Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Laios.”

No response.

“Laios!”

Still nothing.

Kabru grabbed His Majesty by the shoulder and shook.

“Focus, Laios! Lady Granite and the rest of the Khaka Brud delegates are going to be meeting us this afternoon, and I need you to have our proposal down pat or we aren’t going to be prepared for their counter offers . ”

It was a delicate political situation: Lady Granite, the clan leader and noblewoman in charge of a large clan of quarrymen and pavers, was a notorious tight-ass. If they proposed 50-50, she would insist on 10-90 and not budge an inch. Kabru had already done as much research as he could on the dwarf, but her reputation was flawless. No connections with the former Shadow Lord, no criminal scandals, no labor disputes within her clan, not even a profligate son with a gambling problem. If there was anything he could use for leverage, it was shut up tight within the clan. 

Worse yet, their own advisors were hardly in unison on their opinions of “Ol’ Gran”. The dwarves in their employ seemed to particularly resent her, and Kabru couldn’t help but notice how often their addresses to the incoming Khaka Brud delegate were aimed at the much younger, much more male Lord Aragon, despite him being a fishmonger with little ability to help get the roads done. Which was the entire point of meeting with anyone in Khaka Brud at all–to get a fucking road built from Khaka Brud to Melini and then on to the new port they were trying to establish.

All these political games made it even more important that Laios had the proposal down pat: that was the part he was good at.

Absently, Laios shoved Kabru’s arm away, and realized too late how much force he had used. He snapped back to himself with a look of remorse as he reached for where he’d hit.

“Sorry, I’m just… out of it. Your arm okay?” 

Out of it was an understatement–he’d been spacey, snappish, and unshaven. Laios absolutely hated seeing his own facial hair, which likely meant he hadn’t bothered looking in a mirror or washing at all when he got up. It was unlike him.

Kabru rubbed the sore spot. It was tender, but not going to bruise, and the pain would be gone in a second.

“I’ve had worse. Do you wanna talk about it?”

They’d been friends for over two years, but for Kabru it felt so much longer. Since Laio’s coronation, Kabru’s studies in political science and stewardship had been everything he could’ve wanted. He was the one responsible for setting Laios’ schedule, and he’s been sure to put in lots of down time together so they can hang out and chat and decompress from the massive weight on their shoulders establishing a new country. They’ve played chess and poker (a good tool for teaching subtle body language); they’ve sparred, ridden horses, and shared a tent while they were out working on reforestation. He’d been unable to get close for so long, and now… 

Laios turned his head away from him.

“I just didn’t sleep well last night. Don’t worry about it.”

…Right now it felt like he wasn’t any closer to him than he was the first time he tried to reach out only for Laios to ignore him.

After everything they’d shared so far, there were still some things Laios clammed up about. Mostly his past. Every time Kabru got close to the topic, he deflected in some way. It just wasn’t a good time. It’s not that interesting. It was worse for Falin.  

Kabru wanted to know so badly, and Laios did not let him in to whatever really happened to him before he got to the island. And with how he was refusing to discuss it now, he had to suspect the past was coming to haunt him. He’d have to poke around and find out.

“Sure. I’ll just let you read the proposal on your own,” he said, as cheerily as he could manage.

“Yeah, I’ll see you at lunch. I’ll have it done then,” Laios returned with a tired smile that gave Kabru nothing.

Laios’ mood hadn’t seemed to improve over lunch: Marcille had to order the chef to stop serving because he was mindlessly over-eating. Vacantly he tore through rolls of bread and gnawed at the bones of the chicken drumstick he’d been served, only tossing in a comment here and there to the table’s chatter. If they were alone, maybe Kabru could’ve pressed the issue. Maybe he should’ve done it earlier, but it just didn’t seem like he was going to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him.

Kabru poked at his food, mulling over his options to get Laios to divulge what was bothering him. If it was something from his past, who could he ask? Falin can and had told many stories of their childhood together that Laios always glossed over, but she was in their homeland, several months away by sea. She also knew nothing more than anyone else about Laios’ years away from her. Ideally, if Laios wouldn’t open up, he could try to talking to contacts he’d had during that time, but that would present the same problem: months of travel away, and he doesn’t know where to even start if he didn’t want to try interviewing every teacher at Laios’ old school and every commanding officer in his home’s military until he could find someone who knew him. That left a singular option: try his other closest companion and pray he’s at least talked to her about it.

As they left the dining hall, Kabru waved down Marcille.

“Marcille,” Kabru called after her, “I need to ask you something.”

Her ears twitched as she turned around to look at him.

“Hm? What do you need?”

Over time, Kabru and Marcille had become fairly close. They shared a love of dramatic novels, which they could discuss at length when there was little to do. When they were both busy dealing with the inordinate amount of court intrigue their kingdom attracted, they still found time to gossip about nearly everyone in the court and those passing through. She was almost as nosy as he was and almost as tight-lipped as he was with others' secrets, which made them the perfect people to share other people’s secrets with.

And when Laios was getting on their nerves, they talked about him together. It was a nice release valve to have someone to complain about their shared best friend when he gave himself food poisoning again or created a diplomatic mess for them because he mispronounced the name of an elven nobleman so it sounded like the word for ‘gaped asshole’ in elvish (Though, they did all three agree that guy was deserving of such a moniker). 

Because he talked with Marcille so often, he knew that any time Laios felt upset, he went to Marcille first. It didn’t stir any envy within Kabru at all to consider that it was Marcille that Laios went to when he was hurting instead of him.

“Laios has been so out of sorts today, do you know why?”

With a little frown, she said, “Yeah, he got a letter from his father this morning. I don’t think he’s even read it yet but… I think just knowing he should is upsetting him.”

“That’s a bit over the top for just getting a letter, isn’t it?”

“Maybe, but he hasn’t spoken to him since he left home.”

“Wow, did he tell you why?”

“Because of how he treated Falin. He hasn't forgiven him for sending her away with no explanation. It's so sad seeing a family so broken, but they never responded to my letter,” she said, hand over her heart.

“But doesn't Falin write to them? Does she forgive them?”

“She's just that understanding, I suppose. The way they talked about it though, it sounded so scary for a little kid. I can't blame Laios for still holding a grudge.”

“I’ll see if I can cheer him up–just do me a favor and look the other way if we do something crazy tonight, okay? I promise I’ll give you the gossip later.”

Torn between knowing better and wanting both juicy details of a night well spent and wanting her friend to feel better, she puffed her cheeks out and said, “You better be careful! No dungeons at least, understood?!”

“Understood!” he called back to her as he left to prepare for the afternoon meeting.

Marcille hadn’t given him much he hadn’t heard before, but he at least knew his suspicions were correct: there was something about his family life that troubled him enough to avoid speaking to his family for over a decade. 

When Kabru had asked Laios about his family directly some time ago, what he’d said was likely the same story Marcille had gotten and summarized: Falin discovered an aptitude for necromancy (which only through prying did Laios state she discovered it when a ghost possessed him and he nearly died–as if nearly dying is an experience a child should brush off), and was outcast from the village despite being a small girl. His father stated his intent to send her away to magic school without explaining himself after wholly inadequate (to Laios at least) attempts to mitigate the severe bullying that she received. In hopes of making a life for the two of them, Laios left home to join the military–when Kabru once asked why he’d deserted and become an adventurer, a dark shadow crossed his face and he had said, “I didn’t fit in,” and nothing more. Nothing of the period between Laios leaving Falin and reuniting with her again was a subject Laios let Kabru broach.

Kabru couldn’t be sure that anything had happened directly to Laios, but the memories of his time then were clearly painful. But there was an odd contingency in his telling of his past: he centered it around Falin. ‘My father didn’t talk to us. Falin was hurt. My mother scared Falin. I left Falin behind.’ Like his near death experience, any other negative experiences he had seemed to be ignored in favor of talking about how it had affected his sister.

And if he was refusing to speak to his parents again for Falin, wouldn’t he have tried to repair his relationship for her sake too?

“I call the meeting to order,” Laios declared before the delegation. Kabru stood to his right, just behind the throne at the head of the table, taking careful note of those gathered. A dwarven woman about 180 years old sat closest to Laios on the side of the delegates. Her stone-gray locs sat neatly on the shoulders of her high-necked black gown, which covered her from jaw to wrist and had swept the floor as she had walked in. She had the most dour look Kabru had ever seen. Frown lines were etched deep into her dark bronze skin, giving the impression she had never smiled before, and certainly wouldn’t start now. 

Lady Granite pinned her gaze on Laios as he read the proposal. She made a good effort to keep her face completely still, but Kabru could read her in her breathing. Her breathing would get deliberate and slow when Laios made any point she didn't like, and her hands would clasp just a little tighter together in her lap.

She didn't like: splitting the costs of the road 50/50, keeping lanterns dim for the sake of recovering bat populations, working with orc tribes to preserve their land rights, restricting fishing to protect the fisheries, nor did she like hearing the list of clans who had already agreed to settle the new port. He had to presume then that all she did like is that Melini was willing to supply as much day labor as needed at their own expense.

The meeting concluded in exactly the place Kabru had predicted it would: Lady Granite didn’t accept any conditions of the proposal and intended to come back tomorrow with her counter proposal, while their own advisors seethed against the unified front Khaka Brud presented through her. Yaad ended the meeting cordially with a reminder that they are welcome to use the meeting room to draft their counter proposal after dinner–it wasn’t yet time to start yelling people down.

As they left, Kabru watched Laios. The way he was avoiding contact, his stony-faced demeanor–he seemed so sad. Kabru just had to hope that his plan to cheer him up, make him talk, would work.

Chapter Text

“Laios,” Kabru said, nudging him across the table, “You're free tonight–do you want to go out drinking with me?”

He’d of course tried drinking already to open him up–doesn’t work. In fact, he only knew how bizarrely avoidant Laios was about his life because he’d tried talking to him while drunk in his quarters one night.

“Laios, you were in the military, right?” he had asked as he poured another cup of wine for Laios one night soon after they’d taken up residence in the castle together, “You know, I wanted to join the Canaries growing up. I’m glad now that didn’t work out.”

“Me too,” he said, accepting the cup with a smile, “You might not be here with me if you had.”

“I probably wouldn’t,” he agreed. He let Laios take another drink before continuing on. “Did you dream of being a soldier as a boy?”

“Nah, I wanted to be a rancher. Work with animals, raise dogs, make cheese maybe.”

“Why enlist then?”

Laios looked at his cup rather than at Kabru.

“I needed the money if I wanted to get Falin out, and I could make money a lot sooner as a soldier,” he said quietly.

“Why’d you leave then?” he persisted.

He exhaled a deep, mournful breath. 

“I didn’t fit in. So why’d you want to be a canary, anyway? Because of your mother?”

No matter how much wine he’d plied him with nor how he tried to redirect back to why he left, Laios managed to refuse to answer. He’d tell Kabru about what Falin sent in her letters, both the sad early days and the fond later ones when she found Marcille, but if Kabru tried to find anything else, it was the same non-answers over and over.

But he hadn't tried getting him sloshed at a pub. For good reason, though: One, Yaad would be furious; two, Laios inflicts enough completely unnecessary torment on his body via experimenting with monster dishes without adding in the hangover Kabru intended to inflict on him. But maybe there was a threshold he would cross where he would get chatty, and maybe the jovial environment might make him feel more secure than the privacy of his own room. Maybe it would feel more intimate to be alone again after a night out. Maybe it was just finally time to talk.

But he had to take the chance.

“Out on the town, right?” he whispered, trying not to draw Yaad’s attention.

Kabru nodded, and winked at him conspiratorially. Laios beamed in response.

“I’ll meet you at the stables later,” Kabru said, placing his hand over Laios' wrist, “Be ready.”

He glanced down at Kabru's hand, and back at his face. 

“Yeah, okay,” he answered. He kept staring a moment longer, expecting Kabru to say something else it seemed.

“Good. I’ll see you there, then. Don’t get caught.”

He pulled his hand away. 

It had crossed his mind that Laios may never fully trust him. No matter where they were in their relationship now, no matter that Kabru had told him the truth about wanting to be friends with him, Laios knew that Kabru could lie to him and do it well. It was a terrifying thought that there was this closeness that may always be denied to him because he had been desperate to keep Melini safe and fell to using Laios like a tool then. He’d meant it when he apologized for lying, and Laios had forgiven him for it, but the fact remained that it was something he was capable of and had been willing to do before. The thought was still crossing his mind when he went to saddle their horses.

He led Brandywine and Cinder, a pair of mares that were used to wandering back to the stables from town, out of their stalls. He’d brought enough gold to pay for a carriage if needed, and a dagger for Laios' protection. He hoped Laios thought to bring a weapon, but frankly he wasn't sure it would help him–he was useless in a fight against another person, even with all the sparring lesson Kabru had given him. Kabru would just have to keep an eye on him.

If he showed up.

Kabru leaned against the stable wall and stared out at the night sky, trying to focus on the stars instead of the pit of nerves in his stomach. 

“Kabru!” Laios whisper-yelled from outside the stables, “Are you out here?”

“Get inside,” Kabru hissed.

“Oh, sorry,” he continued to whisper-yell. It was amazing how little subtlety he had when it was people he was trying to hide from. 

The stable door creaked open, and in walked Laios in a simple tunic with a short sword at his hip, his chimera skin put away to avoid drawing attention. The upwards creep of his weight was beginning to show–he was a little rounder everywhere. His thighs were even thicker, his belly was starting to protrude, and his breasts were fuller–there was no way to note it that wasn't more vulgar than that. It wasn't uncomely on him, far from it. Of course, Laios' ineligibility as a bachelor had a lot more to do with his lacking social skills than his physical attractiveness.

He wasn't totally stunning, and not as regal as he could be, but he was powerfully built, with a pretty face and lovely ash blond hair. If you were interested in him, you could imagine those thighs squeezing around your waist while you cupped those full tits and kissed up and down his neck. 

It was a scenario someone would consider. Just not Kabru.

“You take Brandywine. We’ll lead them to the fence and jump it.”

“Sounds good,” Laios said, nodding in agreement.

With (living) monsters no longer a part of Laios’ life, he’d learned that Laios also had a love of normal animals. He didn’t seem to necessarily see a distinction between the two. ‘Monsters consume large amounts of magic, and die without a ready source like a dungeon,’ he’d once explained, ‘but that distinction isn’t always helpful since all living things, particularly humans, consume magic as part of their life cycles.’ Kabru watched him pet Brandywine’s muzzle as they pulled their horses out of the stable as quietly as they could.

They crept across the grounds, across the fields. It was likely a similar path to the one he took when he snuck out to a dungeon a year ago. Yaad was absolutely going to kill him for sneaking out again. But it was not going to compare to the work Yaad was going to heap on him as punishment for encouraging Laios to go into town with minimal protection and get sloppy drunk. Kabru would just have to make the night worth it.

“We should mount here,” Laios said, not bothering to whisper now that they were far from the main grounds, “Cinder’s a nervous jumper and she’ll need the time to build speed.”

“You know them pretty well,” Kabru remarked, as if the reason he’d picked these two horses wasn’t because Laois had been gushing about how reliable the mares were the other day. 

“I’ve been going riding with Marcille a lot. And it’s nice watching them run around the fields while I read,” he said. He’d already mounted and was idly stroking Brandywine’s neck while he waited for Kabru to finish hoisting himself up. Once they were both ready, Laios led them, letting the more confident Brandywine set the pace for Cinder, who followed behind at a quick trot and then a run as they went to clear the fence. 

Laios kept going at high-speed as he headed for town, clearly eager to get the night started.

“Slow down!” Kabru hissed, “Going too fast draws more attention–do you want to get caught?”

He groaned, but followed the advice, gripping the reins tight and slowing the horse to match Kabru’s pace, falling back beside him. It was so effortless how he rode, his confidence in Brandywine total, his muscular control keeping his posture straight. 

“Would anyone be able to see us in the dark like this?” Laios asked. 

“A couple of dwarves joined the nightwatch recently, so you should count on it.” 

“Oh, right… I forgot about that,” he sighed.

“Forgot? You’re the one who suggested we get some guards with dark-vision—what was your reasoning again? Our torches were discouraging bat migration through the area?”

“They DO, and we need to attract more insects and insectivores like bats to stabilize the new forest growth, so we should be very careful about our light pollution levels.”

Kabru smiled. It was nice seeing Laios get so animated.

“And I did what you said and hired guards who don’t need a nightlight, and now it’s more difficult for you to sneak out.”

“This was your idea! Don’t scold me for agreeing to your idea!”

“And last time was Falin’s idea. Maybe I only asked to see if you’d try to sneak out again?”

Laios stopped his horse. With a huff, he answered, “You dick, no you didn’t. If you were testing me, you’d have dragged me back to the castle.” He sat there waiting for Kabru to confirm or deny. Kabru just kept on at a trot, suppressing a laugh.

“...Right? You aren’t testing me, right?!”

“You better keep moving, your majesty,” he teased, “You wouldn’t want to fail the next test, too.”

“There’s no test! You’re making that up!” he shouted as he sped back up to ride beside Kabru again.

They chattered as they rode into town: mostly Kabru’s gossip or about Laios' hounds. Once they arrived in the city proper, they stabled their horses and wandered on foot until they spotted the bar Laios was interested in that night.

The Drunken Huntress was advertising its new dryad wine via a large poster outside of two dryad flowers kissing and fondling each other with a bottle of wine in hand. Coincidentally, this was a bar that lesbian women tended to congregate in to cruise. It was rather small, and quite crowded, but they were unlikely to be noticed inside despite not fitting the demographic of the core clientele–though the women may assume they were a couple, and may then also pretend not to see them.

They made their way inside and Laios rushed to order a bottle for himself.

 “Don't expect me to try that,” Kabru said firmly.

“I wasn't going to ask you to…” he lied. Laios had absolutely been trying to open Kabru up to liking monster cuisine over time, and dryad wine is nice and abstracted from its monstrous roots to Laios. But not to Kabru. A monster is a monster even when you harvest fruit off it and ferment it, and he'd eaten enough monster during his time in the dungeon.

“Of course you wouldn't,” Kabru said pleasantly, then turned to the bar, “An ale for me, please.”  

The anonymity of the crowd was great, but there was absolutely nowhere to sit. They stood around awkwardly with a bottle and a couple of mugs trying to spot somewhere they could relax and keep talking. Laios sipped his wine, humming in satisfaction.

A gruff, androgynous voice called out to them across the bar, “No fuckin’ way! That you, Laios? Thought they'd never let you out of that castle.”

Namari, the dwarven warrior previously part of Laios' party, sat at a small table with a dark-skinned tall-man at her side. Kiki, Kabru recalled, Kiki Floke. Namari’s employers’ daughter–or rather, former employers. With no dungeon to explore, Namari had been getting back into blacksmithing her own wares, which she frequently foisted upon Laios to advertise her business to rich stodgy nobles. Kiki’s slender hand was at Namari's shoulder, laying a subtle claim to her. They waved them over.

“Namari!” Laios cried, breaking into a wide grin. He grabbed a chair and sat down across from her, expecting Kabru to follow. “Have you tried the dryad wine? It's so good.”

The pair set their mugs down on the table while Laios thrust the just opened bottle in Namari’s face.

“Dryads, huh? Fuck it, pour me some,” she said before turning to Kiki, “You want any, Kiki?”

“I’ll try anything once,” she said.

They clinked their mugs together before quickly polishing off whatever they'd been drinking before, then offered them up to Laios for him to fill. He poured them a small amount, just to sample for now.

“You really get that floral note from it, I think Marcille would like it since it's pretty sweet…” Laios rambled as they tasted it.

Namari stuck out her tongue in a brief grimace. “Way too sweet for me. But I’ll drink it if you're paying!” She chuckled and punched Laios lightly on the arm.

“It’s nice,” said Kiki, offering her mug up to Laios to refill, “They must be importing the dryad fruit, right?”

A little wind left Laios' sail as he replied, “Yeah, that or they partnered with a brewery at the dryad farms and just import the wine itself.” He took a deep drink from his own cup, no doubt mourning that he can never go visit the farms.

Kiki asked, “Those farms are part of a policy of your majesty’s, aren't they? Namari was telling me the other day about your monster farming project.”

Laios blushed, and looked away, tracing the rim of his mug with his finger.

“Aww, no friend of Namari's has to be so formal,” he said, clearly flattered, but Kabru knew he felt flattered because she'd asked about his monster farms.

“The dryad farms are to help shore up against labor shortages–dryads are very hostile, but they self-farm and self-defend, not unlike golems. Golems are better overall, but dryads don't need specialized magic to develop and you won't accidentally blow up the village raising dryads like you can with a malfunctioning golem. You only need a farmer to come in and harvest once the fruit is ripe–we’ve found you can smoke them out like bees and when they hide from the ‘fire’, you can safely gather the fruit.”

Kiki was listening, but without too much interest. Judging by Namari’s more obvious level of intoxication, she was likely a bit drunk already. No matter what she did, she’d remained in physical contact with Namari–the hand on her shoulder or pressing herself to her side just enough not to seem forward to others, but to be present in Namari's mind. Perhaps she was engaging to get on good terms with Namari's friends and show that she was serious about the relationship.

“Your work has made things very interesting for my parents,” she said.

Shit, he probably has no idea neither her nor her parents' names .

“Kiki, what are Mr. and Mrs. Floke doing now? Still studying immortality?” Kabru asked before Laios could embarrass himself. Laios gave him a little nudge in thanks.

She gave a shrug.

“Sort of. They're taking time off to compile notes and see what other avenues they can study. I think they’ve mentioned getting some of the residents of the Golden Kingdom to volunteer for study, but the ethics board has to approve it before they can even begin the negotiations between Melini and Khaka Brud–or I guess that’s your decision then.”

Laios frowned, and said, “I don't think any of them would be eager to be studied. They kinda just want to relax and enjoy the sunshine until they can die.”

“Oh my god,” Namari cried, slamming her empty mug on the table, “Can we lighten the conversation some? I wanna get wasted and sing pub songs, not talk about life and death!”

Kiki cast her an apologetic glance, hand still touching hers under the table, and Laios gave one of his typical nervous apologies for social faux paux. He glanced down at Namari’s hand gripping her mug.

“You wanna arm wrestle?” he asks her, suddenly excited. His pupils were dilated and he’d already gotten his arm in position.

“You that eager to have me embarrass you?” Namari said into her cup before downing the rest of her wine. She slammed it down on the table and grinned menacingly at Laios.

He blushed, but was smiling back at her, hand still waiting for her grip.

“It’s not embarrassing to lose to you, Namari.”

She blushed too. 

“I’ll do it, but when I win, you're buying us a round of shots.”

“Deal.”

She pointed at Kabru.

“He’s taking a shot too.”

“What? No, leave me out–”

They both turned to him, speaking over each other.

“You’re too buttoned-up , I don't like it–”

“Just one is okay, right? Just have some fun–”

“I need to be sober to watch after Laios–”

“Yeah, one shot won't fucking kill you–”

“It’s so weird when I’m drunk but you're sober, pleeeeease –”

He imagined them both getting trampled in a bar stampede. It made him feel better.

“FINE. One shot.”

They hollered their approval, then turned to the far more important matter at hand: their arm wrestling contest. Namari gripped Laios' hand firmly, and met his eyes. Their faces were both flushed, even though they hadn't started yet. The touch seemed languorous, indulgent, as they squared up.

Is she… attracted to him? And he’s into her too? I didn’t get the impression he even liked women. Maybe there’s an exception for dwarven women, or very masculine ones?

Kabru glanced at Kiki, curious if she knew about this. She was watching Namari intently, specifically her biceps. If her date’s wandering heart was known to her, it was not her greatest concern.

“Kiki, could you..?” 

Before Namari could finish asking, Kiki slid the mugs and wine bottle out of the warpath. Kiki’s skin was too dark to show blush, but her own excitement was palpable. 

Kabru felt like he was the only one not getting off to this.

“1…2…3…” 

They counted in unison, as if they’d done this many, many times before. Their struggle seemed just as practiced. Steadily she overwhelmed him, dominating him and forcing him to submit, pushing his arm down to the table. Both were sweating and breathing deeply, really giving it their all, and even though Namari was the clear champion from start to finish, Laios did make her fight for it–the pace towards his inevitable defeat felt glacial. Kiki cheered and hugged her around the shoulders when she finally won.

“You’re so strong,” she purred, laying her head on top of Namari’s.

Laios’ face was flushed, with a sheen of sweat, and he had a dopey, vacant look. He looked post-coital. If losing at arm-wrestling was all it took to make him look like this, Kabru had to wonder what he’d look like if someone bedded him properly.

“I’ll get the shots,” Kabru said, getting up as fast as possible.

“Thank you, Kabru,” Laios called after him before turning back to Namari, “Round two?”

“That’s a shot for you and the pretty boy every time you lose!”

“Deal!”

This is going to be a really long night.

Four matches and four shots later, Namari and Laios were loose and free, and Kabru was beginning to feel sick. Kiki had given up all subtlety and was more or less draped over Namari, no doubt using her intoxication as a cover for the unusual closeness.

“One more?” Laios asked. Namari looked almost as eager to destroy him again as he did to get destroyed.

“NO!” Kabru shouted. Damn it, he didn’t mean to shout. He covered his mouth with his hand.

“I need some air, Laios.”

Laios looked at him like he’d forgotten he was even there. A stupid, wide-eyed look.

“Yeah, we can step outside,” Laios said softly. He rose from his seat and held out his arm for Kabru to take. Kabru didn’t need it–but his vision swam when he got up. 

Why hadn’t he eaten more at dinner, or demanded Laios leave earlier, or something? This was so stupid. A stupid mistake.

He took Laios’ arm.

“It was really great seeing you guys!” Laios said, waving good-bye as he tried to turn Kabru towards the door.

Namari got up from her chair, Kiki still clinging to her 

“Nah, we’ll walk with you–Kabru looks like he’s gonna blow chunks. Guess that's my fault.”

“Yeah, we’ll walk together,” Kiki said, smiling at him pleasantly.

It was fine if they came. It was fine. If they got attacked right now, Kabru would be near useless, so they'd need the support. He only wanted to be alone with Laios. He didn't need it. It was fine.

“Actually, could you guys grab him some bread and cheese, and some water? I think he didn't eat enough at dinner,” Laios asked them so politely, “We’ll wait just outside.”

