment burn through his body, and when he understood what exactly it was, his eyes widened in astonishment.

"You!" The redhead ground out accusingly, that single, spat word causing even the king to raise an eyebrow."...Have we met?" the Loac inquired flatly, his sneer indicating that he didn’t particularly care if they had. He turned to face the king, ignoring the way Khobi’s eyes narrowed darkly.

"Gurdet Who the hell is this guy?" Loac Aks, still eyeing Khobi "He is the surprise I asked Montrel to mention to you," King Gurdet replied innocently, ignoring the disapproving look from the princess sitting at his side.

At that, his expression changed slightly, and it set Khobi’s guard high. Where before, it had been disinterested and dry, and his eyes had been dull and bored, there was now a hint of interest, a dangerous kind of expression indeed, a kind that the redhead hated.

He couldn’t well tell the man to get away from him now, not when he had challenged him only moments ago, but those blue eyes were unashamedly trekking across his form in a way that made him shudder with an ill-concealed grimace.

When a tanned finger reached out to tilt his chin, he defiantly turned his head away, but still forced himself to look up from under his long bangs and meet that blue, appraising gaze."Where did you find this one?" he inquired, with all the casual airs of a man judging some kind of curious beast.

His thumb brushed against the redhead’s lower lip almost experimentally, ignoring his deepening scowl and the way he gritted his teeth. "He seems..." In a flash, Khobi’s teeth met with a sharp snap as he bit down on air, though he huffed in annoyance when he realised that this man’s reflexes has been sharp enough to save him losing a digit.

Blue eyes narrowed, but not without a small spark of approval. "...Mangy." "Now, now," Gurdet say disapprovingly, as Khobi felt the blade at his throat tense in payment for his attempted mauling, "This isn’t a little plaything for you, sweet nephew. His name is Khobi Frost , and he is the man you are going to marry" .

Khobi’s blood had run cold even before the weight of those heavy words had fully registered with him. He felt his eyes widen in horror; flicking from person to person in the room as if to ask if that was some kind of terrible joke. He’d long since let despair creep up on him, but in that moment, there was no denying that he felt a flash of it all over again."M-Marry?" he choked out in disbelief, aggressively tugging on his restraints despite the sting of a blade pressing into the skin of his throat.