He sat slumped against Laios, both of them sitting in the dirt against the wall of the bar. Laios could be really pretty sometimes, at the right angles, or in the right lights, or with the right expression on his face. Pretty as a girl. 

If Laios had been a girl, would things be different? Would it have been easier to talk to her? Would Kabru be here now, trying not to vomit, and leaning against her? Stupid, useless thought. If he were a girl… so what? She’d still like Marcille and Namari better, wouldn't she?

“Sorry for making you drink too fast,” he said. It felt like Laios was trying to touch him as little as possible, even though he was more or less keeping Kabru upright. 

Kabru mumbled the closest approximation to ‘It’s fine’ he could manage through a fully closed mouth.

“If you need to throw up, you should. I’ll hold your hair back.”

It didn't come to that. Kiki and Namari came out to them with water, cheese and bread. 

“Thanks guys,” Laios said, accepting the food, “Just start with a little bread and a sip of water, and it's okay if you throw up.”

He tore a piece of bread and handed it to Kabru, which Kabru took and shoved in his mouth.

This is fucking humiliating.  

He swallowed. Then Laios offered him the water.

“Slowly, slowly…”

It was cool outside now. The day had been so hot, and the heat had lingered inside the bar, trapped by so many bodies. But the breeze was catching and drying the sweat on his face. The cool water soothed an ache he hadn't realized he'd been feeling.

Now a piece of cheese. It was a bit crumbly, and pungent–a hard cheddar maybe. He took some more water to wash it down.

“You know, Kabru, back home it’s called chewy milk.”

“It’s what?” 

Laios was not very funny, so it was impossible to tell if this was a joke of some kind or if his village really does call it that.

“Chewy milk! It’s ‘cause it’s the sticks so we have a bunch of old words from before we adopted Common. My dad didn’t say it because he’s pretentious and wants to look cosmopolitan or something so he says cheese, but most people said chewy milk still.”

Namari looked at him bemused.

“I have never heard you or Falin say ‘chewy milk’, liar.”

“We don’t say it in Melini because no one would know what it is!”

He couldn’t help himself, Kabru laughed. The nausea had started to pass and everything just seemed funnier now. He leaned against Laios, shoulder to shoulder.

“There, lookin’ better already!” Namari said. Kiki was still hanging off of her (as much as was possible for a couple with such a dramatic height difference) but she looked on Kabru softly.

“You wanna walk? I feel better if I walk,” Kiki said.

Laios' hand was still at his shoulder, awaiting his response.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great, let me help you up…” 

Laios hooked his arm back under him and lifted as he rose himself. Over-concerned with Kabru's intoxication, he forgot he was far less than sober himself and they stumbled into Namari and Kiki.

“Fuck’s sake, watch it!”

“Sorry!”

“I’m gonna throw up if you keep manhandling me.”

“Sorry! Sorry!”

“Do NOT let him throw up on me and Kiki!”

“Hurry up, I wanna walk around town…”

Kiki’s patience had evidently run out and she wandered ahead while Kabru was still getting upright. The rest of them scuttled back to their feet and hustled to catch up with her.

“It's so nice out… Lets go sit in the park,” she said, her voice a bit quiet and a bit slurred.

“What, and just sit there?” Namari asked. She was putting great effort into keeping up with Kiki's long stride, and greater effort into watching her skirt flutter around her legs.

“There's really great cover there, super private,” she said.

Namari just blushed.

At least that means it'll be private for me and Laios, too.

It was the point in the night where the responsible were already at home and the reckless would still be at the bar another hour, so the streets were relatively empty. And much like themselves, most people out were deep in their cups.

Kabru suddenly became very aware of how he'd been holding close to Laios: his arm had been around Laios' shoulder, and Laios' was slung under his shoulder, hand resting near the waist. 

He pulled away.

“I can walk fine now, I think the heat of the bar just got to me.”

Laios still had a hand on him. He looked down at him, head tilted and expression neutral.

“You sure? I don't mind.”

Unless Laios was particularly excited, he didn't emote much, and it made his body language hard to read. It could be so subtle–he was like Rin that way. They both had trouble showing what they felt and then others would judge them harshly because they weren't equipped to see the knit in Rin’s brow as a sign of joy or to take Laios’ words over the fact that his face was blank. Kabru found it charming–it was like having a secret no one else knew. I know how you feel when no one else does.

“You can hold me all you want when we get to the park,” he said, pushing Laios playfully.

Wait, why did he say that? That sounds like he's coming on to him. This is supposed to be light teasing, camaraderie between men. Between the liquor, the way the moonlight softens Laios' features, and the fact that it'd been two years since Kabru had time to regularly go on dates–he was acting foolish. Horny and foolish and–

Laios didn't seem to notice.

“So you do like my hugs!” he exclaimed, pulling Kabru close again just for a second, one good squeeze, one second with Kabrus’s face pressed against his plush tits. The instinct to cup them in his hands and play with them welled up and had to be tamped down, and thankfully Laios released him before base instincts won over the logical mind.

“The park, I said at the park!”

“Sorry,” Laios said, clearly too overjoyed to actually be sorry. 

And I just stopped having those weird wet dreams where Laios is my girlfriend. 

He really, really shouldn’t have drunk so much. He needed to get it together: this outing was not about his weird subconscious processing of being physically intimate with Laios more than with any women (at all), it was about getting Laios to talk about the letter and why he’s so upset about it. Stay on task, Kabru .

Kiki and Namari were up ahead of them, seemingly ignoring them in favor of whispering to each other. If Kabru listened carefully, he could make out what they were saying. 

“We’d be close by.”

“I mean, yeah, but I’d feel bad.”

“I’m sure they'll just entertain themselves, honey.”

“What, them?! They are not–”

“Are. I know it. They’ve been flirting all night.”

“ What?!” 

“Shhh! They’ve been hanging off each other. If they aren’t fucking already, then we’d be doing them a favor.”

“How?”

“My moans could make the dead wake up horny, right?”

Namari wrapped her arm around Kiki’s hips, and their whispering became too quiet to follow. It was not hard to guess the nature of their conversation.

Frustrated, Kabru turned to Laios and began whispering to him.

“Did you hear any of that?”

“Hear what?”

“What Kiki and Namari said, dummy.”

“No, why?”

On second thought, Kabru couldn’t be sure how Laios would react to the idea that Kiki thinks they’re an item, or about to be. And Kiki and Namari leaving to have sex behind the treeline might be private enough to talk to him. If Kabru could just control his drunken libido, he had Laios in the perfect mood to open up. He was cheery, he’d already voluntarily talked about his village, and he felt guilty about getting Kabru too drunk. It was best to stay course.

“...Nevermind. Don’t worry about it.”

Laios shot him a quizzical look, but didn't ask him further.

The park was rather large, with thick vegetation lining paths between clearings. The tall shrubs and trees made perfect cover for late night lovers that couldn't afford privacy where they slept. Summer flowers were still in bloom, releasing sweet perfume all around them.

Kabru took the lead to get them in a nice secluded spot with good visibility looking out: Laios' safety still had to come first. It didn't hurt that Laios feeling safer physically should help him feel safer emotionally. 

At first, they all sat together on the grass. Even though Kiki’s hands were all over Namari, holding and squeezing and caressing as intensely as she could get away with in front of others, Namari kept focus on Laios for most of the conversation as they caught up on their lives. They didn't touch, just talked, but there was a palpable tension there.

“So no royal consorts yet? I’d have thought Asivia would've come crawling back now that there's a whole kingdom to seduce you out of.”

Kabru bolted upright.

“Who’s Asivia?”

Laios ducked his head away and let Namari speak for him.

“Mage girl who kept flirting with Laios to get special treatment. Nearly made us all kill them both so we could stop seeing it, ”Namari said, grimacing at the memory of her.

“C’mon, she mostly just asked for stuff. If you’d have asked…” Laios said meekly.

Namari batted her eyelashes and put on a falsetto, “Oh, Laios~ Can you use your big, strong back to carry my pack? Can you lend me 2000 gold, my handsome leader?”

Kiki giggled into her shoulder. She didn't seem to know who they were talking about either. That wouldn't stop her from laughing at all Namaris jokes–it’s a winning strategy. 

“It…It wasn't that bad, was it?”

Namari huffed, curling her arm around Kiki.

“It was worse. Chil thought you two were fucking behind our backs–I told him you wouldn't even know where to find your dick.”

“Is that when you took him to a brothel?” Kiki asked, still nuzzled into Namari's shoulder.

Namari and Laios both turned bright red.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, it was after that.”

“Don't say stuff like that in front of Kabru, he’ll get the wrong idea!” Laios faced Kabru, skin red from hairline to neckline, “It was one time! She did it one time and it was weird and we didn't go again!”

Namari, still just as flushed, said, “Well, I went again. Just without you.”

It was honestly kind of cute watching Laios defend his own honor this way.

“I’ve been to brothels. Lots of very interesting women in brothels; their clients are fascinating too,” he said, keeping his tone as even and non-judgemental as possible. It was hardly a moral failing to be horny and want a very straightforward relationship: money for sex, no strings. It was more or less something he’d expect a military man to have done at least once, so it was more surprising if it took Namari dragging him for him to go.

“You went for the conversation? That sounds so sad, man,” Namari said. Kiki was scratching at her scalp, and the dwarf was relaxing into her. They were not going to be with them much longer.

“I mean, I had sex too, sometimes, if I wasn't really seeing anyone at the time.” But his defense fell on deaf ears.

Laios had lost interest in the conversation, likely around the time he realized the conversation was still on brothels, and he was now exploring the bushes. Namari and Kiki had also lost interest in the conversation and were lying back on the ground whispering to each other.

Kabru decided to join Laios in the bushes.

“Bug hunting?”

He nodded. He turned back to his work, turning his head this way and that, listening to the chirping of a nearby cricket.

“It’s a Melini field cricket. I think from this chirp, he’s probably found a mate and is trying to get her to come closer. You can tell because the chirping is so fast, with little rapid bursts of noise–way different from the courting song or their fighting songs–it almost sounds like applause.”

Kabru listened. It did almost sound like tiny hands clapping.

With a sigh, he asked, “So what do they taste like?”

“Nutty, like almonds! They’re really good roasted and salted, and they’re a good source of protein. But I’ve never tried them myself even though people do eat them…”

The puppy-dog eyes Laios cast him could only be asking one question.

“I’ll get you some, and we’ll try them together.”

Laios beamed at him, and then smothered him in a hug. Mercifully, Kabru’s face was pressed into his shoulder this time.

I did say he could hold me all he wanted .

He let him go to continue talking about the mating habits of the Melini field cricket. Kabru made the mistake of asking what an ovipositor was, and triggered an awful tangent about an appendage for laying eggs.

Suddenly, Kiki peeled herself off of Namari and stood up.

“I need to go find an outhouse,” she looked down at Namari and asked, “Walk with me?”

Namari rose to her feet and followed along, beet red and sweating buckets. They walked behind the treeline and disappeared. Kabru waited until the rustling had quieted before moving a little closer to Laios. If they were close enough to hear what he was about to say still, they deserved it.

“Laios, how come you never asked out Namari?” he asked quietly, but not whispering.

No increase in rustling. So maybe we won't hear them either.

Laios spat and choked like he’d swallowed a fishbone.

“Me and–No, no, it’s not like that! Not like that!”

Kabru softened his expression, trying to make him feel unjudged.

“I can tell that you were harboring feelings for her, and it seemed like she felt the same way. You have a lot of trust between you, too. Why not act on it?”

“I-I mean, sure we're good friends but. But it’d never work out. Especially not now…”

Kabru nodded.

“Yeah, it seems like she and Kiki are trying to get more serious in their relationship. Missed connection for you both.”

Laios' face screwed up in confusion.

“You saw them,” Kabru said, “Would you act like that with a platonic friend?”

He considered for a moment before answering.

“...No, I wouldn't.”

“So you were attracted to her?”

“Uh, I mean, I guess so? I don't know, I've never thought about it like that.”

Laios pulled his legs up to his chest. 

“You both seemed really into the arm wrestling.”.

He blushed.

“That's just–we just like to arm wrestle. That's not, like, sexual. How would that even be sexual?”

“By getting off to it?”

The line of conversation was becoming distressing to Laios. He was sweating and refusing to look at Kabru as he talked now.

“We weren't doing that. It's just… We just like to wrestle, it's fun. It's just for fun.”

“It’s okay for you to like her.”

It wasn't. Not really. She was all wrong for him, and Laios was right that they could never work it out. Doomed lover narratives were fascinating, but Kabru's love of a good story was not worth Laios getting his heart broken, nor breaking Kiki's and Namari's.

“It doesn't matter if I do or not if she's with Kiki.”

“You're right; I’ll drop it.”

They were silent for a minute. Maybe it was time to press the real issue.

“Marcille told me you got a letter from your father yesterday.”

He grunted, and curled up tighter.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Well, have you read it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn't have anything to say I wanna hear.”

“How do you know if you don't read it?”

“Because he's my dad! He’s going to ask me if I’m finally growing up and if I’m married and if my wife is pregnant yet.”

Kabru sat closer, almost shoulder to shoulder. What Laios was bringing up here had nothing to do with Falin. Did he realize that?

“Milsiril’s the opposite. She still thinks I’m going through puberty–she doesn't want me to grow up and she acts like me doing this–being your advisor and everything–that’s just a phase and one day I’ll decide to come home.”

“She wants you home, huh? I don't know if my dad wants me home or not.”

His eyes were blank, but his voice rang with distress. Kabru had never seen him cry, not really. He would weep for joy, he didn't mind crying over something silly, but if he said something unbelievably sad like ‘my dad may not want me home’, he would do so stony faced.

His pulse quickened at the thought of getting to see Laios cry, really cry, to him. Did anyone get to see him like that, broken down and in need?

“Why wouldn't he want you home?”

“All he ever cared about was that I got married and had kids to pass on the family line. That's it. Being king wouldn't matter that much to him.”

A soothing touch, he needed a soothing touch. Kabru rubbed his shoulder, and wondered if he’d want to be held right now.

“Laios, I think you should read the letter.”

Laios tried to choke out a protest, but Kabru kept talking.

“You don't have to reply to him, but I don't think you're going to just forget that he reached out and you were the one who ignored it. You want to reject him like he rejected you, but that isn't how it works. Stop imagining the things he might say and just deal with what he did.”

Laios turned sharply away from him.

“Laios! Don't be a coward–”

“I can't do it. I don't want to hear from him and I wish he just wouldn't fucking write me.”

It was risky, what Kabru was thinking of. It could come across as too intimate, but it felt like what Laios needed right now. And he wanted to. By god, did he want to.

Kabru scooched closer, pressed his head against Laios' shoulder, and crossed an arm over Laios' waist. Laios flinched, but didn't pull away.

“I’ll be with you when you read it, if it makes it easier.”

Just accept. Please just accept my help. I want to help you so badly.

“You’d do that?” 

His voice was choked. Kabru pulled him closer so they were side to side again.

“Of course, you're my friend. I know you need this.”

Laios turned his head towards him. Blonde lashes dark with tears framed his heavily lidded eyes and batted against reddened cheeks. His lips were swollen and pink from biting them to keep himself from crying. He was just so pretty like this, so pitiful and in need of comfort and so brave for seeking it when he wanted to be alone, it was hard not to kiss him. 

So, so hard.

Before he knew it, Kabru’s lips were pressed to Laios', soft and tender and slow. He could still taste liquor on their intermingled breath. It felt eternal, it couldn't end, it had to stretch forever, while he had the chance–but he pulled away after only a second. 

Laios was wide-eyed, confused. Those tear-heavy lashes blew them out even wider.

Shit. Why did I do that?!

“Sorry, I’ve had too much to drink, I was just going off impulse–”

Laios sat rigid, just watching as Kabru pulled himself away, desperate to put distance between them.

“Impulse to kiss me?”

“It's not a big deal, we just spend so much time with each other, it's natural to think about it–”

“About kissing me?”

Shit . Kabru stood up, trying to get level with Laios.

“I mean, surely you’ve thought about kissing me as well?”

“I don't think so, no–”

“Like it's normal for such closeness to get mixed up with one’s sex drive, regardless of what one really wants.”

“So you don't want to kiss me, you just think about it?”

Laios looked dead serious. The shock had worn off, and what was left was a complete determination to understand what in the hell Kabru was talking about. 

“Listen, we don't have to talk about this. Let's just forget it–I won't kiss you again.”

His eyebrows knit together. He considered for far too long.

“Okay. We don't have to talk about it.”

But he didn't look happy at all to put it behind them either.

“Back to your fathers letter then, how about we read it in the morning?” Kabru asked, cheerily.

Laios did not match his tone, but he seemed to be making the effort.

“If you're not too hungover.”

Chapter Text

You take drag from your joint, and exhale into the hazy cloud around you. It's late, and the courtyard is empty–just you in the garden. Alone with your thoughts.

You spend a lot of time alone with your thoughts, lately, because you see Kabru less and less. 

He’s in love.

 It's not with you.

You came to the island for him, you chose to stay in Melini for him, you wouldn't be anyone or anything if you hadn't had him when the elves took you. And he's in love with someone else.

Ain't life a bitch?

Think of anything else .

This garden is where many of the plants for your apothecary come from. The one you started because you wanted to stay close to Kabru, because you had nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. And now any time he talks to you, he brings up him . That reminds me of something Laios said, can you believe this dumb shit Laios did, do you want to join me and Laios for dinner? 

Damn it, I need to stop this.

You need to get over him. You have to get over him, whatever it takes. You already know what you wish he had the guts to say to your face: it’ll never be you. You’ll never make him sigh wistfully when he thinks of you, he’ll never get flustered telling you the truth about his feelings, he’ll never wake up in your bed asking you to stay in. He loves you, maybe, but never the way you want him to.

Suddenly, you realize you aren't alone–there's a rustle of brush and footsteps on the paving stones. You're too slow, you can't snuff out your joint or clear the air before someone catches you.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I was just taking a walk, I’ll leave!” Marcille says, scandal in her tone.

You don't like Marcille. She's a prissy little elf who acts like she knows fucking everything about magic, and worse, she nearly does. Certainly more than you. That she can wield black magic is probably half the reason the elves aren't invading this place (the other half being Laios might turn into a monster again and eat them one by one). 

The nerve to do black magic and be offended by weed.

“No, it's cool, come sit.”

She does what she's told. Maybe too caught off guard to do anything else. She sits on the stone bench as far from you as she can, and pointedly doesn't look at the lit joint between your fingers.

“Rough night?” you ask her. 

She looks like shit. Hair messy, robe quickly thrown over her nightgown. Tears stains all over her cheeks.

She doesn't answer for a while.

“...Yeah. A really rough night.”

You take another drag and blow the smoke towards her–not in her face, not enough that it's clear you're trying to, but just enough that it's sure to bother her. She coughs lightly and turns away. But she doesn't leave.

“What happened?” you ask. Show her a little interest as a reward for staying put. She'd have left if it wasn't what she was after.

She sighs, tries to talk only for her breath to hitch. She clears her throat and tries again.

“Falin sent me a letter. She isn't planning to be back for at least another year.”

How pathetic. Nearly hauled away to elven prison for who knows how many centuries, if not for life, and for a girl who was going to leave her. Maybe it's because Marcille is ugly for an elf, but maybe not, since she's pretty for a tallman. Maybe dragging someone back from the dead can't make them love you.

And so there's no hope for any of the unrequited lovers out there.

“Here,” you say, passing her the joint, careful to turn it around so she isn't awkwardly trying to grab the lit end, “You need it.”

You want to know if she'll obey again. You want her to feel soiled like you, and you hope she takes a hit and you hope she doesn't want to.

“Oh, I-I've never…”

You bring it to her lips, not letting them touch the filter just yet.

“I can show you.”

Her skin is so warm and flushed from crying that you can feel the heat of her even through your gloves. It makes you want to run your fingers over her lips, let her feel the soft leather, and then come in and bite down on the soft flesh. Just to see what she'd do. 

I feel like shit.

She accepts your invitation. She pouts her lower lip, opening her mouth just slightly, and takes it. Virginal but willing, she looks at you expectantly, awaiting further orders. She’s holding her breath.

“Breathe through your mouth. Inhale… slower. And, exhale…”

She starts coughing, hard. Uncapping it as you do, you hand her your waterskin.

“Drink up. Everyone coughs like a bitch the first time.”

Greedily she drinks. For that, you'll make sure she smokes the rest. You didn't want to sleep anyways. You still accept it when she passes it back to you.

“Did Falin find someone else?” you ask.

Barely able to speak after her fit and nearly drowning herself, she says, “No, no–I mean, it's complicated. What we have is complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“It’s um, well it's an open relationship–she sees other women while she's away.”

“And you don't?”

She looks down at her feet.

“No, but I could.”

What a sorry mess.

She’s so fucking pathetic that it makes you sick, and you don't want to see it anymore. 

“So she won't mind this…”

You pull from the joint, holding your breath. In one hand, you grab her jaw, pressing your fingers into her round cheeks, and lean in. You press your lips to hers and exhale the smoke into her mouth. You release her and draw away, but she's frozen in place. Smoke leaks from her still-open lips.

You twirl your hair around your finger.

Slowly she unfreezes and processes what you've just done. 

You don't know what's going on in her head, but you know what's in yours. You’ve helped her out from time to time when she needed an extra hand for casting, or when she needed a potion she couldn't make. You’ve taken a lot of monster organs and bones off hers and Laios' hands to use and sell in your apothecary. You’ve shared meals with her and been polite but never nice. You’ve probably seen more of her than Falin has these last two years–and if you get her naked, you definitely will have. 

She’s so lonely that you can feel it.

I’m so fucking lonely.

She stands up suddenly.

“I should go–”

“Stay,” you bark. You don't touch her, just give her a command. She stops, but is still poised to leave.

You keep talking, “Forget about her tonight. Smoke with me.”

She does what she's told. Goody-two-shoes, afraid to disappoint. When she gets back on the bench, she sits close. You could bring her into your lap, or climb into hers. 

You don't. But you could.

Instead, you pass the joint back and forth, barely talking. You caress her hand, her hair, her cheek, her lower lip, through your gloves. The soft leather makes her hum with delight as she gets higher. You kiss her again, and now she leans into you, mouth open and waiting. You shove your tongue in her throat and she moans around it. 

You keep your gloves on, all your clothes on, as you pull open her robe to fondle her breasts. She wriggles, insisting someone could see, but you're unmoved.

“No one is ever out here this late but me.”

She doesn't seem satisfied, but she lets you keep going. You’ve never done anything like this before, but you feel like you know what to do. You’ve imagined enough how you want Kabru to touch you, how you imagine he touches those other girls. You wonder if he’s fucking Laios already and hasn’t told you, or if he’s pining silently for someone he shouldn’t even want.

You kiss Marcille harder. You draw away to let her breathe and kiss her neck, her jaw, the lobe of her ear as you knead the soft flesh of her breasts. You’re so focused on what you’ll do to her that it takes you off-guard when she grabs your shoulder and pushes you away.

But she doesn’t let go. She doesn’t push you off of her.

With her free hand, she sweeps away your hair until it's out of your face and over your shoulder. She lowers her face to your neck and pecks at it so gently that it tickles. Your body reflexively tenses. 

This wasn’t the script.

She pulls back to look you in the face. She’s smiling.

“I’d like to lead from here, if that’s okay? You were moving a little fast for me,” she asks. This is like a sick joke.

You don’t know what the hell to say, or what to do. 

“Sure.”

Marcille kisses you again, lips soft against yours, as she pulls away a glove.

“H-hey!”

You snatch back your hand. But she just reaches for it again, eyes on you, dopey smile on her stupid fucking face.

“You’ll like it better if you can feel me too.”

She peels it away, leaving you exposed. She threads her fingers through yours. She gets to have her way with you. And you don’t know what to do except to let her.

Chapter Text

The next morning, he was indeed pretty hung over. Laios and Kabru had barely said a word to each other after that–between the looming twin dreads of the kiss and the letter, it was impossible to discuss anything else and both topics were firmly off the table. Doubly so once Kiki and Namari returned from their roll in the shrubbery. At least they sensed the tension between them and pretended to want to go home so the two of them wouldn't have to make an excuse.

Even the ride back was mostly silent, which meant there was little to do but mull over the evening. Why the hell did he kiss Laios? Even when he’d been actively having those dreams where Laios was his girlfriend while they’d been sharing a tent for a couple months, he’d never felt the desire to lean over and try to kiss him in the waking world, no matter what liberties he took with a girl-Laios in his dreams. And those dreams always featured a woman who he knew to be Laios in the way that a dreamer always understands illogical things, but on waking she never bore more than a passing resemblance to his friend.

Was it just the liquor then? Just drunk enough to think of something stupid he’d never want sober? Maybe, but in his experience, drunkenness only brings forth desires you always carry but normally have too much sense to act on or are buried under layers of fear.

It could've made him lower his standards, though. Except… He didn't want to kiss him just because he was horny and he looked hotter through the bottom of the bottle. He looked pretty, sure, but mostly he had looked pathetic and like he just needed the company. It felt like the right thing to do for him. 

Did he just want to be closer to Laios? That had to be it. He’s wanted that for ages, and he finally opens up about something to him, he cries in front of Kabru , the ultimate show of vulnerability, so of course with everything else going on, his feelings simply got muddled and confused. Kabru would bet he doesn’t cry in front of Marcille no matter how many issues he takes to her first. 

Yes, that had to be it: seeing him cry simply affirmed the importance of their friendship and his body simply reacted to that feeling of closeness. It was such a chaste kiss, anyways–he’s kissed Rin with more passion than that, and she looked like a fishman at the time, too. Just a simple, mechanical, alcohol-induced, completely sexless kiss…

And maybe that would’ve been the end of it if his subconscious hadn’t decided to give its input as well. His sleep that night was fitful and haunted by Laios’ pillowy tits and soft, blonde hair, and those pink lips that he would kiss over and over while Laios cried his name.

‘Kabru, I’m so close…’ she moaned. He could feel his fingers inside her, tight around him. Sweat-soaked blonde hair clung to her forehead. He straddled her thigh, with the other leg slung over his shoulder, the sensitive inside of her knee pressed against his cheek. He ground against her leg as he thrust his fingers into her, all the time watching those honey-colored eyes. 

‘Kabru, please…’

“Kabru, please open this damn door!”

He woke to Yaad pounding at his door in time with the throbbing in his skull and between his thighs. Never had he ever been so grateful to have been born without a penis as he was at that moment while he was throwing on clothes to answer the door to his furious mentor while Laios’ moaning was still echoing in his mind. If he had to conceal a hard-on in addition to all this, he might’ve chosen to fling himself from the window instead.

“I cannot believe you, Kabru! My pupil, my own chosen successor, doing something so reckless! I know you know better–are you hungover right now?! Good, maybe the pain will be a lesson to you while you do your work today. Unbelievable… I could’ve gone to dust while you were merry-making with our heirless king, and you both could’ve been attacked by an assassin or a common ruffian while you two were drunk and the entire kingdom would be…”

Yaad carried on this way all through the early morning and only gave it a rest when he realized he could not chew out Kabru and Laios and chew his food at the same time. He didn’t pick back up after breakfast, but Kabru knew he would not be dropping it any time soon. He coldly reminded them that the leader of the Khaka Brud delegation would be out visiting a relative, so their meetings would resume tomorrow.

“And you two better be well-prepared! That Lady Granite isn’t going to give us an inch if we can’t give her something Khaka Brud wants!”

With that warning, Yaad left them be for the day. They had been working rather diligently putting together proposals, projected counter-counter-proposals, deal sweeteners, and far more for weeks. Kabru had also tried digging up any dirt he could on Lady Granite, but she was squeaky clean: no connections to the underground, no scandals in her close family, not even a wayward son with a gambling addiction. No personal leverage that could make her change her mind that Khaka Brud not only shouldn’t pay anything for the connecting road, but that Melini still owed compensation, in particular to her clan for the loss of access to sand bars for her paving business. If there was any information he could use, it hadn’t leaked. That “distant relative” could yield fruit, but there was nothing more he could do about it yet.

In short, they’ve prepared all they could to meet with her tomorrow. Until they knew for sure what her counter-proposal was going to be, there was no point in continuing to fret over it. What was forefront on Kabru’s mind then was Laios–their negotiations might run more smoothly if the king didn’t look like he didn’t want to be there.

After lunch, Kabru dragged Laios to his study to read that letter together. Laios argued every inch of the way, and kept trying to weasel out of it even when Kabru shut the door behind him and ushered him to a plush chair in the corner.

Laios tried to rise from his seat, saying, “You don’t have to do this, Kabru, it’s messy family stuff, I should just read it alone.”

“Nope, sit back down, we are reading this letter,” Kabru chided him, shoving him back into his seat, “And we’re doing it together like I promised you.”

Laios’ study was well furnished: a wooden table serving as a desk sat in the center, and a second armchair sat empty beside the one Kabru had Laios trapped in, close to the shelves that lined most of the wall space. He had a large number of reference tomes he’d acquired, bookended by scale models of various monsters and a few preserved remains from his dissected specimens: bleached big bat bones, a pearl centipede in formaldehyde, the tooth of a wyrm, etc. It was Kabru’s second least favorite room in the castle, behind Laios’ dissection room, of course (the cooking staff no longer allowed him to conduct them in the kitchen, no matter if they would be cooking the thing later or not). Laios’ bedchamber, while much less creepy, was strictly off-limits after that dream this morning, so he would just have to make do.

“But I’m hungry, I’d rather do this on a full stomach,” Laios pleaded but to no avail. Kabru firmly kept him in place in his lounge chair with his free hand. Laios was stronger than Kabru on brute force and bodily inertia, but they both knew who would win in a real fight, and this was nowhere near a real fight.

“You're always hungry and you just ate. Sit.”

Angry, he finally sat still and glared at the letter in Kabru's other hand. Carefully, he took his hand off Laios' chest to open the envelope, conscious that Laios could try to make a break for it and just bowl past him. 

There was only one page, with a short two paragraphs. The script looked a lot like Laios' did, typical of parents who had taught their children to write, but even more economized–truly a feat next to Laios' impressively tidy book-keeping. The strokes were short and sharp and extremely clear while staying as small as possible.

Kabru cleared his throat and began to read.

“King Touden,

Congratulations on achieving such a high position. Falin mentioned that you had not yet found a wife. Though your status is much higher than mine, as your father I am responsible for ensuring you fulfill your duties as a man and a leader. As chief, I must insist that you honor your obligations to your village and consider taking some of the eligible daughters of the local men as consorts if not queens. 

If it suits your majesty, please arrange a visit to your home post-haste. I would be willing to make the journey to your kingdom if you do not need to meet marriage candidates in person. I will carry necessary information of a select few for your review, and I will stay as a guest of the castle if it so pleases you.

Sincerely,

Chief Touden.”

What a prick.

Kabru kept his voice and demeanor as pleasant as he could, in an attempt to make it sting less for Laios. But he knew that the words were all that really mattered to him. 

It wasn't clear how much he'd actually heard–he was staring blankly down at the ground, elbows on his knees, slouched over, and didn't respond when Kabru had finished. Kabru was about to stir him when he looked up and nearly growled, “I’m not going there and he’s not coming here.”

Laios' hands were clenched together like he was trying to break his own fingers. This level of intensity is rare for Laios–Kabru couldn't remember seeing him like this: even that time way back when he fought with Toshiro, he hadn't been angry like this.

Kabru frowned in sympathy, and spoke in a low, even, soothing tone. 

“I wouldn't make you.”

He lowered his hackles just a bit. 

Letter returned to the desk, Kabru brushed Laios' hair out of his face. It had gotten long–he’d been talking about growing it out for better magic control. But he always changed his mind when it got about here, where it started to lay down over his neck. It was a shame, really: Kabru thought the long hair might suit him. Maybe bring out those lovely cheekbones and better frame those heavy-lidded eyes.

Despite himself, Laios leaned into the touch. His face remained a sneer, eyes cast to the floor, even as he was tilting his head to try and guide Kabru to keep combing his hair with his fingers. 

“I just don't want to see him. Why even bother to send something like that?”

Indulging his want for physical contact seemed to be the best way to calm him, and his hair was so soft.

“I know, first time you hear from him in years, and he hounds you about being single,” he sighs. Kabru scratched at his scalp, just lightly grazing the skin with his nails. 

“Right?! And what's this about my ‘duty as a man’? Why does being a man mean I have to make some girl be my wife?”

“He hardly invented that notion though–you are eventually going to have to get married and have an heir.”

Laios jumped away from Kabru's hand.

“Don't you start too. I get enough of it from Yaad and my stupid father,” he snarled. 

It seems like his anger at his father has a lot more to do with marriage than it does with Falin. Is his parents' marriage that unhappy? Is it something to do with his own arranged marriage that fell through as a boy? 

“You know I’m working as hard as I can on alternate succession laws, but you don’t come from an established dynasty who can bend those traditions without losing prestige. You will have to put aside what you're feeling and just do it–it is your responsibility as a king.”

That made him livid. He shot up from his seat and stared down Kabru, golden eyes squinted and teeth bared. 

“I don't want to hear it right now, Kabru!” 

“That's the reality you live in, Laios! You're king, and you have to take a wife and sire heirs!”

His face was red and tears stung his eyes. He crouched and snarled like a dog that meant to bite.

Good, get angry. Tell me what’s going on!

“Back. Off.”

“No. I won't back off unless you tell me what's really bothering you about all this,” Kabru said. He jabbed a finger in Laios' chest, refusing to let him speak yet.

“I’m your fucking friend, and I can't help you unless I know what this is really about! If anyone asks why you hate your father enough to refuse to talk to him for over a decade , you just tell them about Falin! ‘He let Falin down, he didn't protect Falin.’ If that were the truth, you’d have reconciled for Falin's sake : it's what she fucking wants and you know it! So what is it really that you hate him for? Why does he trigger in you a hatred for the whole concept of getting married? Fucking tell me !”

By the end, Kabru was panting from how worked up he’d gotten. Laios looked more like a cornered animal than ever–tears had fallen down his cheeks and he refused to look at Kabru now. His arms were crossed over his waist, holding himself tight. For comfort? To keep himself from getting in a fight? 

As Kabru caught his breath, Laios got his chance to flee. He pushed past him, running for the door, and shouting as he left.

“I fucking know I’m a failure as a man, just leave me alone!”

Kabru watched him leave, not even bothering to slam the door behind him in his hurry to put as much distance between them as possible.

Son of a bitch, I really might’ve fucked this one up.

Chapter Text

You wait in the garden, and hope to see her again. You're smoking, and you rolled an extra couple of joints so you could share them with her longer.

Marcille .

It's stupid, completely stupid, how much you don't like her. She's too smart, too uptight, too… too… Something. You’ll find something. 

The other night, after she took off your gloves, she put your hands to her breasts while she slipped her hand under your dress. Her skin had been so soft, and you could feel the little goosebumps from the slight chill of the night air where she’d been exposed. Her hands had worked diligently under your skirt. Sitting here, it's like you can feel her fingers rubbing against your folds again. She made you cum, and then she did it again, and she didn't let you touch her back.

“That's just too fast for me,” she had said, but what kind of reason is that? You were trying to embarrass her, make her need you, and instead she made you want her . And you want her again. But at least if you're thinking about her, then you aren't thinking about–

“Hey, Rin, I thought you'd be out here,” Kabru calls from just beyond the garden wall. He hops the gate and sits next to you on the bench.

You still love him. You can't help it.

You hand him one of the spare joints and take a drag of your own.

“Mooch,” you say on exhale.

“I didn't even ask,” he complains, holding the filter to his lips.

“Yet. Smoke your free joint.”

He points to the unlit end, and with a tilt of his head and a wink, he asks, “Mind lighting it for me?”

He knows how, he just never wants to if you can work a spell for him. 

You cross your thumb and your index finger just under the tip and say the incantation. A small flame starts to flicker there in the crux, casting warm light over Kabru’s brown skin. It makes his eyes sparkle like gemstones. You watch as he puffs on his joint until it catches.

You shake your fingers to dispel as he takes a long pull. He exhales and begins coughing. 

“Haha, you baby,” you tease, “you cough like fucking Mickbell.”

He hacks and tries to stay composed.

“I don't, he’s so much worse. Remember when he threw up because he tried to hit a bong for ten seconds straight?”

“Yeah, he threw up in my bong . He still owes me for that, by the way.”

You want him to say he’ll remind him, he’ll ask about it, something to help you out.

“You should invoice him–say you’re a debt collector.”

“You do it. You told him he could survive that hit.”

He laughed.

It’s stupid to feel hurt by that. So you don't. You just remember it alongside every other time you’ve asked him for something and been dismissed.

“You’ll die if I don’t go with you,” you had told him when he revealed he meant to leave adventuring, to stop any dungeon he came across. The thought of him leaving the country without you was terrifying–who could you talk to there among the elves? You only ever talked to Kabru, only ever hugged him, only ever cared about him.

“I think I could just hire a mage, Rin,” he said with a laugh, as if there was anything funny about it.

“What, I’m supposed to let you run off with some magic school graduate who only knows how to cast the way her spellbooks taught her?” 

“I’d be sure to hire a professional,” he says.

You couldn’t–you can’t – stomach the thought of him leaving you behind, running away free while you rotted in the west.

“Like hell you will. I’m going.”

He smiles at you–that charming smile that he thinks will get him everything.

“I wasn’t stopping you, Rin.”

But he should’ve been begging you to go with him, to help him, to be with him.

You take a drag and try to shake off your memories.

He came out here for a reason. You notice he’s clearly got something on his mind. He doesn't join you for a smoke just because he wants to smoke all your weed, he does it because he knows you're chattier when you're high, more likely to put up with whatever drama he’s managed to involve himself in when he's away from you.

“Whatever it is you're out here for, spill.”

His shoulders slump, just a half an inch.

“I think I may’ve really messed things up with Laios.”

Of course.

Of course!

Of fucking course it's Laios! Why even bother asking? 

You twirl your hair around your finger as he unloads his sorry tale: a ‘meaningless’ drunken kiss, a man with daddy issues, and Kabru's foot shoved firmly in his own mouth. You both smoke as he tries to explain himself to you.

“Yeah, that sounds like it’s your fault he's pissed off with you.”

“I know,” he whined, head in his hands, “Could you at least say something helpful?”

“Like what? You kissed him and then told him he has to go get married the next morning. It’s not even a secret he hates the idea either.”

Kabru doesn't get to drag you along with him this time. You won't allow it. He can suffer this alone.

“I just… I don't know how to make it clear how I feel about him.”

“Do you even know? Like, really? Who would believe you kissed him for no reason?”

Like when you kissed me.

You could still remember the way it had felt under the illusion: cold wet fish lips against your own with the confusing sensation of warmth and softness underneath. You didn’t ever want to talk about it with him, but it nagged at you every once in a while–why was that his first idea to stop the chant?

He takes a puff, not looking at you. The joint is burned near to the filter now.

“You're right–I keep thinking if only he were a girl . Like that would make it make sense. It's like he can't really trust me, but if he were like me , maybe he would? Like if he were trans too? It's stupid.”

“Yeah, it is,” you agree, “Maybe he can't trust you because you kiss him one night and tell him it's his job to go get someone pregnant the next morning. You’re a fucking cocktease, Kabru.”

He pulls at his hair, clearly distressed. Finally, he looks at you.

“What should I do to make this up to him?”

You don't want to be here anymore. You're so fucking done with this. What do you care, if it’ll never, ever be you he wants? Why should you try for him when he won't just tell you the one thing you want to hear: I’m in love and it isn't with you.  

But you still want him to be happy. There’s no future with a king: just a long-winded and sorry affair. It’s best you rip the bandage off for him.

“Maybe just ignore it. It's a weird crush, and it’ll pass if you stop doing stupid things like kissing him. He probably doesn't want to talk about it either. You’ll get another girlfriend, he’ll get a wife, and you’ll both forget about it.”

You stub your joint and pocket the third you rolled. You rise from the bench and walk past him, giving him one more parting word.

“Fix this problem yourself.”

He sighs.

“Thanks, Rin.”

You vow to never listen to him talk about Laios again.

Chapter Text

One night while we shared a tent, I couldn't sleep. It was just one of those nights where the past haunts me, where monsters tear at flesh when I close my eyes. Desperate to put myself back in torpor, I rooted around for a flask that wasn't there–my whiskey that had been left behind at our last campsite without my notice. The reforestation project had been going so well but so strangely with the trees sprouting up overnight, and we changed camps so quickly that it was so easy to lose small things like that.

All my rustling and whispered curses woke you. You rolled over to your side and looked up at me, concerned.

‘Can't sleep?’

‘It’s… I keep dreaming about Utaya again. I think it's how hot and humid it is tonight–it’s just making me think of it somehow when I fall asleep. And I can't find my flask.’

Tentative, you put your hand on my forearm, unsure how close to get.

‘It’ll cool off before dawn. I’ll stay up with you.’

‘You shouldn't, I’ll manage on my own.’

Slowly you shook your head.

‘No, you need the company. Lay down with me and we'll talk until you fall asleep.’

Our eyes met while I decided if I’d accept and you contemplated offering more. You resolved before I did this time. You opened up your covers to invite me in.

‘You could lie next to me if it would help you sleep,’ you said, glancing away. 

I wasn’t sure at the time about getting so close. But I accepted. I did want someone next to me, and I trusted you, so I crawled in beside you, pulling my pillow with me. We didn’t quite touch, but I could feel the warmth of you on my bare skin, the brush of your linen shirt as you adjusted your position to give me enough space. There was a mere inch between our bodies.

Next to you, the last of the fear from my nightmare left me, and I started to calm down, as if having you there next to me grounded me and reminded me I was no longer a child who had just lost everything.

‘Could you tell me a story? Maybe one from when you were a kid?’ I asked, hoping that if I knew more about where you were from from your own lips, I could add another piece to the puzzle I’ve made of you. You pouted, thinking of something to tell me.

‘I’m not a great storyteller,’ you said, ‘I don't know if it'd be any good.’

You tossed your arms behind your head, your shirt loose around your neck. I wanted to move the lacing that lay over your throat, but didn't want to come off too forward, not when I was already in your bedroll.

‘Just tell me your favorite.’

That lace fell away on its own as you turned to me. Your eyes looked richer in the dark, a deep brown that turned to honey again as it caught the light. It felt more intense when you looked at me, and I liked that–like all your thoughts were on me.

‘I guess it's almost fall, so I could tell you the taín.’

‘The tawn ?’

‘Yeah, it means cattle raid. You're only supposed to tell it when the nights get long, that's what my grandma said.’

I hadn't heard about your grandmother before. I hadn't heard you mention words specific to your home before either. I’ve been greedy, haven't I? I want so badly to crawl inside your head, to lovingly caress every fold of your brain until I can read all the secrets therein, that I forget sometimes that I need to let you open up when you’re ready. 

Before I could derail with all the things I wanted to ask, you start your tale.

‘There was a woman-king named Mauve–’

‘A woman-king? Is that the same as a queen?’

You shrugged.

‘I guess. I think it's an old word too, supposed to mean she owns the kingdom and not her husband. So we call her Queen Mauve sometimes, but her title’s Woman-King. Anyway, Mauve was having a fight with her husband over who was richer and they did their book-keeping and he had one bull more than her, everything else they had was the same.’

You paused and furrowed your brow, a little pout on your lips as you looked up to the side, as if scouring your memory.

‘Shit, I’m supposed to start with the bull. Should I start over?’

I didn't tell you I meant to make you recite it over and over each autumn already. You would have so much time to get it right.

‘Just tell me about the bull and keep going.’

You propped yourself up on your elbow so you could talk with your hands, even though it was so dark I could barely see your gestures. You always forget what other people can see, but I didn't mind. I like knowing you're excited to tell me.

‘The bull wasn't a normal bull: he was a monster bull. A long, long time ago: he was a man, and he was friends with another man. They were both shepards, and I forget why but one day they got in a fight–a really bad fight. They meant to kill each other, but they were true equals and neither could overpower the other so they just kept changing shape from men into wolves and then into stags and into eels and they kept going like that, fighting and changing until they were bulls and they forgot to keep fighting. 

‘And one of them was in Queen Mauve's husband's herd–he was a huge, angry beast. They said two men could stand on either end of his back and kick a ball back and forth, if they could survive meeting it in the first place. Mauve didn't want a bull that nasty, so she gave him to her husband and then he had one more bull than she did.’

‘And what about the other bull? Where is he?’

‘I’m getting there! So Mauve hears about this real nasty bull in the county over, just as bad as the one in her husband's herd and… I’m forgetting some parts, I think.’

‘That’s okay, just tell me what you remember.’

You were an awful storyteller, but I was enjoying it so much just hearing you try. Just because I asked. Because you wanted me to calm down so I could sleep.

‘Okay, so, Some stuff happens and she decides to go take the bull by force in a cattle raid. She thinks it’ll be easy because all the adult men in the army there are cursed with the pains of childbirth for 9 days every time they have to fight, which means they only have one warrior, a boy too young to grow hair on his chin.’

‘Wait, why are they cursed like that?’

‘Their king made the war goddess, Maka, race against his horses while she was pregnant and she miscarried or something like that; it's a different story.

‘But that boy was called The Hound. He was a beastman–he would transform into a huge hound in battle and he was unstoppable. He cut down half of Mauve’s army in one night. She asked him to switch to single-combat and I guess he was tired because he agreed as long as she only advanced her army while he was still fighting, and only one fight a day…’

You kept telling the story poorly, and I kept interrupting to get the details from you and make you tell me about your home so I could try to contextualize all the things you forgot I didn’t just grow up knowing. You had to keep circling back to say things like ‘Oh, right, half of the band The Hound was in broke off to join Mauve before the story starts so his foster father and foster brothers are all in Mauve's army fighting him,’ just to make the story make sense. You spent a very long time describing The Hound’s transformation into a dog and all his strange features (‘He has one eye that shrinks down into his head and the other grows large and wild, and his fangs…’).

But you did eventually tell me how The Hound fought against his brother in arms, his best friend, for three days and three nights of treating it like a game until he finally slew him and went mad in grief. You told me how Mauve had bargained her daughter's hand to keep men fighting against the Hound as she closed in on the bull. How she finally got it and brought it home after nearly everyone had died, only for it to see it's match, to remember it's anger, and to kill the other bull and die itself. How it ends with Mauve’s daughter dead, a rift between her and her husband, and a boy too young to grow hair on his chin swallowed up by grief on an empty battlefield.

‘That’s really sad.’

‘Yeah, a lot of the stories back home end sad. Probably because it sucks to live there.’

There was one last thing I want to know:

‘Who are you supposed to root for?’

You hum, trying to decide.

‘As a kid, I always wanted The Hound to win: he was cool and strong and I wanted to be like him. But now, I kind of just think about how much I want Mauve to be able to give up.’

‘It's not about hubris to you?’

‘Not really. Other stories tell us about how generous and kind she can be, but she's the king. If she quits the war while she still can win, no one will respect her anymore, and all her sons and daughters will lose what they have from her, and that daughter who died would die for nothing. Her whole clan would lose face. She had one moment of pride and it gets paid for in blood. The Hound didn't have that kind of responsibility in the end, he was free to leave–he was still a boy, and everyone in his band he fought begged him to just stand down. But Mauve… once she’d started, she couldn’t just quit.’

I know what you're trying to say.

‘You're a good king, Laios. I won't let you go cattle raiding, okay?’

You laugh. I don't think you mean to, but you bat your eyes at me. 

‘Thanks, Kabru. Maybe if Mauve’s husband had been kinder like you, she never would’ve gone either.’

You squeezed my hand without thinking about it first, then shied away and let me go. 

That was the first time I thought of kissing you. I pushed it away so fast that I didn't really remember it, but I do now. I thought of you as a woman-king and wondered what it would be like if you were, and I thought that I would surely want to kiss you. I thought how I could protect you, how I wanted to be true equals with you, how you would protect me. 

I wanted to kiss you then. I want to kiss you now. I just want to crawl under the covers with you, and close that inch-wide chasm between us. I want your skin against mine. I want to hear you talk to me, telling me a story badly and laughing with me when I tease you.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

Chapter Text

“If Melini wants our assistance with your road, the trade needs to be worth it. I fail to see what’s so objectionable about Lord Aragon’s proposed fishing quota.”

Lady Granite had not budged, just as Kabru had been ranting about over tea that very morning. It seemed to Marcille that Laios’ bad mood had been catching, and now Kabru was just as antsy and wound up as Laios was lethargic and withdrawn. When she asked him what was wrong, he’d gotten up and started pacing.

“What’s wrong is that Khaka Brud has no intent to strike a deal–they’ve sent us a negotiator who doesn’t negotiate. My reconnaissance hasn’t turned up any useful leverage, and she’s just going to ask for something unreasonable and we’re going to have to either accept some absurd condition or we’re going to look like a demanding nation of children when she goes home to tell them we refused her,” he’d said as he wore grooves into the stone.

Their timid environmental advisor tried to cut in, “Lord Aragon, our fisheries are delicate, and those quotas–”

“Those quotas are what Khaka Brud was fishing before Melini swallowed our coast,” Lady Granite shouted, “and we depend on those fish to feed our people. Melini is a brand new country, led by an unwed and heirless king who will only live at best a few more decades. If Melini can't provide what we ask, how can we trust…”

Marcille was in far over her head–she had little interest in fisheries and trade, and her opinion was hardly being sought anyway. Aside from Laios occasionally asking for a magical input, (“Yes, we could enchant a carriage for cold storage, and it would keep fish fresh so long as the road is well-paved. No, the high mana levels means undergrowth is too fast to maintain simple dirt roads.”) she didn't really need to be here. On occasion she would second something Laios had to say in defense of the ecologists they’d brought to advise on the delicate fisheries and what species would be safe to fish and which were adapting too well and had to be fished to allow the ecosystems to re-establish in the long term, but it didn’t change the course of this draining meeting. The points where she wanted to speak, such as pointing out how much can change in a decade or asking certain dwarves to please be respectful of her short-lived companions, she hardly felt welcome.

She stood there to Laios’ left side, listening to their advisors and the Khaka Brud delegates talk in circles for two hours while everyone got increasingly antsy. It was boring. Her mind wandered as the argument droned on.

Another year or more before I can see Falin. The lonesome feeling that had been wearing at her for so long came and washed over her again.

Falin held her tight, whispering that she would come back, always come back to her. There was no road she could take that wouldn’t lead back to Marcille.

“I can give you something to remember me by, Marcille, so you always know how much I love you,” she cooed in Marcille’s ear, the heavily slicked tip of her strap-on pressing at Marcille’s anus and her fingers wrapped around Marcille’s feminine member, her thumb rubbing gently over the head.

She had pressed it in so slowly, the taper of it perfectly stretching her–

Marcille shook her head like it would clear away her dirty thoughts. It was the middle of the afternoon, still a couple of hours before dinner, and she was still trapped in this miserable meeting. 

But all the same, that dildo with the slow taper molded of dyed pink rubber waited for her up in the drawer of her nightstand next to a bottle of oil and an erotica novel. When she felt lonely, she’d pull it out and touch herself–and by the end, she usually just felt lonelier.

“Any girl you see while I’m away… I just want you to ask her to use that on you when she makes love to you. You’ll remember me, and I can be happy that someone is taking care of you.”

She'd never asked another woman to use it on her. Just the thought had made her miss Falin so badly that any desire for anyone else evaporated. Since that night with Rin though, she had thought about it. Often.

It was like she could still feel that leather caressing her breasts. They hadn't gone much farther than that because Marcille was nervous about coming out so suddenly, but she had wanted to. There was a voice deep inside her that called for her to run upstairs and grab that dildo and harness and bring it to Rin and beg for her to put it inside her, and it hadn't shut up all week. 

Rin had this dark mystery to her, so easily flustered by something like taking off her gloves but coolly exposing Marcille's breasts in public and treating her so roughly… She wasn't like Falin, so little like Falin that Marcille didn't think about her at all when Rin touched her. When Rin had been with her, all her focus had been on how mysterious Rin seemed and how good it felt to be handled like that.

Goodness gracious, Marcille, you're at work!

“All day, you’ve been talking over my ecological advisors when they tell you those quotas are impossible to meet if we mean to sustain the ecosystem just now establishing itself on the coast. If Khaka Brud won't pay for the road unless we commit to destroying ourselves, then there can be no trade agreement. We’re done for today.”

The King of the Golden Country made an unceremonious exit from the hall to the outrage of the Khaka Brud delegates and the simmering rage of his own court of advisors.

Seems Laios had finally had enough of the back-and-forth. Ever since he got that letter from his father, his patience had been so thin that it seemed liable to snap. The morning he’d received it, he’d been sorting through his letters before getting ready the same way she did: if there was something from Falin, they needed to read it before doing anything else that day. It was harder to miss her when they’d heard from her.

She’d gone to visit him for a little tea and chat as she often did before breakfast, only to find him at his desk, in his bed clothes, staring at an envelope with his father’s name on it. It was honestly shocking to see him undone that way: Laios was so steadfast and determined that even knowing how much he detested his father hadn't prepared her for how hard it obviously was to hear from the man. She’d had to usher him into getting dressed and coming downstairs for breakfast, more or less dragging him along at the end because he was so sluggish and unresponsive. It wasn't a problem he could solve, or even wanted to, and that unmoored him. 

It had been a few days now–had he finally read it? 

“We’ll reconvene for business in the morning after breakfast,” Yaad called out over the squabbling delegation, “I suggest you consider Melini’s offers and the patience of His Majesty and come to a decision swiftly.” 

And so the meeting was over, and the rest of the Melini court left. Marcille hurried out to catch up with Laios, who was surely already talking to Kabru. They’d gotten close, and it was nice seeing Laios making friends with a boy his own age, so she often left them to it (much of what Kabru had to talk about was business anyhow, and she preferred talking about the castle drama with Kabru alone) but she really needed the company the way her head was swimming with thoughts of Falin and Rin and the guilt creeping inside her chest.

She spotted them as she rounded the corner, but something wasn't quite right. Normally Kabru would be chewing Laios out for walking out while the two of them moved towards one of their quarters or the stables or wherever they were planning to spend the afternoon hours. But instead they were standing apart, with none of their usual closeness. No hand on Laios’ arm or finger in his face, just both arms behind his back, speaking quietly. 

By the time Marcille approached, they’d come to the end of their very quick conversation.

“Hello, Marcille, I was just telling Laios I’ll be staying behind to make sure our guests are ready to deliver their final offer by morning,” Kabru said, perfectly polite and cheery, “I’ll see you both later.”

And then he left.

“They’ll be deliberating in there for hours–what’s gotten into him?” Marcille asked Laios.

He grimaced. He started petting the wolf’s head on his cloak.

“What did you do to Kabru, Laios?” she asked with firm and matronly displeasure.

“Can we talk about this in your room or something? It's embarrassing.”

She let him lead them up to her quarters where he slumped onto her sofa and groaned.

Marcille sighed deeply.

“Okay, what's going on?”

“We got in a fight about the succession thing.”

Hardly a new point of contention, but Kabru generally sided with Laios against Yaad and certainly the other advisors who insisted on his getting married to produce an heir as fast as possible. Yaad meant well in trying to ensure Laios’ reign was secure, but Marcille personally couldn’t stomach the thought of Laios being pushed into a political marriage and having children he doesn’t really want, even for the country’s sake. He was still just Laios, the same Laios she’s known for years, and it was still hard for her to see him as a king who had to give up certain freedoms in exchange for power.

Kabru certainly thought it a waste to consolidate power in a single bloodline when they had a chance to do something differently. It was unfortunately a really unpopular sentiment–everyone believed if Laios were permitted to adopt an heir as Kabru was lobbying for, he’d choose a kobold or an orc to inherit. That thought was just too extreme for the more conservative of their court, even if they knew well enough to hold their tongues about orc dignitaries in their version of formal wear hanging around the castle.

“You know he's doing what he can about those laws–”

“I know! But he said it’s still my responsibility if he can't get support for them, and my dad’s letter was basically the same thing, how I have a duty to father children with a wife, and I got so mad …”

Marcille gasped.

“Did you get in a fight?!”

“No! I just... Ran away. And told him to leave me alone.”

Knowing Kabru, it probably would've been less hurtful if they’d gotten in a fist fight.

Marcille sighed.

“I know you hate hearing it, but he was just being honest,” Marcille told him.

“I know but… I don't know, this is all so complicated, I don't even know where to start. It feels worse when it’s him saying it,” Laios groaned.

She plopped down on the ground beside where he lay on the couch and rested her chin on the cushion, facing him. She patted his shoulder encouragingly.

“Tell me everything,” she said, a little too eagerly.

“Um… Well, you know when we went drinking the other night?”

She nodded. The whole castle knew after how Yaad yelled at them.

“So Kabru had too much, and I was pretty drunk too, and we were having a really good time, but…”

Laios was being very cagey. Maybe Laios was in love with a girl, but she was a commoner, so Kabru had told him it could never be! Maybe Kabru was even in love with the same girl! That would tear anyone’s friendship apart. Had the fight started that night but not boiled over until the next morning?

“But?” she prompted him.

“We talked about my dad and his mom and I got really… He’s very cuddly sometimes, you know?”

She was very curious where this was going. Had Kabru gone too far and made him uncomfortable? She knew how anxious being touched could make Laios, though she’d never seen him reject Kabru. Or her for that matter.

“Yeah, we have that in common,” she said.

“Yeah, I like that you guys are so nice, but he…” 

He trailed off again, eyes darting around like he was looking for Kabru in the corners. He held his hands over his stomach, drumming his fingers there.

“What did he do, Laios?”

“He kissed me.”

Marcille gasped. 

Kabru had a distinct reputation with women–he was a flirt, a charmer, and very gentlemanly. Women loved him, and every indication pointed that he loved them back. He’d never shied away from mentioning if he was going on a rare date one evening or another when they took their tea together. His work was his one true love, but he certainly did seem to enjoy casual affairs with the fairer sex, and it was a point of argument between them often. Marcille frequently chided him for his unseriousness in love.

Why go to such lengths to conceal that he was gay? And from Marcille of all people! He’d told her how he used to be a girl, and she had told him that she used to be a boy AND that she only slept with women! Why would he keep such a secret from her? That was simply unfair!

Unless… it was news to him too? Certainly that was possible, it wasn't as if Marcille had come out overnight, and he was still very young. Were all those women a cover? A way to make himself believe he was straight?

All that was beside the point! Laios needed her support right now!

“How did you feel?”

Laios grimaced again.

“I don't know… I wasn't expecting it at all, so surprised I guess. But when he stopped he said all kinds of weird stuff and now I don't know what to think!”

Weird stuff, huh…

“Laios, what do you mean by weird stuff?”

“Like that it was just an impulse because he was drunk and we spend a lot of time together so of course we both think about kissing each other, I said I didn't, and then he said to forget it and that we shouldn't talk about it!”

He crossed his arms defiantly, clearly frustrated by the completely opaque (to Laios) statements being made. 

“Laios, if you looked surprised when he kissed you, he probably assumed you didn't want to kiss him and he was just trying to make an excuse so you wouldn't dislike him. He’s trying to make you more comfortable,” she explained.

“I do not feel more comfortable,” he grumbled, “I don't want to have this thing that we can't talk about together. It sucks.”

“Then talk to him anyway,” she said, “He was probably really nervous about this and just trying to save face, so go talk to him!”

Laios groaned once more and turned onto his stomach so he could mash his face into the cushions. After continuing to groan for a few seconds more, Marcille had to take action.

“Laios, you have to talk to him about this. I know you hate dealing with romance, but this is too important! If Kabru is in love with you, you need to let him down easy but firmly or he’ll never get over it and it’ll ruin your friendship forever!”

He was not moved.

“But… I liked the kiss. I hadn't thought about kissing him before, but now I do. Is that bad?”

Oh, he was hopeless.

“No! That's good! Tell him that as soon as possible!”

She had the perfect idea, too. She got up and began browsing the shelves until she found the story she was looking for: Tales from the Machel Court. It was a collection of short romances and it had a near identical story to what Laios was facing now. She thumbed through until she found the right story, bookmarked it and thrust the book towards Laios.

He sat up and took it, confused.

“Read the story ‘Prince Geordi and his Knight’, it mirrors what you're going through exactly . Well, the prince is only pretending to be a man, but it's what his knight believes her to be when he falls in love with her! He kisses her one day, and couldn't confess his feelings because of the complications of the court knowing, and she had no idea how he felt and hadn't considered him as a lover before, but she couldn't tell him how she felt since that night because she couldn't reveal she was a woman–but then she decided to confess anyway! Study what she says in the story, and quickly! You need to sort this out FAST. I want you to talk to him before morning, is that clear?!,” she shouted at him. 

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

She shooed him off the couch and out of the room to do his homework and sort out his mess. She watched him march down the hall, book in hand. He turned the corner and disappeared, so she shut her door again.

The room felt empty without him now. It was a nice distraction, but she still didn't know what to do about Rin.

I guess I have to take my own advice and talk to her, don’t I?  

With a long sigh, she pulled Falin’s gift from her nightstand and looked it over. It would be nice not to feel lonely again.

Chapter Text

With a knot in his stomach, Laios knocked on the door. His hands were shaking with nerves, threatening to overturn the plate he carried. 

It felt like forever waiting for Kabru to answer. This was going to be so difficult to navigate, and what if Kabru lied again to spare his feelings? He’s such a good liar, Laios would never know! He probably didn't want to see him. If he did, why did he leave so quickly after the meeting? They always talked together after meetings before this stupid fight.

He stood there, fiddling with his cloak, trying to fight the urge to run. Finally, finally, the door clicks open and Kabru is standing right in front of Laios. 

The words come out in a torrent.

“Hi-Kabru-I-brought-you-some-food!”

Not for the first time, Laios noticed how handsome Kabru is. That dark, glossy head of curls, those eyes keen as a wolf’s, those calloused hands as deft as a spider weaving a web. But since that night, it was like a floodgate had opened. He didn’t just notice now, it was like looking alone brought all kinds of phantom sensation. He could feel the coolness of Kabru’s hair against his face as he buried him in his chest for a hug; feel those rough fingers pressing into his wrist or scratching against his scalp; smell the floral scent of his lotion as those phantom fingers trailed; and more than anything he could feel those soft lips pressed so gently into his own. He’d tasted of vodka last time, but what would he taste like now? 

He had to push down his unruly thoughts so he could get his words out semi-right.

Kabru’s face was unreadable. Inscrutable. Nerve-wracking.

“Do you want to come in, Laios?”

With a sigh of relief, Laios nodded. Kabru stepped aside, allowing him entry, then shut and bolted the door. He almost always bolted his door behind him.

“What did you want to say?” Kabru asks him.

“You weren’t at dinner today since you were busy with Khaka Brud, and, well, you forget to eat if you don't come to dinner and lunch and all that, so I made you something, just in case,” he says, brandishing the sandwich plate like it will ward off Kabru, “It's tomato, prosciutto and mozzarella.”

Kabru took it and smiled. He eyed the thick tomato slices hungrily–they were his favorite, and the ones growing in the garden were especially tasty this time of year. It only took an extra few minutes to go and grab one off the vine, so that’s what Laios had done. The tastier it was, the more likely it was Kabru would eat all of it.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I could sit with you, if you want, so you don't have to eat alone.”

The knot was tightening.

“Of course–if you want to.”

Kabru was still smiling, his eyebrows turned up at the inner corner to furrow his brow lightly. He held the plate out in front of him, and looked up at Laios, making eye contact. His head was tilted slightly, exposing his neck. Laios tried to decide what emotion he was trying to project. Pleasure? Gratitude?

Before Laios could reach a conclusion, Kabru ushered him to the small table in his quarters, and sat across from him to eat.

“Thanks again. You were right, I did forget dinner–if they do decide before morning, I’ll be shocked.”

“Yeah. It's a messy business.”

He took a bite, and looked pleased. A little of the juice dribbled down his chin, and Laios' first thought was to lick it off for him. But Kabru noticed and wiped it away with a handkerchief.

“This is really good, Laios, just what I needed!”

“I’m glad then.”

He took another bite, savoring it. Then he put the sandwich down carefully, and dabbed at his mouth with his handkerchief again. That slightly furrowed brow look was back, and Laios finally figured out what he meant to express: it was apologetic.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for probing that way–you weren't ready to talk about it, and I knew that. I shouldn't have–”

“No, you were right,” Laios exclaimed, waving away Kabru’s apology, “I just… I don't know how to talk about stuff like that. About my dad. About me. But I want you to ask. I really do.”

Kabru was the only male friend he’s ever had, really. Sometimes Shuro sent letters, but they weren't friends, just friendly . Senshi and Chilchuck both cared a lot about him, but they acted more like mentors than guys you can go to the bar with. It terrified him to think what he could lose if he made Kabru hate him. The man who just wanted to be friends with him, who just wanted to understand him. He’d do anything to keep him close, if only he knew whether that was to kiss him or not to kiss him!

Kabru angled his head down while looking up at Laios, emphasizing his big eyes and baby cow lashes. Laios hoped the answer was to kiss him, maybe on the eyelids.

“Are you sure? I can wait until you’re ready.”

He was never going to be ready. If this was something Kabru wanted from him, now was as good a time as ever.

“Now is fine. Go ahead and ask.”

Kabru nodded, and took another bite as he determined his first question. 

“Do you know why you don't like your father?”

Kabru was eating while he talked, his hand covering his mouth as he chewed. He must’ve been so hungry–why did he never seem to notice things like that? Laios felt like he’d skipped dinner less to work and more so he wouldn’t have to face Laios today, which meant it was his fault if Kabru went hungry. He had to make that right even if it was uncomfortable.

He swallowed hard and prepared to answer anything Kabru wanted to know.

“I guess he didn't protect us. I mean, I know now why he couldn't but… I never felt like he loved us and I didn't understand him. He was just this guy I had to obey but never talked to.”

Kabru dabbed at his mouth again. He locked his gaze on Laios–there’s this look he gets when he really, really wants to know something, like a hawk seeing a vole and getting ready to swoop. Laios waited for the assault.

“But that's not the only reason, is it? Maybe your feelings for your father are tied to other experiences he wasn't fully responsible for, but came about because he couldn't protect you. Like maybe your time in school and the military? You never talk about that part of your life.”

“I don't have anything good to say about it.”

He watched Kabru take another bite and fumble with a slice of tomato that slid free. He really should've made something for himself too–he was hungry, always hungry. There was a desire in him too great to feed and he really wished he'd at least had some bread while he was cooking.

Kabru caught him staring. Laios looked away, trying to hide the way he was lusting after the sandwich he made just for Kabru.

“Would you like a bite?” He offered it up, pointing the unbitten end at Laios.

“But I made it for you–”

“And now you're watching me eat. It’s uncomfortable for me too, having you sit there hungry. Just don't tell Marcille I let you snack, okay?”

So Laios bit it. The bread had gone a bit soggy from the moisture (he’d have to toast it next time), but the saltiness of the prosciutto brought out that savoriness of the tomatoes, and the acidity of the tomatoes cut the richness of the fat in the meat and the mozzarella. It was really tasty, and just the sort of food Kabru liked–simple and easy to eat. And it had taken ages to find foods Kabru liked.

“Now tell me about your time in school. Who were your friends?”

“I didn't really have any. None in the military either.”

Kabru chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed.

“None? So Falin was your only friend growing up?”

“Yeah, kinda.” 

“So what did you do if you were alone? Like for fun?”

“I made up monsters, or I read.”

Kabru took another bite. He’d been staring hard at Laios like he was interrogating him, but finally he broke eye contact. He looked away at the wall. After a moment, he went back to staring.

“Were you bullied?”

Two boys held his arms back, locked so that if he tried to move, they could easily dislocate his shoulders. It's easier to let it happen. It's less painful to let it happen.

The third boy draws back his fist.

If Laios could spit venom like a naga, he could blind him and slither away while the boys holding him recoiled in shock. If he had the jaws of a warg, he could bite his hand off as he comes in to punch.

Instead, he’s this awful thing that can't fight back.

The blow forces his head back, rattling his teeth, splitting his lip. His nose is in excruciating pain, full of that numbness that smells more than it feels. Blood pours into his mouth–copper and iron flooding his senses.

If he were a monster, maybe he'd at least enjoy the taste as he swallowed it. He wasn't making the mistake of spitting at a man intent on beating him again, even if he'd only been trying to get the blood out of his mouth.

If he swallows it down, they'll get bored. They’ll go away. It’s not as if anyone is coming to make them stop.

Laios nodded his head in answer. He fixed his eyes down at the pattern of the wood grain on the table.

“Pretty bad, yeah.”

Kabru grabbed Laios' hand in both of his. His palms felt warm and bit sticky from the tomato juice. He squeezed firmly, sandwiching Laios' hand between his palms. 

“Can you tell me what was happening?”

His thumb rubbed a soothing circle into the back of Laios' hand. It was so easy for Kabru to touch him; he was always so sure about it, like he just knew it was what Laios needed. Even the kiss, he’d seemed confident until he opened his eyes again and found Laios staring at him.

“Well, in school, it was stuff like taking my monster guidebook and hiding it or tearing out the pages. Sometimes they’d push me around–I was a real skinny kid–but I didn't really get into fights or anything until the military.”

“You started fighting?”

“Guys would gang up on me for being weird. Especially guys I tried to be friends with.”

Kabru cupped his face in his hand and lifted his head so he was looking into his eyes again. Keen blue eyes pierced into him, and down came the talons.

“Tell me if this sounds right: you wished you were a monster because then you could protect yourself, the way your father couldn't protect you and Falin?”

Laios pouted.

“A monster wouldn't even have to be there.”

Kabru knit his brow.

“Could you explain that?”

“If I was a monster, I wouldn't care if people were my friends. I’d only care about finding food or a mate at the right time–though I like thinking about being a unique monster so I don't have to worry about that either.”

Kabru chuckled. Laios was sure that Kabru would be upset to hear that, but he withdrew his hand from Laios' face to cover his mouth while he laughed.

“I seem to remember you turning into a monster and choosing to save humanity, including all your friends,” he said. He smiled warmly at Laios again.

“But I was still me in there. Sometimes I wanted to just… not be me anymore.”

Suddenly, Kabru was very serious.

“You’ll always be you, Laios. And we like you as you are,” he squeezed Laios’ hand again, “ I like you as you are.”

Why was it so difficult to say what he meant?

“I know! I know, but I want to be different somehow, you know? Like, like…” he struggled for the words, a way to explain. The concepts roiled in his head in an undefinable mass: the desire to change, to be special , to be something radically different from what you’re forced to be.

He reached and reached until he landed on the way Kabru had changed himself.

“Like why did you choose to be a boy instead?”

Kabru took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. He didn’t seem mad about the question, which had worried Laios as soon as it had left his mouth.

“I liked being a boy better. My mother in Utaya often passed me off as a boy if she was worried someone out of town might know us, and the elves often thought I was a boy since tallmen seem masculine to them. So when I started puberty I knew that I wanted to keep being a boy, and I started using a spell to adjust my hormone levels.” 

He paused to study Laios’ face.

“What are you getting at?”

“I don't know. It's really hard to explain. Like… I never really wanted to be in this body–it’s not special, it's not cool, it's just a nuisance! I’m way too tall, but not tall enough to be interesting or to give me a real leverage advantage or increase my strength. I’m heavy and clumsy and tallmen aren't even considered attractive to anyone else. Like we think elves are pretty, but they don't see us as a masculine ideal like half-foots do dwarves. I even got the worse sex!”

“The worse sex?”

“Yeah, I have vulnerable dangling bits I have to tuck away that can get someone else pregnant so they can go do all the cool parts of reproduction–feeding a whole new life inside them and all. Don’t even get a sheath, or something cooler like an ovipositor. Tallmen males are a little stronger but women have way better endurance and that endurance is the only thing that tallmen have over other races, anyway. I can’t even lactate–that’s the signature thing mammals do, and I can’t do it! It's like–like I’m stuck in the worst possible body! It’s fucking boring. ”

He slumped back in his chair, his list of complaints exhausted. Kabru glanced over Laios' body, as if trying to see what Laios could see (or rather, couldn't) and didn't speak for a moment. The silence seemed to stretch on.

Eventually, Laios noticed the last few bites of Kabru’s sandwich sitting abandoned. He pointed at it, and said, “You should finish your food.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, of course…” 

Kabru quickly scarfed it down. They continued to sit awkwardly. There was more to say, but no clear way to approach.

Marcille is going to be so mad at me if she sent me up here to confess and I don't do it.

Laios shifted in his seat and worked up the nerve to say what he came here to say.

“Um. There was something else I came to talk to you about…”

Why did Kabru have to have such a piercing gaze? Those blue eyes settled back on him, curious. It only made Laios more nervous. Kabru waited for him to keep talking.

“It's about when you kissed me.”

Kabru’s gaze immediately dropped. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about that, I didn't want–”

“I want you to do it again,” he said sternly, copying the prince in Marcille's romance story. She had been steadfast in letting her feelings be known, and Laios had to do the same. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it, even with everything else swimming around up there. The feeling of Kabru’s lips against his haunted him, made him feel light-headed and warm, and followed him into his bed.

Once again, Kabru was staring at him. Laios' heart was pounding in his chest–he wanted Kabru to cup his face and press his lips to his throat, like he meant to bite it out. He wanted Kabru to lick at the wound. He wanted him to hold his hand again. He didn’t want to go back to his own bed with only his imagination for company while he fingered himself and wished it was Kabru instead.

Laios began to get flustered. He was coming off far too intense, and maybe it really was just the liquor that had been talking that night, and now he was crossing a very clear boundary by talking about it when Kabru explicitly asked him not to–dear heaven, why had he ever listened to Marcille's advice?

Kabru was sweating and blushing and looked physically uncomfortable, like he had a thorn in his shoe. Laios was about to apologize and make himself scarce when Kabru reached for his hand again, anchoring him there. 

With a deep breath, Kabru’s face relaxed back into his normal pleasant expression, and he said, “I’ll kiss you, I’ll kiss you as much as you want, but I need to ask you something.”

Laios nodded, too focused on the idea of kissing Kabru as much as he wanted to give a verbal response.

“Have you ever thought about using a hormone spell for yourself?”

Chapter Text

Have I thought of what?

The question hung around Laios' head changing form, repeating itself until it was asking something new each time. Have you thought about changing? Have you thought those boys in school were right? Have you thought about peeling away your skin and running around with whatever lies underneath? Have you thought that things could be different?

What could it fix?

That desire to be a monster lived inside him, curled around his heart, always waiting for a chance to strike out. Who cared if the cage changed when there will always be that beast within him, always hungry, always trying to run into the woods alone, never to return? That discomfort was constant and he’d accepted it when he became king. The lives of everyone in Melini mattered far more than he did, and he made the choice to give them a better life at the cost of never living the one he wanted.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin half the time. He could always see his father in the mirror now–it was never his own body. Marcille had never met his father, but every time she would tell him how he looks nothing like Falin because of the whiskers that he’d missed or his size of his chin or his towering height or the breadth of his shoulders, it felt like she was seeing the same man before her that Laios saw in that polished silver on his wall. No matter how happy it made him when others said he looked just like Falin, it always felt like a lie, like they just couldn’t see what he did, what Falin did, what Marcille did.

He would do anything not to look like him.

Out of my skin. Any way out of my skin.  

If he were a kobold, he’d have a noble silver coat and be as difficult to sex as a dog. If he were an orc, he’d be beautiful and androgynous. As a dwarf, he’d expected to feel more masculine–with his increased strength and bigger muscles–but he didn't. Instead, he’d just felt sturdy–later when he'd looked in his little shaving mirror, he couldn't help but see a dwarven woman there, clean shaven and neat. It was such an odd feeling to look like a girl. If he went to the surface in that body, people would've assumed he was a woman, and he wouldn't have bothered to correct them.

But what he really wanted was to be a monster. That perfect chimera whose pelt hung around his neck–he’d never acknowledged its sex at all. It was one-of-a-kind: regardless of its genitalia, it was sexless innately. There was no possibility of mating, no need to interact with anyone else. 

What a lonely existence I gave it.

Female monsters were usually stronger. They were often bigger to carry eggs or live young, and had excess fat stores to ensure they could spare the calories for making and rearing babies. It was always more impressive to him than the usual male role of inseminate and leave. There were exceptions, and it was hardly a rule to begin with, but all the same, pregnancy and gravidity compelled him in a way sperm production just didn't.

He never wanted to be a father.

But sometimes he would imagine himself as a monster mother. A harpy guarding her brood, holding her chicks to her bare breast, regurgitating her scavenged meal. A mermaid dragging the seduced adventurers down to her calf hidden in a crevice below the lake. A dryder protecting her eggcase, baiting men into her web with her long hair and pretty face so she can be sure to feed a thousand babies who will be born just as her life ends. 

He’d been so jealous of Falin when he first saw her chimera form; her wings, her talons, her feathers, her scales and her brood patch. He had meant it honorably that he would’ve traded places with her–she deserved to live, she didn’t deserve to be turned into a monster against her will with no ability to control her actions. But he was so jealous of her then.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been jealous of her either. When he was little, he’d wanted that long, pretty hair–it had upset him so much to see their mother cut it off like it was nothing. Years of growth that he wasn’t allowed to have for himself, gone. Just to try and take away what made Falin special. She’d always been so cute, so pretty, so special and talented, and he’d take her suffering onto himself if he could.

A dozen times he’s tried to grow his hair, and a dozen times he’s given up just as it gets past his ears. Just the length his father kept his. He wanted it long, to get better at his magic like Marcille, so he could see that long hair on himself finally. But his father was always waiting on every reflective surface. Who would he see if he were a woman instead? His mother? Falin? Himself?

If Laios were smaller, cuter, like Falin was, would people like him more? Would men treat him better? So many people treated him like a threat no matter what he did. The slouch to collapse himself inwards, the way he walked and moved to be cuter: he tried so hard to disarm, to seem weaker and vulnerable and accommodating and conciliatory, and it never, ever seemed to work. Was it because he was a man? Trapped in the skin of a man?

Shuro might’ve liked him if he was just a ditzy girl instead of an obnoxious man. Nothing would have to change about him, people would just see him differently if he was a girl. They’d tolerate him, they’d see him as harmless. No one is supposed to hit girls, but everyone has always been allowed to hit Laios. 

I spit the blood out, and he punches me again when it lands on his boot.

It was fine, he could take it. He could take it. If he swallowed it down and let it happen, it was over. Boys got bored. Men decided it wasn’t worth it. And sometimes Falin rescued him, threatening them with her mace. But wouldn’t they think twice if he was a girl? He wouldn’t have been allowed into the military as a girl. Would that be better?

Even with his succession worries, if he could just get pregnant, any child he had would be his by rights, legitimate always. The world could just deal with it if they didn’t like that he wasn’t married to the father. Or maybe he would marry the father–it felt easier to consider than marrying a woman and tying her to him. He liked men, he’d known that for a long time, but there was never a way to get close. Kabru’s kiss had been the first he’d shared with a man–he hadn’t dared dream of it becoming reality, no matter what lived in his fantasies.

Being a girl would be easier. 

But I can’t just go back and be born a girl.

All of this was meaningless: if he had been born a girl, he would’ve had to settle down in his village and get married. He wouldn’t have been able to run away, he would’ve had no hope of earning the money to support himself and Falin. None of his adventures would’ve happened, he wouldn’t have met so many friends, and so the line of thought always ends: he had to be a boy to live this life.

I have to be this way. I don’t get to choose.

But now Kabru asks him to consider not just if had been born a girl, but if he were to become one right now. There is a choice and he’s making it every day–he’s choosing to stay as he is in the body he hates, this unspecial, boring body that people treat horribly.

He used to treat this body so poorly.

Falin left him in the bath, taking his clothes to give them a good scrub in lye soap and kill the fleas. 

“You have to take care of yourself, Laios! If you don’t start eating more regularly, you might get really sick! Get cleaned up so the fleas aren’t stealing all your blood and we’ll go get you some food after.” 

He hadn’t felt hungry until she sat him in front of a bowl of beef stew and he realized how hunger had become a background noise over the last couple of years. The rich smell of stewed tomatoes and beef fat wafted from the bowl, and he’d scalded his tongue in his eagerness to get down a hearty meal. Falin had smiled at him then, happy to see he had an appetite. He made sure to get strong for her, to make sure he could protect her in the dungeon, to make sure he could survive if he needed to be resurrected.

He’d changed his body then to suit his purposes. But becoming a woman would be different. He was too tall, too brash, too broad, too clumsy. And he would still be stuck inside this body, always stuck inside this body, a cage for a hungry beast that yearns for the wild.

“It’s not–” he tried, voice breaking, “It’s not enough. It couldn’t give me the changes I want. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

Kabru looked at him so kindly, with that soft, relaxed expression that Laios had come to associate with Kabru assuring him he’d done a good job when he was nervous, that he was a good king, that they were still friends. He broke one hand free from Laios’ tightening grip to, of all things, cup Laios’ cheek. He was so warm, and against the sensitive skin of his face, Kabru’s calluses felt rough and grounding. 

His voice was honeyed and thick as he said, “There’s more that we can do–we’ll talk to Marcille about it. I’m sure she’ll know what’s possible and we can work from there.”

Maybe I’m thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe my body is like a room I’m renting. It’s never really mine, it can’t be, but if I put that wasps nest I found on the shelf, and toss my coat over the chair, and tack the drawing I made of my favorite monster to the wall, all those things make it feel like home anyway. I change it, I make it part of me. 

 Kabru rubbed his thumb over Laios’ bottom lip and the feel of it made him shudder. He tried to focus on the tingling sensation it sent up his spine, the way it seemed to quiet the ever-present hunger inside his belly as it shot through him. He pressed into Kabru’s palm, and his hair tickled at his ear as he moved. He watched his lips, curved into a small smile, open as he began to speak again in that gentle voice.

“For tonight, would you let me treat you like a lady?”

Chapter Text

Just say yes, he pleaded inside his head. Navigating this mess for her (her!) is his job , it’s what he’s good at. He can keep this dalliance discrete, and it’s worth it if it helps her come into her own as a woman. The stories he could tell to explain the change were already brewing inside his mind: an adventurer taking a male disguise to keep herself and her sister safe coming clean now that the time has come to marry and produce heirs; a man consuming a demon beyond sex and slowly becoming changed by it; hell, even the truth could make a fine legend if he just told it right. It shouldn’t harm the relationship with the elves at all, and could improve it if what he knew of the elven queen was correct. The dwarves were already against them but this might elevate their status with the dwarven feminist movement which has been gaining power recently. Gnomes were quite accepting on the whole, which may temper dwarven negative reactions. The short-lived races would be a mixed bag–more isolated communities might be less accepting, but there was a lot of leeway with Laios being a semi-religious figure at this point, and even more with what Melini was beginning to represent for short-lived nations.

What mattered was that Laios was happy. He couldn’t allow her to wallow forever, or to push this pain to the back of her mind where it had been living so it could strike again when her kingdom needed her. He had to bring it forward and make her face it.

He resisted the temptation to pass his thumb over her bottom lip again just to watch it catch against his skin. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

She struggled to meet his eyes for a moment as she considered his request. She looked to the corner of the room, the ceiling, the floor, then screwed her face up tight. With a deep exhale, she opened her eyes again and looked straight at Kabru, her uncertainty transmuting itself into resolve.

“Let’s do it,” she said far too loud, “Treat me like a lady!”

Her face was flushed–her whole body was, Kabru would venture to guess. That red crept from her cheeks, to her ears, to the top of her collar, and if he were to pop open a few buttons, Kabru could find how far down her chest it went. He couldn’t deny it any longer that he wanted to badly. But still, he had to keep his composure in front of a lady.

He rose from his seat, keeping their clasped hands locked together but withdrawing the one at her cheek and putting it behind his back and caressing her as it went. She leaned into the touch like it was purely instinctual for her. Bending his arm at the appropriate angle to help a lady out of her seat, he waited for Laios to rise.

After a second of computing what was happening, she did, pulling at her cloak the way a woman does a gown as she got up, just like she’d seen a hundred times in their social exercises. Standing now at an arm’s length apart, he could really drink in her appearance–an indulgence he was no longer denying himself. Laios was a bit taller than him, enough that he’d have to tilt his head up to kiss her standing, and not so much that it made a difference if they were seated. Her ash blonde hair fell over her forehead and down her neck, short but growing out, and he already knew how it felt between his fingers. Her cloak covered the curve of her breasts, but he would be lavishing them in attention soon enough, if he was lucky. The soft fat of her belly and thighs called to him too, begging to be kissed and touched.

Her heavy-lidded eyes burned with the intensity of her feelings as she stared down the bridge of her aquiline nose to meet his gaze. Keeping his eyes locked to hers, he bent and took her hand to his mouth, planting a kiss upon the knuckles. He stayed there, watching her reaction. Her face stayed stony, and a twitch in her grip was all he got in response. He resolved to work harder to get a rise out of her–he wanted to see that flush deepen pink to red, to see her bite her lip, to hear her breath catch in her throat.

Turning her hand over, he kissed the underside of her bare wrist. He kissed up her arm, through her sleeve, until he was standing upright again and holding her arm out in front of him. Like dancers, he’d turned her as he lifted her arm until he stood behind her, his head at her shoulder. He kissed the space just under her jaw, and–making a quick guess about what Laios would be into–nipped at the thin skin there, just hard enough to ache. 

It was like pulling a string taught how quickly her body straightened and tensed, a low whine in her throat. Still taking her wrist with him, he folded his arms around Laios’ waist, pulling her close to him and pressing into her back. 

“My lady,” he purred in her ear, “Do you like it when I’m a little rough with you?” 

He watched her throat bob as she cleared it.

“You can bite harder,” she said, more plea than demand. 

“Of course, my lady.” 

Laios, he knew, was inexperienced–she’d been engaged as a child, and had no solid romantic partners since. He knew the way she felt about Toshiro bordered on a crush, but she’d never admitted that and it was unrequited anyway. And while he’d been surprised to see any attraction between Laios and Namari, it was a non-starter. Namari had made it clear that whoever Asivia was, her relationship with Laios too went nowhere. That left one awkward night at a brothel. 

It was important to be careful with her, and pay close attention that he wasn't pushing her farther than she wanted to go. At the same time, she wasn't a delicate flower, she was a woman who had waited long enough to be desired by someone she wanted back. And by heaven, did he desire her. Laios was strange and unusual and completely tactless, but kinder than anyone he knew, and incredibly intelligent and always willing to learn even when it was something difficult to hear or far outside the realm of knowledge she felt comfortable with. Always willing to defer to an expert, never willing to roll over without an explanation–that was the Laios he loved.

“Here, I’ll get that,” she murmured as she unpinned the brooch holding her cloak in place that Kabru just realized he’d been fumbling with for far too long while he got in his head. The cloak fell away into Laios’ hands, and she draped it over the chair and then relaxed back into Kabru’s arms.

Relaxed perhaps wasn’t the right word: she was tense, expectant. No doubt, she was waiting for Kabru to bite her again. He began unbuttoning her overshirt down to the waist, and she helped with that too, racing to get the buttons undone before he could. He pulled the collar out of the way to expose her shoulder, and bit.

She tensed for a second, then relaxed, her head lolling back to nuzzle against him. He released his teeth and sucked at the area instead, putting gentler pressure there–he hoped that was hard enough, as any harder was likely to bruise and he didn’t really want to hurt her. She reached up to stroke his hair. She cleared her throat again.

“Would you…Would you touch my chest?”

For months, he had tried not to look down Laios’ shirt and ogle the cleavage there; he had tried very, very hard to resist because it would be very rude and there was no way he was interested in Laios, and no way Laios was interested in him. Months of self-restraint came crumbling down in seconds as he put his chin on Laios’ shoulder and looked down. He was right: that blush that covered her neck stretched down to the bottom of her breasts, painting them in patches of pink like fallen rose petals

“I’d be delighted,” he answered slowly, voice throaty with desire.

Damn it, that came out so stupid. There will not be a second time if I can’t impress her–

Laios interrupted his thoughts to turn her head and kiss him. Her stubbled chin scraped his forehead as the kiss landed in his curls. His heart skipped a beat.

No, it was earnest, and that's what Laios likes. 

With a deep breath, he plunged his hand into her open neckline and cradled a full breast. He kneaded the soft, heavy flesh. Laios’ breathing was heavy and would catch as he traced her nipple with his fingertip. He bounced it in his hand, loving the feel of it and the way it made Laios whine in arousal. He peppered kisses along her shoulder, occasionally indulging her by biting down and pinching her nipple simultaneously, a technique that made her knees weaken and forced her to grind her ass into Kabru's groin for support.

There was really only one problem: Laios was much heavier than Kabru was. They were going to wind up sprawled out on the floor if she kept leaning on him. He wanted to take her properly, seduced into bed with him–not in a lust-driven pile on the ground. Not that it didn’t sound fun.

“Laios, my lady, perhaps we should sit on the bed?”

“Oh! Um, sure?”

He glanced at her face–her eyes were wide with nerves and excitement. But that ‘sure' was very… unsure.

Kabru pulled back, keeping a hand to her waist to turn them towards each other.

“We don’t have to go any further unless you want to,” he said, reaching up to kiss her lips (soft and open), “But I would love to take you to bed tonight.”

There, a masterpiece–completely unambiguously stated that he wants to fuck her, with enough of an out that if Laios doesn't feel ready, she can say she'd rather keep kissing. Now he just had to hope that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and–

“Like, sex? Like you wanna have sex with me?” she said, red in the face and pointing to her own chest.

Ah, Laios is still Laios.

“Yes, Laios, I want to have sex with you. Do you want to have sex with me?”

Direct to the point of comedy. And still, he wanted by her side more than he's ever wanted anyone. She always managed to draw him into saying exactly what he meant, with as little flourish as possible.

“Yes, of course!” she shouted. She then paused and a look of confused contemplation ran across her face.

Oh no, she's hit the logistics side of it–I had really hoped she would just let me lead.

“How should we…?”

He sighed. There were many more romantic ways to get this information from her, but she wanted it this way.

“First, when you masturbate, how do you like to do it?”

She was looking around, clearly unwilling to look him in the eye while confessing this.

“I like to, you know, do anal. Finger myself, usually,” she said, deeply flushed, “Um, you?”

“I prefer to stroke my dick.”

Her eyes widened, darted down his body, and finally met his eyes.

“You have one?!”

This conversation is a nightmare.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, the clitorus and the penis are analogous organs and if your dominant hormone is testosterone, the clitorus enlarges to resemble a penis,” he said, his exasperation showing.

Oh, that deranged smile of hers, complete with a full-body red flush and sheen of sweat… She was extremely excited about this. 

“You’ll show me, right?! That’s soooo cool!”

It wouldn't "be enough” to just go on hormones, she says, but nothing is cooler than what they can do, huh? At least she's interested in anatomy now.

“I will, Laios,” he sighed.

Grabbing his arms tightly and giggling madly, she ran in place to try and release the near-shutdown level of excitement she was experiencing. She tossed her head back up and looked Kabru deep in the eye, their noses pressed together, and pointed to his bed.

“Show me right now! PLEASE!”

It hurt to admit, but the fact that she was now this excited for him fuck her, to see him naked, to obsess over his body; it made him hard. Really, really hard. He pushed her towards the edge of his bed while she writhed, unable to contain herself. He sat her down in front of him, and began taking off his belt.

Trying very hard to sit still, she clasped her hands in her lap and bit her lip, watching as he undressed. He removed his tunic, his trousers, his underwear, everything until he stood fully naked before her. She played with her hands while she took him in visually.

Her eyes flicked over his small breasts, not out of range for a cis man, but developed before he could master the spell to adjust his hormone levels. She huffed loudly as she fixed on his smattering of curly chest hairs–in arousal or disapproval, he wasn't quite sure, but her eyes continued wandering either way. Down she looked, passing over his stomach, huffing again. It was a sound of arousal then–he’d gained weight now that he was no longer subjecting himself to the dungeon and Laios and Yaad were constantly urging him to eat. His build was more solid than it had been when they met, and he knew how much she liked that (even if he'd never been sure until now that it attracted her). 

Finally her eyes landed on his dick, and she squirmed again, releasing her reddened lip and smiling from ear to ear. It stood about three inches erect, with a decent enough girth to stroke it easily–thanks to Holm (and of course, genetic lottery).

Holm could not complete the operation Kabru really wanted, a full phalloplasty. It was simply too complex for him to complete alone with his skill as a healer. He had wanted to get it done before he left the west because he knew finding a qualified team of healers would be near impossible abroad, but it had been officially denied to him as a perpetual minor in elven lands–no one under 80 was permitted by law to undergo any major elective surgery. But Holm had been able to conduct a simple metoidioplasty.

“The clitorus is held back by ligaments connecting to the vulva. A healer can snip them to allow it to be erect like this,” he explained, basking in her fascination.

“That's awesome! Can I… can I touch it while we talk?” she asked, hand hovering over his waiting cock. He nodded, stepping forward so she had a better angle. Gingerly, she took it between two fingers testing the weight of it, applying just a hair of pressure on the shaft. If she was trying to tease him, it was working–he wanted nothing more than to close her hand around it and feel her grip. With a deep breath, he composed himself, and waited for her next question.

“Can you pee out of it?”

Still stroking lightly with one hand, she looked at the head and pressed her finger over the false slit where the urethra would be. 

“No, that would take a more complicated procedure to…” he swallowed hard as she probed under his foreskin, “to lengthen the urethra. Standing urination isn't difficult, anyway–it just takes some technique.”

She nodded along. She enclosed it with her fist now, increasing pressure, and began to stroke it faster.

“You can't ejaculate either then, can you?”

“God, I wish,” he said, “I can orgasm, but no, I can't ejaculate.”

A little disappointed, she said, “So you like that kind of thing, too? It’s a shame we can't do it.”

She was picking up speed. He tried to keep talking anyway.

“What ‘kind of thing’?”

“Oh! Uh, you know, like… When I masturbate, I like to fantasize about a… a guy fucking me and um…” she was turning bright red again, “I always think it’d feel really good if he finishes inside me, or on me. That sort of thing.”

She looked directly at him, eyes half-closed with the weight of her own lust. 

“I would paint you with it right now, if I could,” he admitted. He flushed, embarrassed by his own sincerity. But Laios just giggled and kept stroking.

In the past, he had never let his partners touch him this way. He stayed focused on the women he was with, and their pleasure, never fully undressing, never revealing himself. It was a scant few who knew he had transitioned at all, and none of those who knew were people he’d been interested in sleeping with–until right now. 

He looked down on Laios, excitedly stroking him, and imagined cumming over her face and chest. He could picture her licking it off of her lips and telling him how it tasted, still plastered in his seed. It was such an unbearably erotic thought that he had to bring his hand to his mouth and look away. He hoped the death grip he had on her shoulder communicated well-enough how much he wanted her to keep going.

Wet, warm breath grazed the tip just before her tongue flicked over the false slit and prodded the foreskin. It felt like lightning up his nervous system–he bit his hand to keep from crying out.

He could feel her gaze on him again, so he looked down to meet her honeyed eyes.

“Is it okay if I suck it?” she pleaded, “I’d really like to.”

Not only did he want her to, he wanted to push her onto the bed and ride her eagle nose while she did it. But that was too rough for now, even if she professed to like it; he wanted to treat her delicately unless she asked for harsher. Maybe another time–he was certain now that there would be another time.

“Please, I want you to.”

She wasted no time–she slid off the bed, pushing him a step back to allow her to kneel in front of him. Pulling her hands from his cock to steady his hips instead, she dove onto him, swallowing him up. Her tongue lapped from the base to the tip and then lingered there, probing the false slit and under the hood, before diving back down again. Sometimes she would extend her tongue to lick his folds, only able to tease them as her teeth pressed into his skin and the tip of his cock probed the back of her throat. He throbbed with arousal, and he wondered if she could feel the beat of his heart on her tongue, or maybe it was just his imagination that she seemed to time herself by it, picking up speed as she went.

He was close, he was so close–his cunt was clenching around nothing, and he ached for release–but he needed more to put him over the edge. When he was touching himself, he would usually insert a couple fingers or a small toy, just enough extra stimulation to push himself to orgasm, but he’d never done that with someone else.

He pulled his hand from his mouth, ignoring the deep grooves laid by his teeth, and guided Laios’ hand away from his hip. She stopped briefly to watch as he lifted his leg onto the bed, opening himself up. She looked at his display, smiling broadly again, as he pressed her fingers into himself. 

“Can you feel the spongy tissue there?”

He had guided her exactly where he meant to, and she rubbed experimentally while he tried to keep his composure for a moment longer, even as he clenched around her fingers by reflex.

“That's the Skene's gland. It's analogous to the prostate. Please keep rubbing at it while you continue your work, if you would,” he requested, overly polite to compensate for how close to complete unravel he felt. 

She nodded enthusiastically and went right back to sucking him off. Within a minute, his leg was shaking, he was bent double over her head, pulling at her hair with no ability to stop himself, more gasping and panting than moaning, and his cunt was constricting around her fingers. Relentlessly she lapped at his cock, base to tip to base again as she pressed her fingers into him, stroking him just like he instructed. His breathing slowed as the orgasm washed over and away and he went limp in her mouth. She kept on him, only slowing her pace, not relenting. He pushed her lightly away, his prick popping out of her mouth obscenely. 

Red-faced, sweating, smiling but a bit unfocused–she was already the picture of over-sexed bliss. Once again, he wondered how she would look once he’d bedded her properly. He rubbed at her cheek, relishing in the smoothness of her skin there and the scratch of stubble at her jaw.

“You did well,” he said, the understatement of the year, but it still made her smirk with pride, “Let me return the favor. Do you know how you want me to take you?”

She pulled her fingers away from his cunt and put them in her mouth as she thought.

“Very nice, very tart,” she remarked before deigning to answer him. She looked back down at his dick, and pointed at it.

“Would you put it in me? I think that’d be really hot,” she sighed.

“I can, but it’s about the size of a finger and a lot less maneuverable. It’d make nice foreplay, but I don't think you could come from that alone.”

They got back onto the bed, sitting side by side. Kabru slung his arm around her and considered if he should play with her breasts again while she talked. He would love to tease her further...

“Well, I still want you to put it in me, but maybe after, you could…” she trailed off nervously and started playing with her fingers.

Kabru had a feeling he knew where this was going. He kissed her neck and grabbed her hand.

“You have some weird toy you want me to use, don't you?”

“It's not that weird! It's a perfectly mostly-human phallus, it just has a knot at the base that has a spell on it so it'll inflate inside you!”

He stared at her.

“You want me to knot you?!”

“I think it’d be nice! You know, it’d feel so full inside you, and then you just cuddle while you wait for it to deflate and you can pull out, it's not that weird!”

“It's pretty weird, Laios. I’m not going to roleplay a wolfman, you know–”

“I’m not asking you to! It has a cumtube too! We both like that–”

“You don't have any other toys with cumtubes?”

She dodged his gaze.

“No,” she said in a far too innocently high-pitched tone.

He glared at her.

“You're such a shitty liar. Go and grab your knotted dildo before I change my mind about this. Better be harness compatible…” 

With a scowl, he pushed her to her feet and pointed her to her cloak. She was strange and off-putting, and had no sense of what was normal, and it made him so horny he couldn't think. He watched her pull on her cloak, adjusting it awkwardly around the front to hide that her shirt was unbuttoned–the front of her tunic thankfully hid any hint of an erection. With a sigh he rose from the bed and grabbed a towel from the bathroom while she was still trying to get her buttons straight (having failed to angle the cloak sufficiently). He handed it to her.

“Your face is a worse giveaway than your clothes, clean up a little while I straighten your hair.”

She did so with a quick thank you while Kabru combed her sweaty locks with his fingers until she looked slightly less like she’d been enthusiastically giving a blow job a minute ago. How sad to destroy his hard work–he’d simply have to mess it up again.

Laios rushed out the door with a quick wave and a promise not to take long. But Kabru could wait. He’d waited for Laios again and again, hardly ever knowing what it was he’d been waiting for. Now he would have her, again and again–he was certain of that. And then a dangerous little thought hit him: I think I want to sleep beside her the rest of my life.

It was the kind of thought you can't outrun, can not dodge, can only look head-on as it crushes your mind into a new shape. This might not be a simple dalliance that they’ll just get bored of after a month or two–this might be the kind of love that grows to consume you. It felt like looking down the side of a cliff you’ve already fallen from without knowing you had. 

He did the only thing he could now: he waited for his lady’s return, and for gravity to do the rest.

Chapter Text

Laios was giddy, near skipping his way back to Kabru with his expensive dildo tucked into his elbow and hidden under his cloak. He’d barely gotten to use this thing for all it cost him–it was big, heavy, hard to activate from any position he could actually take it in, and he couldn't figure out a place to use the suction cup either. But none of that mattered now, because Kabru was going to use it on him. He felt flush with excitement imagining his lean frame over him, bearing down on him with it. It would look massive between his legs–that was a pretty exciting thought, too.

It felt incredible, unbelievable, that someone like Kabru was waiting for him. Did Kabru want him to be his girlfriend? 

That felt good to say: Kabru's girlfriend . Should he still be using ‘he’ for himself? He wasn't sure it mattered. Most people were going to be using ‘he’ for him, and it wasn't like he could stop them. But it did feel good to be Kabru’s lady, and he could ask Kabru to keep calling him that. ‘My lady’ --he was hearing it in his head like a siren’s song. Would Kabru call him his lady when he climaxed?

He became so absorbed in his fantasies that he nearly ran directly into Marcille. He stopped short just a foot away, nearly dropping his large, knotted dildo directly in front of a real lady. She too stumbled back, nearly dropping something hidden in her robes.

“Oh, Laios! G-great to see you. How was the talk with Kabru?” she said, firmly holding her robes to her chest.

“Hi, Marcille, I was actually um, going to see Kabru right now!” he stuttered and lied,  “Because he was so busy, he told me to come back, so I better go right away!”

“Yes, yes, that's great, you go talk to him, and I’ll go for my night time stroll! Just stretching my legs before bed!”

They nodded extremely politely to each other, tried to speed past, and shoulder slammed each other, causing both their things to go skittering to the ground. Laios was faster–he pounced on top of both spilled items, spreading his skins over them before Marcille could see what he’d had. He could feel acid rising in his throat as he groped around blindly. Marcille would not be able to forgive him if she saw what he had, what he was planning to do–he could not let her know.

“I should just grab mine first, let me pick it up,” she said, trying to lift his cloak.

“No, it’s fine, I’m in a real hurry–Kabru’s waiting for me!” 

His hand enclosed something phallic with a suction cup base. Got it! He sprung to his feet, concealing his recovered dick and lifting his cloak for Marcille–

Only to see his dildo lying still on the ground in its painted fleshtones with the bulb for the cumtube rolling beside it. In horror, Marcille looked from the phallus there to Laios’ hands. He pulled Marcille's item into the open: a pink, smooth dildo with a hooked head and a wide base before the flare of the suction cup. Smaller, and more streamlined than what he’d been carrying, but they both went inside the same place.

He held it out to her, approaching slowly.

“I think this one is yours,” he said, feeling exactly as mortified as she did, “I’ll just get mine and head to Kabru’s.”

She took it gingerly from him, and he stooped to pick up his own.

“So you did talk to him already then? Went well?” 

She couldn't meet his gaze.

“Really well, thanks to your advice,” he answered, “Were you, um, meeting someone too?”

She nodded.

“I was going to see Rin. In her room.”

Laios understood.

“I’m sure Falin will be happy to hear that–she’s always worried you're lonely.”

She sounded a little sad as she replied, “I’ll be sure to tell her if I have fun.”

“Marcille?”

She did look at him now, tears welling in her eyes. He wished he could hug her, but it was maybe too weird considering what they both held. He smiled at her instead.

“Falin loves you enough that she just wants you to be happy, no matter what. Have fun, okay?”

Unthinking, she rushed him for a quick hug, squeezing tight despite the dicks in both their grips. She didn’t seem to care as much as he worried she would. With his unoccupied hand, he patted her on the shoulder while she dried her eyes on his rumpled shirt. After a moment, she pulled away and smiled back at him.

“I will,” she said, voice still wavering a little, “You better have fun, too. Especially if you're going to be using a weird thing like that with him.”

“It's not that weird!” he called back, hurrying his way back to Kabru’s quarters as Marcille rushed for Rin’s.

When he got there, he scurried inside, bolting the door behind him. Kabru was waiting on the bed for him, legs crossed and elbow propped on his knee. His long lashes batted at Laios, beckoning him over. And he felt giddy again.

He shuffled over and handed the dildo to Kabru, who uncrossed his legs, giving him a glimpse of his cock. It really did excite him–it was just fun to play with, a really perfect mouthful, and despite what Kabru said, he thought it would still feel nice to have inside him, and nicer still for Kabru. It looked cute, too, flaccid and curled upon itself like a succubus larva, hiding beneath the thick hair covering Kabru’s groin.

“Sorry that took so long, I wanted to clean up beforehand and, well, I ran into Marcille, and that was… Did you know she's sleeping with Rin?”

Kabru dropped the dildo and scrambled to catch it.

“No, I did not. Does she know about us?”

“She kind of already did,” he admitted, “I wouldn't have confessed if she hadn't told me that's what you wanted.”

Kabru flushed, his skin turning a bit darker at the cheeks.

“Guess I should thank her then…” 

He put the dildo by a leather strapped harness on the bed, and rose to his feet. Cupping Laios’ face in his hands, he pulled him down into a deep, slow kiss. When he broke away, a thread of saliva connected their lips, only breaking when Kabru drew back to unpin the cloak still covering Laios. He worked much quicker this time, like the clothes were an obstacle he had to overcome. It felt too pragmatic to be arousing, even with the little kisses Kabru would pepper on his skin as he popped open buttons and pulled away laces.

Naked, he just felt exposed. He didn’t usually mind being naked in front of others, as long as everyone was naked, but this felt… different. He wanted to cover back up. 

Maybe Kabru could just pull my pants down to fuck me and I can keep everything else on…

The last of his clothes fell away. Kabru sat back on the bed and pulled Laios with him so that Laios was straddling his lap.

“My lady, are you feeling alright?”

“I just don't like being naked for this is all.”

Wrapping his arms around Laios’ waist, he laid his head on Laios’ chest.

“Would you give me a chance to admire you? You can cover back up and we can stop if you really want, but please give me a moment–I’ve waited a long time to get to see you like this,” he said, softly, tenderly.

Kabru was just so nice. So, so nice, and handsome and talented and it didn't make sense that he’d be attracted to someone like Laios. His unspecial body, his weird personality. Maybe Kabru could be his friend, and maybe Kabru could be interested in using his mouth to get himself off, and maybe he could enjoy kissing him and making him happy; but suddenly, sitting naked on his lap with Kabru asking to admire this body, none of it felt quite right anymore.

It didn’t feel genuine–it felt like Kabru was just saying what he thought Laios wanted to hear.

“I just don't get it. I don't get how you think I’m attractive.”

Kabru looked up at him, a little taken aback, maybe?

“Laios, what could you possibly–” he stammered for a second before taking a deep breath and meeting her eyes again. He looked upset.

“I don't let just anyone I sleep with touch me the way you touched me tonight, do you know that?”

“You… You don't?”

He had thought… He hadn't been thinking. Kabru’s body was outside the norm, and Laios found that beautiful, but not everyone did. Of course he wasn't able to show himself to everyone he was with. It probably took a lot of trust to show Laios, and he might not have if Laios hadn't begged him. It was hard enough for him when people took issue with his blue eyes–and Laios wasn't sure how anyone could think they were anything but beautiful under those dark, heavy lashes with that sweet smile, the way they made his gaze so piercing. 

“No, I don't. I let you because I wanted you,” he squeezed around Laios’ middle, chin on Laios’ sternum, gazing up at him, “So please, trust me the way I trusted you and let me show you how I feel.”

His heart thumped inside his chest like it was trying to hammer its way outside. Laios couldn't compose anything to say fast enough, and Kabru buried his head in his chest again, where he could feel it, and maybe that was answer enough. Kabru was always talking about how some parts can’t lie–the heart will beat hard when it’s excited, the pupils will dilate when they want to see something more and more, and the body will sweat when it’s had too much. Kabru kissed his sternum. He grabbed both breasts in his hands, squeezing them towards his face, and planting a kiss on the tops of both.

“You’re very, very attractive, Laios. If I glimpse down your shirt, I have to look away because all I can think about is how much I want to bury my face in your cleavage,” he said, massaging the fatty flesh in his hands. His tongue rolled over them, down to the nipple, and then circled there. The feeling made Laios shiver.

“You–you mean that?”

Kabru didn't answer, he just demonstrated. He took the nipple into his mouth and sucked, making Laios' breath catch in his throat. He grabbed Laios' hand and brought it between them, pushing it down to feel Kabru's hardening cock, as if to say: Could this part of me lie? 

Laios could only palm at it from this angle: he wished that his own body wasn't getting in the way, but still he marveled at the feeling of its growing stiffness, its warmth. He hoped that he’d feel good for Kabru. He only cleaned up, trying to do so with minimal stretching, just so he’d be tighter for him. 

He wanted Kabru inside of him, on top of him, behind him, beside him. He just wanted him.

“Kabru?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but it was hard with how Kabru was tweaking his nipples.

He paused, looking up at Laios expectantly.

“Can I be your girlfriend?”

It felt silly to say until Kabru tossed his hands behind his neck and pulled him into a kiss so hard they fell backwards onto the bed. Their cocks squeezed together between them, and Laios moaned into Kabru's mouth as Kabru pressed his hips upwards, increasing the friction between them.

He broke away, looking more excited than Laios had maybe ever seen him. Eyes wide and smile broad, he looked gorgeous.

“ Please be my girlfriend.”

Maybe, if he was going to be not only Kabru’s lady, but his real girlfriend, maybe she should try to use ‘she’ inside her head. If only just when she was with him. It's probably how Kabru would talk about her, if he were telling someone about his girlfriend, wasn't it? 

She smiled and nuzzled into his neck.

“Okay,” she said, “I want you to put it in now.”

No sooner than the words left her mouth, she was flat on her back with Kabru pressed between her legs, her hips in his lap. His grappling techniques were something Laios had long envied–he was so precise in how he moved that their sparring matches almost never left Laios nursing a wound despite how often Kabru had her pinned in seconds. It was always impressive, but it had never quite enthralled Laios like it did now. He was like a naga in how strong and agile he was at breaking her holds on him and wrapping her in his own.

Kabru reached across the bed to his end table drawer, and withdrew a glass bottle of oil. The glass was a dark green color, and the liquid swished smoothly within. A stamp near the bottom certified it a product of the Golden Country. 

“Is that olive oil? From the new harvest?” 

He uncorked it and poured it in his palm.

“Hm? Yes, it is.”

He lathered his fingers before rubbing the oil onto his cock. It was light in color, and fragrant. He passed the bottle to her with his other hand.

“I’m guessing you wanted to taste?”

Laios had indeed. She put a small dab of it on her finger and brought it to her tongue. It was rich and strongly flavored, exceptionally pressed using the techniques that her new citizens had been refining in the dungeon for a thousand years before she ever became king. The trees they’d harvested were still around, but after the kingdom had risen again, they had to expand the production and plant new groves, the first of which were finally harvested just a couple of weeks ago. It had been a small but proud harvest of some unripe olives to produce a bit of oil, just to test the produce–the rest would be harvested in the autumn when fully ripe.

The bottle she held now was a sample that must have been gifted to Kabru when he’d visited in Laios' stead for the harvest (it had not been Laios' choice to miss out, but kingship sometimes requires enormous sacrifice). She put it back in the drawer.

“We make such good olive oil here, it really blows the imports in the kitchen right now out of the water. I bet if Khaka Brud knew what they were missing, they wouldn't be so reluctant to chip in for the roads.”

Kabru hummed thoughtfully as he adjusted her hips.

“I don't disagree, but they haven't been swayed yet. There's a lot of distrust between our court and the dwarven clans. Every concession we make is met with further hostility.”

That had to be Laios’ fault. With everything that hearing from her father had brought up, she’d hardly thought about how to make the delegates feel comfortable in her home. She’d seen them as an enemy to be fought, just another bunch of people who wanted something she just couldn’t give, someone else who wanted her to be a man properly. It was an elaborate dance she never learned the steps to, and she had to stumble along the whole way while everyone watched her fuck it up.

Kabru laid kisses along her calf as he put her legs over his shoulders. Holding back a giggle as his breath tickled the sensitive skin right below the knee, she realized she didn’t feel that pressure to perform with Kabru. He was always willing to lead her through the steps when she had to do it, but when they were alone, that was never what he wanted from her. And it made her feel happy, really happy, to feel that connection with him.

My boyfriend, who wants me like this.

She never would’ve gotten to feel like this if she hadn’t come to him with a meal and a willingness to be vulnerable, to let him know that she just wanted to share…

Suddenly, a solution so stupidly simple presented itself that she had to smack herself for not thinking of it sooner.

Hand to her forehead, she exclaimed, “A feast! Duh, we need to throw them a feast! Really showcase what we have here, share a really good meal, just for them!”

Kabru grabbed her hand from her forehead and kissed her fingers, each tip in turn.

“That might actually work to soften them up,” he said into her palm. She could feel him smiling behind her hand. “It’d show that not only do we already have fine goods that just need investment to expand, we’re willing to share that wealth with them as partners!”

He gazed down at her. His pupils were dilated, and his smile so serene.

He kept talking, excitedly, “Plus, if we can soften just one of them, we might be able to create a wedge. If one of them bends, wants our olives or our ale badly enough, it could completely undermine that unified front Lady Granite presents.”

She nodded along.

“I hope we can impress her too, though. We really need her pavers. You should try to find out what food she likes–something sentimental!–and I’ll get some help planning the feast, and we’ll announce it at the start of the meeting in the morning.”

With another kiss to her palm, he sighed, “It’s so alluring when you're good at your job.”

And he thrust inside her at last.

Chapter Text

The fire rages. Black smoke billows out the windows, up to the ceiling, covering the walls. That smoke is like a wall around you, surrounding you. It's so hot, it hurts, but there's nowhere else to go. Crackling, roaring flames are everywhere, just behind that smoke. 

A grown-up steps out from the smoke and glares down at you. Her skin is black, her hair white, and her ears are long and pointy. The smoke swirls around her.

“Take the evidence into custody!” she yells, and more and more elves shrouded in smoke come and grab you, dragging you into the wall of black with them. You can’t see, you can’t breathe, you don’t know where you are. They ask you questions, all kinds of questions, but you can only cough and hack in response. Smoke pours from your mouth every time it opens.

Water, all you want is water. Something to stop the burning, to wash the taste of soot from your mouth. But these elves can't hear you in the roaring blaze, they can't see you in the smoke. They just keep asking questions, but never your name. No one asks your name until…

The boy with curly hair.

“I’m Kabru. I’ve lived here two years, and it's not so bad. Want to be friends? What's your name?” 

His eyes were like little ponds, and the fire didn't touch him. You cough and clear your throat, and finally it's words instead of more and more smoke.

“I’m Rin.”

It's all you can say, but he doesn't mind. He’s just happy you're there. He doesn't ask any other questions, just shows you this big, clean, white house and his room with all the toys and the new mother he gets to have. You eat the cake he gives you and listen to him complain about how dry and crumbly it is, and he gives you a glass of juice that his new mother keeps in an ice box.

“Cold juice! In summer! It's really amazing here.”

It is. It is amazing there in that big, white house with the ice box and the toys and the boy who doesn't ask you questions but knows your name. You hope you're going to stay together there forever but his new mother calls for you and you know that you have to go back into the smoke. You can see the black clouds from her windows. The obsidian-skinned elf will be waiting for you on the other side of the door, to drag you back into custody, back into that burning house.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You startle awake. You nearly fall out of the chair at your desk where you’d dozed off sober as your body reacts to the thunderous knocking in your dream.

Or was that real?

You don’t know. Thin gray smoke seeps from the door frame – shadows of dreams lingering. They love to linger if you don’t suppress the dreaming. It's why you never sleep sober, even though the vice you can tolerate, cannabis, is so difficult to procure. If you could drink to get a dreamless sleep like Kabru does, you would.

Cautiously, you rise and head to your chamber door and press your ear to the wood, trying to listen for a person on the other side. If there’s someone there, it’s probably Kabru, and you don’t want to see him when you’re like this, all disheveled and half-awake and dreaming of him again. 

Knock knock knock.

You jump back. The sound was not like the explosive one from your dream, but the knocking had been real after all.

“Rin, are you awake?” comes a soft, high whisper–Marcille.

You unbolt the door and crack it open. 

The smoke wafts in, denser than it had seemed. It obscures her face until all you can really see is the rounded tips of her long ears. You can just barely see the blue of her eyes. Still, even shrouded, you’re not unhappy to see her–if you can just keep yourself together, this might be better than how you normally deal with your waking dreams. It’s fine if Marcille sees you this way, you aren’t trying to impress her, after all.

Right?

You swing open the door and let her inside, and the smoke follows her, shifting around to keep her just out of focus. She shuts your door behind her and leans back against it, keeping her arms inside her robe, cradled against her body. It was the same robe she’d worn in the garden, powder blue cotton with the close in the front for you to pull open.

You start twisting your hair around your finger.

“What do you want?”

Her face contorts under the mask of smoke–it’s so hard to see her. Her voice is quiet and shaky.

“I-I wanted to see you again, Rin,” she says, pulling her robe even tighter, “But I should let you know something…”

Her face turns away from you, but the blue eyes stay on you.

“I don’t like you that way, Rin,” a voice much lower than Marcille’s whispered.

Aren’t Marcille’s eyes usually green?

You do your best to ignore the voice.

“Just tell me.”

She jumps, turning her face to you again so her eyes are back in place.

“I, um, used to be a boy–I mean I’m a girl now, but I was born a–”

“You’re like Kabru.”

“Just like Kabru.”

Those blue eyes burn like fire as they meet your own.

Yes!” she exclaims, “Like Kabru! Or, I mean, suppose I don’t know if he still has…” she shakes herself, “What I mean is, I don’t want you to be surprised that I have a penis.”

You step closer. If you stay focused on her, you can ignore those eyes in front of her, that voice that isn’t hers. You think you can see pink in her cheeks.

“It’s um, just a very feminine penis…”

One more step, and you’ve nearly pinned her to the door, but you can’t get close enough to dispel the smoke.

“I don’t mind.”

You can ignore it. Those blue eyes aren’t real, he isn’t here, and you can just ignore it until it goes away. Just stay focused on Marcille.

You lean into her, stroking her jaw with a single finger, leather grazing against her skin. When you reach her chin, you push up, so you can just close the distance between your lips and hers. You can taste the rose-scented balm on her lips.

“You still wish it was me and you instead.”

Ignore it. It’s not there–the smoke will clear if you can just ignore it.

Marcille falls back against the door, weak for your touch.

“And maybe it would be me pressing you against the wall, if you weren’t so abrasive.”

To steady her, you press your thigh to her groin, grinding into her. She whimpers beneath you.

“You’ll fuck her because I won’t fuck you.”

“Be quiet,” you mumble, trying to shut that voice out.

“S-sorry,” Marcille whispers back.

“Careful, you’ll scare her off too.”

You shut your eyes and kiss her again, but those blue flames still burn into you–inescapable. Closer you hold her, closer, but her arms are still folded around herself, keeping you from closing the distance. Suddenly, you realize that there's something hard prodding at your chest.

“Do you have something?” you ask bluntly, pulling just a hair away from her mouth.

Marcille gasps for breath like she’s been holding it this whole time. She fussed with her robe, pulling it open and drawing out a tapered pink dildo. You watch in amazement as the smoke swallows up the object until it’s little but the suggestion of a phallus.

“I was hoping you would use this on me…”

Does she mean right now?

You’re not sure you can go through with that–not like this. Where does she expect you to put it? How can you do it with Kabru watching you from her eyes?

“What, like you’ve never thought about dominating me that way?”

You ignore him. You’ve never thought–among the fantasies of Kabru holding you close and kissing you gently and confessing his long-held admiration of you–of taking Kabru yourself, putting him in his place for all the time he’s made you wait or made you feel like you matter less to him than he does to you. It’s never crossed your mind to grab a tool like this and make him beg you to keep going, to mark him as yours. 

“Take it. Fuck her and imagine it’s me.”

Your throat is dry. The smoke is choking and nauseating, you can't stand this much longer but you can't do anything but try to outlast it.

Marcille stammers on.

“It was a gift from Falin. She asked that if I found another, I’d ask her– you –to use it on me.”

The smoke around her grows denser, until you can’t see her at all anymore. There’s nothing left of her, just those eyes, those dangerous blue eyes. You step away from him. Your finger twists around a strand of hair.

“You thought it would be you, didn’t you, Rin? That someone would choose you?”

You can hear Marcille babble on beneath Kabru’s voice, but he’s so soft, so tender, that it drowns out everything else. It’s the voice he talks in when you were being revived back in the dungeon. The voice he uses when you need him most and he’s there for you. When he wants to soothe you.

“This is the best you’ll ever get. Both of you wishing it was someone else in your embrace. Just take it. Be happy with it.”

You pull at that strand between your fingers, rage bubbling in your stomach.

You spit, “I’m not a fucking replacement for her.”

It aches, it aches, it aches! You yank harder and harder–something, anything to distract from that hole in your chest growing wider and wider as pieces of you burn away like a sheet of paper held over a candle. Smoke and ash, the room is just smoke and ash stinging at your eyes while the fire warms your body until it hurts. 

You shout over the roar of the flames, “I’m not fucking you so you can think of her! ”

“I thought you understood,” he says, that sweet voice like water on a grease fire, “I thought you understood when you kissed me.”

That kiss–oh, she had understood it perfectly. He was mocking her, mocking how she felt. He’d never kiss her any other way, only when he was as repulsive to her as she was to him. That fucking kiss!

No, damn it, no! It’s Marcille, Marcille! Kabru isn’t here, and Marcille said that.

She must mean in the garden. The garden. Smoke had curled there too. Falin won’t mind this then, that’s what you’d said. Her girlfriend wouldn’t mind if you’d kissed her.

But you hadn’t understood. No, you thought you would steal her away, and you’d both just forget the ones who didn’t want you. But Falin did want Marcille, and had claimed her so thoroughly as to make anyone who would take Marcille afterwards play her role. A stand-in for the real thing. 

Hadn’t that loneliness been real?

You tried to see her through the smoke, to get any hint at all if you’d shared that loneliness that night or if you’d made every shared breath between you up. But it’s too dense, too hard to see her anymore–you can only see Kabru standing there. Handsome, beautiful Kabru, who will never want you, leans down, his lips softly parted to kiss you.

“I really like you, Rin.”

Out! You had to kick them both out! You scramble for the handle behind where Marcille’s arm was and wrench the door open. They spill out onto the hall together, Marcille landing on her ass, and Kabru tumbling back into smoke and dissipating. Whatever this was, it’s over now. You can see that in the tears streaming down Marcille’s face as she hurries to her feet and starts running down the hall, head in her hands. 

You shut the door again and slump against it, breathing heavily. 

It’s over. The smoke’s gone. It’s over.

You pull yourself upright again, but nearly trip on something rolling around on your floor: the pink dildo. With a hard kick, you send it away under the bed, only for it to bounce back out as it hits the wall. You try again, more pushing with your toe than kicking, and you successfully push the fucking thing out of sight and prayed you would never see it again. Not it, not Marcille. 

But it would only be a matter of time before you saw Kabru again. It always was. He was part of you, curled in your belly ready to spew forth, amongst all the other shadows in you. Just a matter of time.

Chapter Text

As Kabru lay in bed with Laios' head on his chest, stroking her hair, he tried to commit every detail of the night to memory. Her face especially: flushed and smeared with with fluids after sucking him off; her mouth open and gasping as her eyes trailed down his body when he entered her; her eyes squeezed shut as she tightened her sphincter around him while he fucked her; her cheeks squished in his hand as he made her look at him while she came into his other hand, and her shallow breaths matching his as he came himself shortly after. He’d only been able to tease at her prostate, but that only made it so that she was even more sensitive when he stroked her cock and bit at her wrist.

 Giving her the knotted dildo had been even better. She had stayed so collected–with great effort, he would add–while he had stretched her out to match the toy, only grasping at the sheets and whining at a low volume. He committed to memory now the way her whines increased in pitch as he pushed past her second sphincter and became a yelp as he began to thrust inside her. Her breast had heaved with the effort it took to speak as she confessed she’d never been able to get it all the way inside, and her honeyed eyes cast down towards the floor as she thanked him for his help.

He’d laughed and kissed her breast (the angle and difference in height not allowing him to kiss her mouth) and said, “I’m your boyfriend, Laios, you don't have to thank me for fucking you.” And they both giggled, giddy with the long overdue closeness.

And after all that, he couldn't get the knot in–the thing was just too big when inflated and he was not putting it inside her without knowing how much it would stretch. It didn't really matter–they didn't need an extra incentive to cuddle, and the rest of the dildo’s girth was plenty to rub her prostate until her cock ran dry.

And now Laios lay on his chest, fingers curling around his chest hair, half-conscious, as he rubbed her back gently. They would have to separate soon, get some rest in their own beds, and be as discreet as possible, but Kabru could permit staying like this for a little longer. 

Suddenly, Laios adjusted her position, scooching up until she was resting her head on his shoulder. Their legs stayed in a tangle and their arms stayed wrapped around each other.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, still a bit groggy after the exertion of the night.

He gave her a peck on the forehead (it was remarkable how easy it was to kiss her now), and answered, “Of course. What is it?”

“How come you didn’t know about Rin and Marcille? You always pick up on stuff like that.”

He really hadn’t expected her to bring that up–he’d thought she’d be asking to stay in his room for the night. Whatever was going on with Rin, he’d deliberately chosen to push it out of his mind for now so he was not splitting his attention between Rin and Laios. 

When Laios had initially told him, he’d just felt surprised that Rin was seeing someone and hadn’t already made a big deal of it to him. The pattern was always the same: a guy shows interest in Rin, she tries to gauge Kabru’s reaction to the situation, he encourages her to give it a shot, she goes on a maximum of two dates before deciding it’s not working out, and at least one of them she would’ve dragged Kabru along only to get jealous over any girl he brought with him.

Kabru hummed as he thought about it.

“Hm, I’m not sure. Normally she’d need me to talk her into it, so I don't know what’s different this time. Because Marcille’s a woman, maybe?”

Laios furrowed her brow.

“Talk her into what?”

“Dating. She doesn’t really get out unless I make her go,” he chuckled, “You have no idea how many terrible double dates I’ve been on with her.”

She nuzzles his shoulder again.

“You wanna tell me about them?” she asked, less curious and more eager to hear him talk about something she knew he liked to discuss: interpersonal drama.

“I can tell you the worst one, as long as you won’t just fall asleep while I’m talking.”

“I won’t,” she yawned.

She truly was the worst liar he’d ever known, but it was cute.

“So, this was about two years after I arrived in Melini with Rin. She went with me to a blacksmith to get my boot knife made, and there was a tallman apprentice there whose eyes kept lingering on Rin’s hands and her hair as she moved–it was really obvious he found her attractive–”

“You set her up?” she asked, no doubt to try and stay awake like she said she would.

“No, no, he asked her out on his own when we went back to pick up the finished knife. Name was Rufus Kordy, nice enough guy. Last I heard he was married with a baby on the way and started his own smithy. Anyway, he asks Rin if she’d like to meet him for lunch sometime, and she says ‘Uh, maybe’ and walks out of the store, pulling me along with her. I tell her to just give it a shot, and she tells me she won’t unless I go too. At that point, we’d been on a dozen or so terrible double dates, so I say that’s fine, it’s not like we haven’t done this before. She tells Rufus she’ll go if she can bring a friend, and he’s happy with that. Poor fool.”

“Poor fool,” she hummed, as if she agreed, despite clearly only being half-awake and barely able to follow. 

“I ask a girl I was seeing casually–” because she was the daughter of a drug runner he was tracking, but that detail detracts from the story, “--and as usual, Rin hates that–”

“Wait,” Laios says, picking her head up and looking him in the eye, “Why does she hate that?”

“Oh, right, it wouldn’t be obvious to you,” he sighed, “Rin’s had a crush on me since we were kids.”

“Was it really okay to go on double dates like that when you knew she liked you?” Her tone was a bit judgemental–turns out she had been paying attention after all. 

It was a complicated subject, Rin and him. It wasn’t something Kabru expected anyone to really understand outside themselves. They’d both been lonely orphans who lost their whole families, and what they had was unexplainable to anyone who hadn’t faced the same pain.

“If I went alone, it would scare off the guy. If I didn’t go, Rin almost never agreed to go out. I wanted her to at least try to make some friends,” he explained.

But Laios didn’t seem convinced.

“It still seems kind of mean, somehow. Not really like you.”

“It’s not about–Listen, those dates were always so terrible because she’d spend the whole time trying to make me feel jealous, and when that didn’t work, she’d start trying to insult my date,” he said, getting wound up. He was jabbing the air with his finger as he spoke, trying to clarify himself, but this was only making it worse and painting Rin in a bad light.

But he just couldn’t get what he really meant to say to come out of his mouth.

“I mean, she just has lingering feelings–I was the only friend she had growing up, literally the only person she had to talk to while in custody, so of course she’s a bit possessive even if I just see her like a sister–”

But Laios was staring at him like he’d grown a second head that was trying to eat the first.

“Kabru, is that really okay?”

“Why, are you jealous too?” he snapped.

She looked hurt. He snapped his hand to his mouth to force himself to shut up.

“No, Kabru, that just… I don’t know, that doesn’t seem healthy. ”

Not healthy? That was the wrong impression; he'd said the wrong thing. He could salvage this–he had to salvage this. His hand slipped away again and he kept talking, faster, a little faster than before, like if he could just say it the right way fast enough, she would understand.

“It’s fine, really. I mean, it’s not like she’s actually my sister…”

He’s tried, really tried, to see her any other way, but he just can’t. He loves her dearly, but if she knew how he really felt, how would she take it? It would break her heart if he turned her down outright, so it has to be this way. It can’t be anything else. Rin is too fragile to stand on her own, even if that's all Kabru wants for her. He can't push her away.

Even though she couldn’t understand, Laios was looking at him like she did.

“No, it makes sense how you feel. It’s common in highly social mammals. The incest revulsion instinct triggers between pups raised together regardless of genetic content shared. I’ve read a lot of observational studies and experiments on pack dynamics and the trend is that two wolves raised together don’t mate ordinarily–the only way to get them to overcome the revulsion is to isolate them from others,” she explained, “If you take two young pups who lost their parents and place them in a litter with a new mother, they see each other as siblings. But siblings that are highly isolated–like those who have been over-hunted or faced a population bottleneck from a natural disaster–the need to reproduce overrides that revulsion and they will likely mate. That isolation means the wolves may never learn to integrate in another pack if they can find more wolves, and without even the drive to find a mate, there’s no incentive to try communicating with others.”

She looked into his eyes again, that terrible understanding steadier than ever.

“I imagine it has to be similar with humans. You still had a mother and her family, right? But you said Rin was in custody and only talked to you. So it makes sense the two of you feel the way you do.”

It felt like the bed had dropped away from him, leaving him to fall through the air. Rin and Kabru, lonely children. Orphaned pups, one given a mother and one given to the other. She clung to him like a vine because she had no other support, and he let her do it. That push and pull to find a balance where still she could cling but he could breathe–would she ever grow away from him? Or were they both stuck this way for as long as they lived? How could he ever pry those fragile tendrils away without breaking them?

“She only ever had me,” he repeated, “I can’t be mad at her for wanting me when I’m all she’s ever had.”

The rough pad of Laios’ thumb brushed over his lower lip, calling him to face her. He realized he’d been staring out into space, but couldn’t say how long. 

She spoke softly, “I appreciate it when you get mad at me.”

“What are you…”

“When you get mad at me, I know how serious you are. If I’ve been rude or thoughtless, your anger lets me know I’ve done something really wrong that I need to fix,” she paused for a second, cupping his cheek, “I wouldn’t have realized that talking about my father, and my time in the military and everything–I wouldn’t have thought that was something you needed from me if you hadn’t gotten so angry that I wouldn’t tell you. I thought it was a burden I had to carry alone.”

She grabbed his hand, curling her fingers around his palm, keeping the other hand at his cheek.

“If it makes you angry, if it hurts, then you need to let her know that, or neither of you will ever fix this.”

Be direct. She’s telling you to be direct. Stop playing this stupid game of chicken with Rin.

Directness worked with Laios , but he’s known Rin most of his life. She’s one of two living people he can call family, and of those two, she’s the one he trusts most. If their relationship changed, they might not be able to fix it. He could try to tear away as gently as possible, but the roots she’d put in him would snap and leave her unable to stand by herself. He may never get her back.

“If I say anything,” he said, “there may not be a way to fix it again.”

Laios stroked his face, her thumbpad swiping across his eye, leaving a trail of wetness behind it. When had he begun to cry?

“You can’t pretend it’s fine forever, Kabru. But if you confront her about it, maybe you can come to an understanding. You have to try.”

The tears just kept flowing. It was like running a faucet. He couldn’t control it, he had to just let it run and run while Laios laid there with him, holding his hand and wrapping herself around him in comfort. He kept his head turned away, so she couldn’t see his face well. Eventually, the crying slowed until he could speak again. He felt like an infant babbling on this way, and he had to clear his throat several times before words would come out the way he wanted.

“If it’s just tonight,” he choked, “You can sleep here.”

He felt so pathetic. He wished he could take it back.

But Laios just pressed her head into his shoulder.

“If you want me to, I will. I’ll get us up early so we don’t get caught,” she said, anticipating his fear at the indiscretion. She paused and seemed to think hard about her next action.

She pulled away from him, and cleaned up the mess they’d left as best she could in the dark of his bedroom while he lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He could hear her washing the toy and tucking it away, picking up some clothes off his floor and putting them in the laundry basket, and then he felt her return to the bed and pull the covers over them. Slotting herself back into the crook of his shoulder, she kissed his clavicle.

“Good night, Kabru.”

His throat felt swollen shut again already. He managed to place a kiss on top of her forehead. He wondered if he should take a drink before bed–surely, if he tried to sleep right now the nightmares would come? But listening to the sound of Laios’ breathing, feeling the warmth of her beside him, and just that little bit of contact between them as she shifted back onto the pillow and quickly fell asleep… His own breathing slowed too, until they were in-sync, and–physically and emotionally exhausted–he followed her into sleep.

Chapter Text

Idle chatter filled the meeting hall as the delegates from Khaka Brud finished their breakfast and awaited the arrival of Melini’s king and his negotiators. Ol’ Gran’s patience has been wearing ever thinner with the whole affair, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could tolerate the idiotic men the governance of Brud had sent along with her or the sullen, beardless king and his cheery, elf-like personal aide.

This nightmarish negotiation was set up for her to fail. Were she to agree to any less than what they’d been fishing before, the blame for the deficit would be on her , not on the fishmongers like Lord Aragon sitting at this very table, not on the simple nature of the shifting ecology– her . If they had to provide anything for the roads to be built, that too would be taken as a failure by the governance of Brud, signaling her inability to live up to her reputation as a stone-cold negotiator who never accepts a term she doesn’t like and never bows. It’d be taken as a sign she’s declining, that she never had the chops to make it as a clan leader to begin with, nevermind that most clan leaders were not negotiating with kings of foreign lands. 

Yet if Melini grew tired of trying to work with the terms Khaka Brud wanted her to meet and decided it was more economical to refuse all trade with her city and focus efforts elsewhere, then she was still the scapegoat. All roads lead to her downfall. And the men beside her, her supposed subordinates, would all be spared.

They’d spent all day yesterday, and much of the night, discussing among themselves while the king’s aide took notes. It had been a complete waste of time–there was nothing to budge on, nothing to request, nothing to offer. Khaka Brud was in deep financial trouble with so many ports closed, sea-side businesses tanking in value, and the fishing industry drying up. This was doomed to fail. 

I should start kissing my title goodbye.

The doors swung open, and in poured Melini’s court of negotiators, led by The Devourer himself and flanked by his personal aide, prime minister, and court mage, with the rest of the court following behind them. Bizarrely, His Majesty looked happy, while his aide looked exhausted. The court mage looked like she’d rolled out of the grave. Perhaps he was only happy if others around him were miserable–hardly a rare trait among royalty. Or perhaps he was excited to finally be telling them to leave.

Smiling broadly, he stood before his seat at the head of the meeting table, and began to shout.

“Everyone, we apologize for not treating you properly as guests! We know the risks Khaka Brud is taking in investing in a road between our capital and yours, and we want to thank you for coming to negotiate. In two days, we will hold a feast and show you the best of Melini! Since my advisor, Kabru,” he motions to the youth beside him, “tells me you are not yet ready to make a final offer, I’d like to ask you to relax as we prepare the feast. If there are no objections, I move to suspend further business until after the feast, when we have shown what we can offer.”

He looks around the room expectantly. 

It’s such an obvious ploy to butter them up and make them more amenable to Melini’s demands that it's incredible they think it will work.

If he thinks dinner can soften Ol’ Gran, he’s dumber than he looks.

“I had a friend who went to the coronation feast, and he said it was the best food he’d ever tasted, the dragon meat was so tender and…” whispered Aragon.

He was soon joined by a chorus of I heard there’s a superb ale here ’s and A lad I know was there, said the same ’s from the men around her. Clearly, she was in the minority in recognizing the obvious.

She rose from her seat, the gold cuffs on her locks tinkling as they moved. With her most dour look, she turned to the king and said, “No objections, Your Majesty.”

He cast her a suspicious smile.

“Good. Meeting adjourned.”

Lady Granite bowed deeply to her host.

“If there is nothing to discuss, then I shall be touring the city at my leisure until I am summoned,” she said, an icy bitterness to her voice. The king pretended not to notice.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

His aide stepped forward, smiling sweetly as he found his nerve to speak.

“Lady Granite, would you like an escort? I’d be happy to show you around personally–”

What a naive young thing. He was likely used to his looks winning him favors with tallmen–they enjoyed that sort of prettiness and obvious youth. But O’l Gran was a dwarf, and an old widow at that: she had no need for the company of some effete tallman who hardly had a beard to shave.

Raising her palm to him, she replied, “No need, son. I’m still able to walk on my own.”

He bowed graciously.

“Understood, my lady. Please let us know if you need anything.”

She took her leave of the castle on foot, then hired a carriage to bring her into the city proper. Her last visit the other day had nearly been in vain, but she knew where to find the person she was looking for now. Rhythmic hoofbeats carried her away among the droning sounds of summer, and she ruminated on what she was about to do, what she’d already done, everything that she’d lost.

A woman lay her head on her dinner table, all her lanterns cold and dark as she keens. Her hair has been shorn off as a sign of her grieving, but still she pulls at the short curls until they break, until her scalp aches. Granite, all alone, mourns her husband of 70 years, taken from her far too soon. Every time she closes her eyes, she can see him choking out his last words around the tumor in his throat: “You. Have to. Lead the clan.”  

That was supposed to be his job, his role, how dare he leave it to her alone? Her cries echoed off the smooth stone as she wept and wept at the table. How bitterly alone she felt in that moment.

Suddenly, a light fell on her and she shot up, drying her eyes and trying to pretend she was not nearing the edges of grief’s abyss. Her youngest stood in the doorway, pulling at the bottom of his shirt, like he’d done any time he was uncomfortable or nervous since he was a toddler. He was just a bit over 30, turning 35 in January, too old to still be playing with the edges of his clothes, but it’s harmless, so she lets him be.

“Something the matter, my little teapot?”

He shook his head.

“I just heard you crying, and I wanted to ask if you wanted me to sing for you, or get you some tea or…”

Sweet little Kaolin. Not a trace of iron in him, always as soft and silky as wet clay. Her little teapot—nicknamed for the way he could sing the high notes you’d expect from an elven soprano, not a little dwarven boy, whistling so high it was like hearing a kettle start to boil. But Granite had always loved that about him, that he was gentle and sweet. It was like finally having the daughter she always wanted, someone to share with, someone she could pass down her own kind of strength to. Someone who would hear her keening for her husband even though he’d just lost a father and would want her company while they grieved together.

“Yes, yes, darling you make tea and sing for me while I put some rice on,” she said, wiping those hot tears from her face, “How does jambalaya sound?”

The carriage jolted to a stop at a tavern, a few blocks from her real destination: a bar out in the slums. She tipped the driver and sent him on his way, assuring him she’d find another carriage back to the castle when she wanted to return. In her simple black dress hanging over a frame worn thin by years of grief and the golden cuffs on her locks stowed away in her lodgings at the castle, she didn't look the picture of wealth and success she was–she looked like any old widow slowly dying of loneliness. She set her destination in her sights and walked straight to it, letting the people in her path part like waves.

It was early still, and the stage was only just now being set for afternoon performances. The place was nearly empty, and only a few people came in while she waited in the corner, deciding what to do–kobolds, half-foots, outcast dwarves; all signs of the utter poverty of the establishment. It had been a miracle she’d found the place–she’d known her son had run to Melini, and she’d hunted for him under the guise of meeting a distant relative in town, but it had been a fruitless effort. It was a miracle that she stumbled upon a billing for a show at this tavern. ‘SANDY: THE DWARF QUEEN WITH ELF PIPES. See her at The Roost!’ it had read above a print of someone who was certainly her son with a clean-shaven face. 

“Mama, mama,” he cried out while she held him in her arms, high voice cracking with tears he couldn’t choke down, “Why do those boys always pick on me? What did I do wrong?”

She’d rubbed his back as he wept for all the cruelty he’d suffered already. A boy with no father, who loved to sing, who loved for his mother to braid his curls into pretty shapes, like she used to wear before grief pushed her to shave her head. The boys at his school had taken shears and cut one of his braids before Kaolin could run away–they couldn’t kill that lovely voice, so they took his hair. One lone braid sat mournfully on his shoulder across from the frayed and broken remains of its twin.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Teapot! Not a thing,” she shushed, “I’ll talk to their mothers and make sure they don’t bother you anymore. And your braid… We can go to the wigmaker, buy some bundles and braid them in–you won't even notice they ever took it.”

His crying slowed and stopped, and she did get some extensions for his braid. And he was happy and singing again.

It’s her fault. She coddled him, kept him soft because she liked that softness, and then he didn’t have the iron in him to step into his role as a man. She should’ve remarried, forgot her grief, and given him another father, a role model. It was her fault her sweet son was alone, working as a singer in a seedy bar in a monster-eater’s country.

Granite watched as a pair of tallmen in dresses and heavy stage make-up came up from a basement room. 

A dressing room, that must be the dressing room.

She darted for the door, ducking the women trying to stop her.

“You can’t go in there!” one of them called out as Granite descended the stairs.

“Don’t interfere in family business,” she snarled back, fierce enough that the women did not pursue her further. They might call for a bouncer or a guard, so she had to be quick.

A figure sat before a mirror wreathed in bright lanterns, natural hair bound tightly as she applied make-up for the audience upstairs. As Ol’ Gran got closer, the figure came into focus, her round eyes and broad nose and thick lips, all just like Granite’s own: her son.

“Kaolin? Kaolin!” she shouted, practically running to meet her son.

“Mama?! What are you doing here?!” 

He rose from his stool and turned to face her, frustration clear on his face. 

“You cannot be here, Mama!” 

His hands were outstretched to prevent her from trying to wrap her arms around him, but she didn’t care–it had been nearly 35 years since she’d seen her youngest son, and she needed to hold him again. All the grieving she had to do for him, all the wondering and missing and searching, she had to hold her baby again.

“Kaolin, my little teapot,” she wailed into his shoulder, his hands trapped between them, “I found you, I finally found you!” 

He struggled against her until he managed to push her away.

“I have a show in a few minutes, Mama, you need to leave–”

“You have to come home, Teapot, you have to come home!”

He pushed her and pushed her but she fought hard to bring him in her arms again, smudging the unfinished make-up as her arms wrapped around her son’s shoulders. Her tears flowed on the dressing gown he wore. With an exhausted sigh, he relented, allowing her to embrace him.

“Mama, I can’t come home. I’m an outcast, they won’t let me back. You shouldn’t even be talking to me.”

“I’m the clan leader,” she growled, voice choked with tears, curling her arms tighter, “Whatever I say goes–and I’ll tell them to take you back. I never approved them casting you out!”

He patted her back, slow and soft, a gentle there, there motion.

Quietly, he said, “You couldn’t make them accept me then, you think they’ll accept me now?”

“We’ll grow your beard back out, get you a wife–long as you can do that, Kaolin, anything else they can say about you is just gossip and rumors.”

Kaolin’s hand went still.

“Grow my beard out… Get a wife… That’s all this is to you, isn’t it?”

His voice was so quiet, like he was talking to himself rather than her.

“It’s nothing we can’t fix; I let you down by not teaching you how to be a man, but you just need to play the part!”

Now his hands dropped away from her and he just stood there, like he was waiting for her to pull away on her own. But she stayed put, clinging to him like he might disappear again, running away in the night with only a note left behind: I can’t be the son you want. I’m sorry. I’m leaving for Melini, and I hope I’ll be happy there. Love, Teapot.

“I don’t want to be fixed, Mama.”

There was venom in his voice–so cold and high and clear and hateful that it finally made her jump back from him.

“That’s not what I–”

“You meant it. Don’t pretend you didn’t–do you remember the night I ran away? Do you remember what you said?”

“I told you we could work it out–”

“No, you told me I was being silly! That I wasn’t a woman just because I have a high voice. You didn’t hear me when I said what I wanted was for people to treat me like they do the women!”

“Because you don’t want that, Kaolin–you’ve seen me struggle to get any respect from those men–”

He shrieked now, anger turning to rage, “It’s SANDY. My name is SANDY!”

Her own voice crept louder too, matching his energy.

“I named you, I’m not calling my son by a damn stage name!”

“Too fucking bad, because you’re in MY house, with MY people, and you are calling me by the name I chose!”

Granite crossed her arms, fists clenched tight around her biceps.

“Come home, Kaolin. ”

Her son glared at her, make-up smeared and dressing gown tear-stained, and his dark eyes narrowed in fury. He looked so much like her.

“I am home, Mama. They never liked me back in the clan, but the people upstairs, waiting for me? They love me–they love my hair, they love my make-up, my clean-shaven face; they love the swish in my step and the lilt in my voice, and they call the damn house down when I hit those high-notes for them! My people love Sandy, and that was something I never had in the clan– never !”

The basement door banged open. Those two tallmen from before stood outside while a pair of men–another tallman and an orc, of all things–hurried down the steps.

“You can’t be in here, ma’am, please leave or we’ll call the guard,” the orc said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the open door above. The tallman nodded silently, backing his partner.

“Is it a crime now to talk to my son?” she sneered at him.

The two men exchanged a glance before putting their gazes back on her.

“Trespassing is,” the tallman answered.

With a growl of frustration and defeat, she gathered her gown and headed for the stairs.

“Do you need a hand, ma’am?” the orc asked, offering his hairy paw to her.

“Don’t touch me, I can handle some stairs!”

They let her go, staying a few paces behind to make sure she wouldn’t turn back inside. They even watched as she called for a carriage to return to the castle in bitter defeat.

Her son, her Kaolin, her little teapot… All this way to find him, only for him to reject her so completely. But she’d cried enough, and the tears would not come any longer as the carriage started its journey.

Unnoticed by the Lady Granite, the kobold and half-foot she’d seen enter the bar had shadowed her since she left the castle, trailing her scent, and they had been there the first time she’d hunted through Melini for a lead. And once she was long out of sight, they’d make their own way back to the castle as the late summer sun set.

Kuro approached the castle stables in the last rays of light with Mickbell on his shoulders. Kabru had given them money for a carriage, which had saved them a lot of time on foot–still, Mickbell was small, and the way from the gates to the stables was long. Together, they cast one long shadow.

“What’s Kabru want this info for, anyway?”

“Don’t know. Old woman is important.”

Mick lowered his head so he was resting between Kuro’s ears, and Kuro twitched them out of the way to give him a little extra space. 

“He better pay extra for finding her ‘distant relative’ too–Oh! Do you think we get more if it’s her son and not like a third cousin or something?”

“Hope so. Need new pots,” he said. He was about to list off a few other things the noodle shop needed that they’d been putting off buying when he caught Kabru’s voice on the wind as he spoke to someone else.

“Hear Kabru?” he whispered, knowing Mick would want to eavesdrop once they were in range for his ears too.

“Shhh! He’s talking to… to the king, I think.”

A couple of steps forward, and the voices were clear enough to them both. Kuro stopped and stood still. There was no good reason to spy on Kabru, but he had been hard to get in touch with since taking his new job, and it was fun to listen in on his private moments. As long as they weren’t too private.

“...it has to be tonight? It can’t wait until morning?” 

That was the king’s voice, he felt fairly sure, though he had trouble distinguishing human voices. Kuro could smell him on the air too, a particular scent he was starting to learn.

“Mickbell and Kuro said they had a strong lead on who Lady Granite’s been trying to find. If they find him, I need to talk to him immediately if possible.”

“And if you ride out and can’t get a hold of him because he’s already in bed asleep, like you should be?”

“It would still be worth checking.”

The king's voice became cross.

“Don’t take every excuse to run yourself ragged.”

Kabru dropped his pitch, his volume, until he was purring, “My lady, I am acting in your service–”

“Did he just call the king..?” Mick whispered.

Kuro didn't answer: this was some illicit affair they were overhearing, not just funny gossip. Should I leave? No, Mick and I need the money, and Kabru needs our intel. I should interrupt.

“I don't want you to call me that to try and change my mind,” the king said sternly, followed by the wet smack of a kiss, “Just be back soon. I’ll tell Yaad to let you sleep in.”

Another wet smack.

“I have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“We can handle it. You need to rest before the feast; that's when I’ll need you most.”

Kabru grumbled, “Fine, my lady, as you wish.”

There was a giggle followed by more kissing sounds. The kissing seemed to be getting quieter–that was a very bad sign. 

He couldn’t keep eavesdropping on this, not on something this personal, and certainly not with Mickbell on his shoulders. Taking care to rustle the grass as he stepped, Kuro started moving towards the barn again.

“Hey!” Mickbell hissed, “They’ll hear us!”

“Got to hear us. Don’t want to surprise.”

Mickbell muttered a complaint, but it was dusk, they were due, and they needed money to replace their out-of-shape pots. And Kabru was a good friend and Kuro did not want to listen in on his moments of intimacy. 

A few steps closer and the kissing stopped, replaced by a few quick whispers, muffled and indistinct now that they knew they could be heard. Kuro could hear some creaking inside, perhaps King Laios leaving in the opposite direction. Mickbell reluctantly called out to them.

“Kabru! We just got back from the job!”

The barn door cracked open to let them inside. And as Kuro thought, the king had already left. Kabru’s hair was a bit messy, and he looked very happy, but none of that was out of the ordinary. His collar was buttoned and sleeves rolled down despite the heat and the late hour–he usually relaxed his dress when the working day was done. It embarrassingly called to mind that Kabru didn’t have any fur to hide marks left by lovebites.

“Hey guys! What did you learn?”

Mickbell cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. With a sigh, Kabru pulled a coin purse from his pocket and dropped it into Mick’s open palm. He tested the weight of it, then passed it down to Kuro, who stowed it inside his armor.

“You always have your priorities in order, Mick.”

“Sure do! So, the old bat–”

“Be polite.”

“The old lady was looking for her daughter. She followed her to a drag bar out in the slums and broke into the dressing room down in the basement.”

“Very loud fight. Everyone heard, whole bar.”

“Did you catch her name?”

“Her mom kept calling her Kaolin, but her stagename’s Sandy.”

Kabru put his hand to his chin, thinking.

“So a performer… and she’s on tonight?”

“Yeah. Kinda hot if you're into dwarven drag queens. Dark skin, pretty eyes, real curvy–could just be padding, though, not like I’d know.”

“Enjoyed her song. Strong voice. Like howl over desert night.”

Kabru tilted his head.

“Is that idiomatic?”

He couldn't explain it in common. He glanced up at Mickbell in apology, but it was time he started to learn Koboldic too–there were far more Kobolds in Melini than when they first met.

“It’s a Koboldic poetical phrase. ‘I hear the lonesome howl over desert night/The sorrow is so beautiful/I cannot howl along.’ It describes something so beautifully sad that it transfixes you, makes you feel powerless, ashamed to howl with them even though that's what they want from you.”

“Understand. Very beautiful poem. Thank you both,” he said, switching from his rough Koboldic back to common. While Mickbell pouted, Kabru grabbed his horse’s reins and led her from the stall.

“Alright, tell me where I’m headed.”

Chapter Text

Her tea cup clinked against the fancy little saucer as Marcille went to pick up her cup of chamomile tea. She sat on the sofa, legs folded daintily beneath her, leaning against the backboard as she went to take a sip. Her braid was starting to come loose–Laios should offer to take it down and brush it out for her before bed. Right now, however, they were catching up after a very long day.

They hadn't had a chance to talk–they’d both been so busy planning for the feast. Laios had been absorbed in meal-planning and getting auxiliary cooking staff to represent the full breadth of Melini's cuisine, which meant hiring on some urban orc caterers and kobold chefs from the recent waves of migrants from the west–Kabru seemed to find kobold cooking nostalgic, and Laios would have to hire a kobold chef or two for him full-time, once the feast was over. Marcille had been fretting about the decor while she performed her security detail. Neither of them had been able to share a meal today either: Laios had been sampling a lot of dishes, and was thus banned from lunch and dinner, and breakfast she’d spent alone with Kabru.

That had been a very brief affair–he’d kept their conversation on the business of the feast and dodged her attempts to ask him if he was planning on talking to Rin. They ate quickly and then moved to inform Yaad of their plans as soon as he was up. He made sure to hold her hand and give her pecks on the cheek and the lips, but he did not want to revisit where their conversation ended, only where it began. Later, as he’d been seeing him off to go try and track down his lead on Lady Granite, he still avoided the subject, keeping his mind on the feast and their new relationship.

Talking about Rin had been really hard on him.

Laios looked down at Marcille next to her on the sofa and wondered how to ask about her night. She and Rin had sex, but the way Marcille seemed uncertain about it made it seem like the first time. Was it something casual where they just had sex? Had they been dating in secret? How long? None of it felt like an appropriate question to ask, but it also felt strange to leave it unaddressed after seeing… Well, after what Laios had seen her with.

Maybe it was too easy, but to her it seemed that if Rin had someone as lovable as Marcille for company, she wouldn't need Kabru’s attention so much. She’d have someone else to rely on, and maybe her crush would finally fade, and Kabru could take comfort in knowing she was being cared for. Likewise, Falin had been hoping and praying that Marcille would find someone else: she would be gone for so long, and even when she finally came to roost in Melini, they would only have so many decades together before Marcille had to learn to love again without her. If Marcille and Rin could fall in love, that would solve so many problems for everyone.

Marcille was coming to the end of her recounting of the florist’s shop (and the many species of flowers she’d bought) when Laios decided now was as good a time as any to change the subject. She waited for Marcille to take a sip of her tea.

“Marcille, can I ask you something?” Laios said, still looking down at her.

She made a small hm? sound before fixing her round and pretty eyes on Laios. Marcille was very beautiful, Laios had to note. Her small, upturned nose, the delicate pout of her lip and the cute way that she smiled, the golden blonde of her long, fine hair, the smoothness of her skin, unblemished by anything but the finest hairs. 

An ache radiated deep in Laios’ belly, a sudden hunger descending on her. Not that it ever helped, but she wished she’d eaten more today.

“How are things with Rin?”

In an instant, those round eyes were brimming with tears and Marcille’s face broke into a wail as she threw her arms around Laios and cried into her shoulder. Awkwardly, Laios tried to shift so she could put an arm around Marcille to hold her, and Marcille fell into her chest instead.

“Wh–What’s wrong?!”

She felt so small against her. Her words became a wet, garbled mess as she buried her face deeper in Laios’ breast, smearing tears and snot over Laios' shirt. 

Stroking her hair and rubbing her back, Laios asked, “Marcille, can you tell me what happened?”

With a big sniffle, Marcille looked up at Laios.

“She kicked me out!”

Laios broke the hug, placing her hands on Marcille's shoulders. She looked delicate and tiny. Like any move too sudden could hurt her. Laios’ hands looked out of place on her. 

Another hunger pang hit her–a nauseating one. She dropped her hands from Marcille as it washed over her. That was part of the risk of her curse, just as much as overeating. She could not get enough and never know until she ran empty. She’d deal with it later: Marcille needed her now.

“Why would she do that?” she asked carefully, trying hard to keep her volume low.

Marcille swiped her hand across her eyes, clearing tears away.

“She… She got angry with me when I mentioned Falin,” she sniffled, the tears still falling despite her best efforts, “She said she wouldn't be a replacement for her. I thought she knew what I meant, that I was still staying with Falin, but… I don't know what I said wrong!”

“Hmm… Kabru said she’s the jealous type.”

Laios wasn't really sure how much of that conversation was supposed to be private, but if it could help Kabru, she couldn't figure out a reason to keep it secret. Even if he’d seemed to be ashamed talking about it.

Marcille’s head drooped, like a wilting flower.

“So she’ll never be okay with this then, will she…”

“W-wait! That might not be true! She’s only ever been in love with Kabru before so–”

“She’s in love with Kabru?” Marcille asked miserably, tears bubbling up again.

“Yeah, since they were kids, but he’s never felt the same so she has to get over it sometime–”

With a grand sigh, she flopped against Laios' chest once again, grabbing for her hand to hold.

“Why did she have to flirt with me if she's not even interested?”

Laios was really making a mess of things. But there had to be a way forward! Afterall, why would Rin flirt with Marcille if she wasn't really interested? Kabru had noted that was unusual for her–maybe she’d never been interested in someone else before? And if she felt like Marcille liked Falin better, maybe her mind would change if Marcille could prove she really liked her as her own person, not just someone who was there because Falin wasn’t.

“Marcille,” Laios prompted gently as Marcille drew lazy circles into Laios’ hand with her thumb, “What do you like about Rin?”

She squeezed Laios' hand.

“Plenty!” Marcille squeaked before clearing her throat and trying to put on her ‘mature lady’ voice, “She’s so cool . Like, she’s so pretty with her black hair, but she's always got this intense, far away look that makes you wonder what she's thinking…” she kept playing with Laios’ fingers, both hands enclosing her palm now, “She’s really smart too–did you know her magic is all self-taught? No schooling! Her spellwork is entirely unique to her. And I like that she's taller but not by as much as Falin or you,” she looked up at Laios, tears starting to dry, “You're way too tall, Laios! I always feel tiny next to you!”

That hunger pang struck again, and it was starting to make her feel sick. Really sick. But she could deal with it later–later!--Marcille was more important. 

She forced a short laugh, and said, “Have you told Rin any of this?”

Shyly she cast her eyes down to their entangled hands, now pressing hers against Laios', comparing the size. Laios dwarfed Marcille–she had to shut her eyes as another pang washed over her. She had to sit and think of the leftover roast chicken in the root cellar, which she could sneak down to and gorge herself on later, imagined the tear of the flesh, the snap of the thigh bones between her molars, the taste of rich marrow on her tongue, but it did not soothe her. 

Damn, that usually helps.

 Forcing her eyes open again, she focused on Marcille, watching for her response.

Feebly, she muttered, “No… We didn't really talk when we… We met in the garden, and I told her I was upset at how long Falin was going to be gone, and then she kissed me. I tried to tell her last night that I really liked her, but it just made her angrier.”

With a frustrated sigh, she locked eyes with Laios and asked, “How am I supposed to tell her now?!”

Laios shrugged and gave the only advice she ever had when dealing with people, “Ask Kabru what her favorite food is and bring it to her. Say you're sorry for hurting her feelings, however you did, and that you’d still like to talk and be friends.”

Another sigh, exasperated this time, and Marcille slumped back against the couch.

“Yeah… That's probably what I have to do…”

After a second, she turned back to Laios, their hands still clasped, with a critical gaze.

“You seem out of sorts–did everything go okay with Kabru?”

Her heart skipped, and blood rushed to her cheeks.

“Things with Kabru are great! Really great!”

Marcille's eyes widened, eager to hear.

“Tell me how it went! Was it romantic?”

She scrubbed at the back of her neck with the hand Marcille was not currently trying to squeeze into dust.

“Pretty romantic,” she smiled broadly and blurted out, “I asked to be his girlfriend and he said yes!”

A hand left the double-grip and shot to Marcille's mouth as she tried and failed to choke down a laughing fit. 

Laios felt nauseous.

“Oh, don't be silly,” she cooed, “Just because you’re not experienced with women doesn’t mean you have to play the woman for him. And obviously you’d be the man of the two of you!”

Marcille didn’t understand. But what was there to understand? Laios had been right–maybe Kabru was willing to call him a lady while they were alone, but there was no way anyone else would ever see him that way. Marcille could be a woman because she was naturally dainty, pretty, feminine: everything Laios was not. This was the way of things, and the sooner he accepted it, the sooner he could get over it.

The gnawing in his stomach wouldn’t stop now.

“Yeah, I should be the man,” he said with a weak laugh.

He stared off at the wall, trying not to let his expression betray his feelings. His, his, his. And he’d just been getting used to ‘she’, too.

“Uh, well, if you wanted to be the woman, I mean,” Marcille stammered, “that’d be a different story–I just mean you don’t have to– ”

“It’s okay, Marcille. You aren’t wrong.”

Fingers entwined with his.

“Laios, I’m sorry, please, I didn’t mean that–”

“Yes, you did,” he snapped, squeezing her hand too tight before remembering to let go. He pulled away so he couldn’t overreact that way again–he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he managed to hurt Marcille. His hand fell to his stomach, digging his fingers into the flesh to try and distract from the pain of it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t eat enough. Just cranky.”

He tried to rise to take his leave only to find Marcille clinging to his arm.

“I’m really sorry! Please, please look at me, Laios.”

She sounded like she was about to cry. So of course, of course Laios turns back to see the tears once again pooling in her eyes.

“If you wanna be a woman, then you are one, okay?” she sniffled, “Sit back down, I need to tell you something.”

Marcille pulled that hand back to her, away from where it gripped Laios’ stomach, and back into her own. They sat together on the couch again, Laios staring down a crying Marcille with a look of concern as she wiped her eyes with one hand and held onto Laios with the other. After a moment of collecting herself, taking deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth, she began to speak.

“The first time I ever met another elf, they thought I was a boy. I’d been doing everything right, I thought–the tallmen in my town all thought I was a girl, my papa always said I was the most beautiful daughter he could ask for–all of it! But my mother introduced me to a colleague visiting from the west, and they said, ‘You have such a handsome son.’ I ran away and cried.

“It’s funny… I couldn’t tell if that elf was a man or a woman then, and I don’t remember them well enough to guess now, but them calling me a boy hurt so much. I wondered if I would have to be a boy around elves, if I just wasn’t pretty enough to be a girl as an elf because my papa was a tallman. And when I started to figure out I liked girls instead of men, that only made it worse. How could anyone tell I was a girl if I’m like this?”

“But you’re one of the prettiest–” Laios tried to interrupt, to offer comfort, but Marcille waved her hand and kept talking.

“Let me finish, Laios! I’m a girl because I like to be–it doesn’t really matter if others agree with that because it’s for me. I get to wear beautiful dresses, I like to feel pretty, but what makes me happiest is when women look at me and know I’m one of them. I don’t need to have babies or wed a man to prove I’m a woman for anyone. I’m a girl for me .” 

She placed her hand to her heart as she started to cry again. A little snot dripped from her nose that she couldn't sniffle in time to catch. Once again, Laios tried to say something to reassure her, but this time it was the words that failed. Nothing came to mind to say, and Laios had to let her keep talking.

From her own breast to Laios’ her hand moved, laying over the heart drumming in her best friend’s chest.

“Laios, what do you want from being a girl?”

Laios opened and closed her mouth dumbly for a moment before she could figure out how to speak again: there were a hundred reasons that all sounded stupid to say out loud.

“I guess… I mean… I don’t know. I just don’t think I can keep being a man.”

Marcille nodded at her.

“And it’s good you can recognize that. But I’m not asking what you don’t want, what is it that you do ?”

Something swam forth in her mind like it was summoned. Once again she pressed her hand to her belly, just rested it there–the way she's seen new mothers do as they share news of a pregnancy. 

“I want a womb,” she said, letting the thought jump from her unfiltered, “If I’m having heirs, I want to carry.”

Marcille’s eyes went wide. 

“A womb? Are you sure? That’s really tricky to achieve–you could wind up sterile!”

“Good,” she stated, “If I’m sterile, then nobody can tell me not to adopt a successor instead. These are my terms: I adopt, or I carry, or no heirs.”

A deep frown carved into Marcille’s face, and she closed her eyes in thought. With a great huffing exhale, she opened them again and locked eyes with Laios.

“I can give you a womb, but you’re going have to adjust your hormones magically for at least a year to make sure your body will accept it. And I’m going to have to change a lot of your body to accommodate a uterus, ovaries, vaginal canal, and so on; and all of it will be difficult–I might need Falin’s help, or another healer, preferably someone who already knows how to tattoo. I’ll be converting your testes into ovaries, converting the prostate to a Skene’s gland, using most of the penis for spare flesh and only leaving the tip and the foreskin to serve as the clitorus...”

Her finger wagged as she pointed out each change she’d have to make, the resources she’d need, and all the potential costs and consequences. It would be a year of preparation for a day-long healing session and tattoos to regulate the new changes and make sure they stick.

“Does all of that still sound like what you want?”

Laios realized she’d been staring in enraptured silence, her hand still pressed to her belly. The sick feeling was gone now, leaving only hunger behind. She grabbed Marcille’s shoulders, and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“That sounds so cool, ” she exhaled, her excitement robbing her of breath, “Can you teach me the hormone spell tonight?”

With an exasperated sigh, Marcille pulled Laios’ hands from shoulders and brought them down to her lap, holding them there.

“Okay, okay, I’ll show you,” she said and pushed one hand back to Laios’ belly, “Keep your hand right there for casting. Now, hormone adjustment of any kind falls under the school of healing, so this will be very simple for you to pick up…”

Chapter Text

It’s not going to ruin my night became Sandy's mantra as she finished her make-up while her mother was escorted out of the building and back out of her life. It's what she muttered to herself as the stage was set and she stepped out to cheers and hollers from the people that loved her and couldn't wait for her to sing for them. It was the phrase playing in the back of her mind as she belted out verse after verse.

But she couldn't keep the pain and sorrow from creeping into her voice–she could feel herself cracking as the night wore on and the slow songs came into the set. Any time she swapped out with another performer to take her breaks, she spent them in silence on the dressing room couch. But when she came back to croon her sad songs, that pain only made her crowd love her more. As her voice broke, she could hear the whines of Kobolds trying not to howl along with her, the sobs of humans overwhelmed by their own misery, all joining in chorus with her for the last song she’d sing tonight.

It can’t ruin my night because I have everything I want right here. Holding her arms out, ready to take her final bow, she panted and listened to the cheers and whistles of everyone in the bar. She scanned the crowd, taking in the people who loved her, new faces and old, and one person stood out to her above the rest. 

A tallman she’d never seen here before had been looking straight at her. With beautiful sapphire eyes and copper brown skin under jet black curls and features so smooth and rounded that they made him look like he’d been cast and polished, he looked more like a statue than a man. She thought she saw him wink, and she definitely saw him smile–her heart leapt into her throat. Thank the gods I didn’t notice him until after I was done, she prayed silently. She pried her eyes off of him for only a second, but he seemed to disappear into the crowd immediately.

Deep and sweeping, she bowed and said goodnight to the crowd. As she got out of her stage clothes and redid her make-up from heavy costume paint to some lighter fare, she wondered if the man had even been real. He’d been like a vision, an angel sent down from heaven, a succubus ready to seduce like the adventurers told stories of. Better not take my chances, though, she thought as she carefully adjusted her bosoms in her dress to sit high and inviting. 

Her instincts never led her astray: the tallman was waiting near the dressing room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed when she exited the dressing room, and when the door shut behind her, he turned to look at her with that same sweet smile he gave her in the crowd and made his way towards her.

His tunic was cut low, exposing dark chest hair through the laces–the contrast between a shaven face and body hair on display was always something Sandy found attractive about tallmen. That little divide between the masculine body hair growing wild with the femininity of tightly controlled facial hair was something intoxicating. Her eyes flickered between his face and his chest so much that she hardly noticed that he’d pulled an ink brush and a bit of paper from the satchel at his hip until he started handing them to her.

“Madame Sandy,” he said, voice like honey, so sweet and rich but light like her own, “Would you sign this for me?”

The paper was a billing for the bar with a woodblock print of her likeness. Getting a woodblock carved had been a business expense that ate deep in her pockets, but it had been worth it. More people came to see her since she’d gotten it done and that meant better pay for her. But even with that boost…

“I’m no one famous, darling; it won't be worth much,” she cooed, trying to dial up the charm as she took the brush and billing.

“You have an incredible voice–maybe you just need to draw someone with a deep purse to your show,” he said with another wink.

She giggled.

“And is that you, handsome?”

“Could be!” he said with a little laugh.

She readied the brush against the corner.

“So who am I making this out to?”

“Mickbell. That's M-I-C-K…”

With a flourish, she signed her love to Mickbell and ended with her own name in letters that made the rest look miniscule. 

“That’s a half-foot’s name, isn’t it, Mickbell?”

He nods. 

“My grandfather. The rest of my family is all tallmen.”

“Well, you know what they say about mixed half-foot-tallmen,” she said with a sly drawl as she returned his poster, “They’ve got biiiiig feet.”

He laughed, fingers brushing against her hand as he took back his prize. 

“If only I had a problem like that. No, I’m a self-made man.”

She looked him over again. It’s hard with tallmen (the boys are all so pretty) but there’s a couple of tells she can spot now that she knows to look. His hands are slender and a bit small, and he’s shorter than most of the men, with a real lean frame. Nothing that would make you point it out, especially if you thought his granddad was a half-foot, but Sandy’s wondering now if that might just be what he says to keep the scent off.

“I might know some gnomes who could bring you up a few sizes, Mickbell. If you’re the trustworthy sort.”

“I might just take you up on that,” he said. With a small bow, he gestured towards the bar. “Care for a drink?”

“We got a gentleman, here!” she exclaimed, taking his offered hand, “I’ll drink, if you're paying.”

At the bar he sits a respectful distance away and orders them both a round, but his attention is all on her in a way that makes the blood rush to her cheeks. As Sandy tells him about the gnome cleric who performed a complex ritual to endow an ex-boyfriend of hers (“And endow him well , I must confess…”), his questions are about her .

Your ex? Is there a story there? Oh, I can’t believe he did that! Are you still talking to that friend now? I wouldn’t either. And she said what about your family? Low to bring you being outcast into it. Why were you outcast, if you’d like to talk about it? Oh, I would’ve chosen the same; I understand. Do you know how your family is now? Really, your mother broke in to see you today? How difficult that must’ve been for you, I’m glad you’re okay. 

After some time talking–and Sandy couldn’t guess how much–he asked, “But if you’re an outcast, how can she come by to talk to you? Isn’t she barred from something like that?” He leaned in a little closer to her, gentle eyes fixed on her as he waited for her to tell him more.

“She’s the clan leader, so she thinks she can do anything she wants,” she said. She was long past buzzed, but it felt so nice to talk to this man. He just listened and listened.

“You know, she came in claiming she could make them all forget it because she never approved outcasting me! Said I’d just have to go get married and grow my beard out. Can you believe that?!”

He shook his head solemnly.

“My mother’s like that. She acts like I’m going to be a child forever, never going to be able to fend for myself. Letting me move out always feels like a decision she wishes she could take back any time she writes to me.”

 “Exactly, exactly! My ma acts like none of this –” she gestured to the bar, crowded with happy people, people who loved her music, loved her , “--could ever make me happier than being stuck breaking rocks for paving stones all day and coming home to the wife she picked out for me.”

The man grimaced and took a sip from his mug.

“My girlfriend was arranged to be married as a child–she doesn’t say as much, but I think it’s turned her off the concept of marrying.”

“Hm? You got a girl?”

He looked surprised, like he didn’t mean to mention her.

“Oh, um, I do, yes,” he said, looking away from Sandy and hiding his face in his mug, “We just got together, but I’d been pining for a long time. Sorry if I’ve been leading you on.”

She pouted, but come to think of it, he hadn’t made a move beyond their fingers brushing together, and a little courtly hand-holding. He’d been polite and kind, but not very flirty. He was just so damn pretty that it was hard not to hope.

“No, no, I just saw that angelic face of yours and thought ‘I’ve been good, maybe I get a treat’. But you’ve been great to talk to.” 

He smiled warmly at her, and said, “I’d love to keep talking, if that’s alright.”

She could hardly deny him that, hardly deny herself that.

They talk more and he starts asking her questions about her childhood memories, all the good stuff, forget the bad.

What was your favorite color then? Any reason for chartreuse, or did you just think it sounded fancy? Favorite stuffed animal? A stuffed dragon, really? My girlfriend would love that.

“How about your favorite food?”

She shifted on her stool, considering it seriously.

“You go put on some tea, I’ll make some rice, and you can sing to me while I cook–sound good, Teapot?”

She nodded then scurried off to the kitchen, pinching the edge of her tunic and raising it like a skirt as she walked. Mama laughed, the grief in her tired face lifting away. When the kettle sang, she sang with it, trying to match the high note in the way she knew her mother would laugh at until she cried if she just kept at it. The smell of rich pork and sausage and peppers and onions filled the kitchen as she cooked, and it drove out their grief like a warding incense.

They talked and laughed and sang together while the rice cooked. And when Mama gave her a plate piled high with rice and pork, she didn’t miss Papa. Just for a minute, she didn’t miss him, and it looked like Mama didn’t miss him either. Her dark skin was smooth of its usual worry, her smile soft and warm. And the fat of the meal sat too heavy in their stomachs to let the grief settle back in that night.

“My ma’s jambalaya, easy,” she sighs, the memory of its aroma filling her head.

“Jambalaya? I’ve never had it. Describe it for me?”

“It’s spicy and rich and meaty, just full of everything you could want. Onions and bell pepper and pork butt and sausage all in heaps of tender rice and sauce… It’s heaven.”

“Can you make it?”

Once again, he’s fixed his gaze on her. It’s incredible how blue those eyes are under those heavy, dark lashes–they sparkle in the dim light like sapphires, enchanting and beautiful.

“Not as good as my mama, but I can,” she said as demurely as possible for a woman who has had just a sip too much tonight.

“If I booked you for a party two days from now, would you do me a favor and write up your mother’s recipe for me before then?”

With a side-long glance and a smirk, she teased him, “You got money to book a superstar like me on such short notice?”

He chuckled. He leaned a little closer again, hand over his heart.

“I mean it, Sandy. I should confess though, I haven’t been fully honest with you,” his smile became apologetic then, the inner corners of his brow turning up, “My name’s not Mickbell: It’s Kabru. I work for the king, and we’re organizing a feast. I’d love to have you sing, and I’d love to try your jambalaya recipe, if you don’t mind that your mother will be there.”

Her jaw was on the floor. He wants me to sing for the king. He wants me to sing for the king while they eat my mother’s jambalaya.

She could tolerate seeing her mother for one night, if it meant this. If it meant being invited to perform in front of royalty. She could picture the crowd now–stuffy nobility brought to tears by her music, or collars unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up as they danced along with her. They’d all want to hire her for their own parties, far and wide. They’d want to come see her at The Roost. They’d be listening to Sandy .

“I. I mean. Of course I’ll sing for my king,” she stammered, still trying to pick her jaw back up, “I’m. I can do that! Sure!”

Kabru the royal advisor, right hand to King Laios the Devourer himself, drew up the details on a bit of paper for her while she answered his questions in a stupor. I’m going to sing for a king , was all she could really think no matter what came out of her mouth. When he handed over that little sheet, she clung to it–if she lost this, there was no way she was going to believe she hadn’t dreamed it all up.

“Oh, one last thing,” he said, pulling something from his satchel–a fat little coin purse which he offered to her. “This is advance pay, so you can get anything you need for the feast, and to pay for the recipe of course. Come to the castle tomorrow with the recipe, and I’ll have the servants deliver it to the kitchen. And let us know then if you need any special arrangements.”

Still dumb-struck, she nodded along. He took her hands in his with a warm smile.

“Thank you so much for agreeing on such short notice–we’ll be so glad to have you!”

And then he let her go and disappeared again. Just like that, the gods called back their angel.

Drunk and brimming with joy, she stumbled over to the table where her friends were waiting for her to either come join them or tell them she was leaving with the man she’d been talking to all night. 

 “Sandy, you doing okay?” one of them asked with a quirked eyebrow, “We thought for sure he was taking you home after all that.”

“I’m great, honey,” she sighed, still clutching the sheet with all the details, “I’ve never been better.”

“What’s that?” another asked, plucking it from her. She read over it quickly, jaw dropping just as Sandy’s had done, and passed it around the circle.

“I’m singing for a king .”

Chapter Text

Preparations for the feast were nearing completion: they’d briefed their staff, bought the decor and the food, and hired performers for the dinner show. Still, Kabru had to stay busy. Being told to sleep in and having his morning tasks given to someone else to handle made him feel stir crazy–the extra hour of sleep he managed to pry out of it was hardly worth the agony of boredom he was experiencing. He could be making seating arrangements or checking that the pantry had the ingredients needed for Sandy’s dish, but instead he was lying about his sitting room, doing nothing.

He was ‘relaxing,’ as demanded by Her Majesty, his girlfriend, the Queen. The only task of any value he’d been allowed to complete was his morning debrief with her.

“What did you learn?” she’d asked him as he cut into pain perdu Laios had brought for him–his morning imprisonment had meant he’d missed breakfast, and Laios could not abide by such a thing. So she’d stolen away some time to make something for him before he woke up, and this time she’d done herself a favor and brought an apple for herself.

He took a bite of the soft, custard-soaked bread topped with apricot preserves. No, it was not as good as what their chefs made, but there was something about her eager eyes fixed on him, waiting for his approval, that seasoned it until it was something uniquely delicious. It did make up for the harpy omelet she’d once fed him–he’d met the castle chickens himself, and Izutsumi never bothered with bringing eggs.

As he ate, he recounted his night with Sandy to her: her relationship with her mother, the beauty of her voice, her mother’s jambalaya. 

“I hired her as a singer at the feast, by the way.”

This gave Laios pause. She bit into her apple, chewing thoughtfully.

“But what about her mother?”

“She’s aware Lady Granite will be there. We need them together: we need to draw the connection between the meal we serve and her own recipe, and we need Sandy around to keep her on her best behavior and keep her on edge.”

He let Laios puzzle over that while she whittled down her apple further.

“Do you mean if she makes a scene, everyone will know about Sandy?”

Kabru pointed his fork at her, still dripping with jam.

“ Exactly right! Sandy being recognized will only be possible if she reacts to her being there. It shows that we know about her secrets, and we can give her daughter the happiness and stability she lacked in Khaka Brud!” he exclaimed, flicking his fork around to continue punctuating, “And if we offer to mediate between them, we can give Lady Granite something no economic offer can!”

Laios flinched suddenly, and Kabru froze, fork hovering in the air. With her pointer finger, Laios swiped a bit of jam that had spattered along her cheek, and lifted it to her mouth. She slipped her finger between her lips and sucked off the jam as Kabru watched, distracted by the resurfacing of thoughts he’d had the other night. Her lips popped as her finger withdrew, a sheen of spit on the tip.

“Kabru! You’re getting jam everywhere,” she pouted, “Mind your fork.”

He swallowed.

“Apologies, my lady.”

They continued their debrief mostly as normal–going over what tasks must be done, what Kabru was going to be doing that morning that was now the responsibility of someone else, which of those tasks had been completed already, etcetera–only now Kabru was waiting to ask one more thing of his girlfriend. When business was  finally concluded and Kabru’s meal finished, he stretched across the table to caress Laios’ face, running his thumb across where the jam had been. It was still sticky, and surely sweet to taste.

She would be very busy today, and he would be returning to his duties after lunch, so he had to be direct from the start. He asked, “Laios, would you spare a few minutes so I can kiss you?”

Color rose to her cheeks, and he watched her eyes travel from his face down to his crotch before averting entirely. Still, she leaned into his caress.

“O-only a minute, I really have a lot to do and Yaad will be so mad at me,” she stammered, “But, um, if you want to come to my chambers tonight after dinner, and we could…” she began to whisper, “ have sex…? ”

She played with her fingers as she asked. It was such a girlish and undignified gesture, and he loved seeing her do it.

He rose from the table with a smile to claim what precious moments could be spared to tide him over until tonight.

“Of course, my lady.”

But now, that debrief was over, all kissing adjourned until bed, and Kabru still had about two hours to waste before he was permitted to work again. If he was being forced to be idle, he should at least do it while reading something entertaining. He made his way to the library, eager to see if he could hunt down a murder mystery or a spy novel amongst the books stored there. Laios had made sure they collected a few books Marcille and Kabru enjoyed on top of all the academic texts the library held. 

As he browsed the shelves, something caught his eye–not a novel, but the swish of long black hair as he pulled a book from the backless shelf. Rin was seated in the corner of the room, back behind all of the shelves, and it was only by chance Kabru pulled the precise book he needed to to get a glimpse of her hiding away. For a moment he watched her eyes scanning down the page, go unfocused, then skip back up to the start, trying and failing to keep reading. Something was clearly on her mind. 

“Hey Rin,” he called, “Haven't seen you at meals lately.”

She jumped a bit, slamming her book shut. He caught the cover before she could stow it out of sight: volume one of the Daltian Clan series. Rin hated the kind of romantic, overdramatic elven tripe the series was known for—and while she probably would like the murder plots and dramatic intrigue, there was only one reason she would bother giving it a shot.

“Have you been talking to Marcille?” he asked, a little teasing in his tone. He wasn't trying to give away that he knew about them yet, not if Rin would tell him on her own.

She crossed her arms, eyebrows tightly knit.

“She doesn't own the book series, Kabru.”

“No, but she might be their biggest fan.”

Her scowl deepened and she started twisting her hair around her finger–a sure tell that whatever she was feeling was overwhelming for her. So, was she serious about Marcille? If she was, Marcille’s relationship with Falin was no doubt going to pose a problem for her, if it wasn’t exactly what was on her mind right now. Jealousy over Marcille being in an ongoing relationship with Rin as an interloper wasn’t a topic she was likely to want to discuss–at least not until it had all blown up and she needed Kabru’s emotional support picking up the pieces.  

That’s a bitter thought.

He took a deep breath, and exhaled in a sigh. Rin wasn’t giving him any response, and left to her own devices, he knew already how it would end. So it was his duty as her friend to prevent the tragedy.

“Rin,” he said softly, putting a hand on the armchair and leaning a bit over as he stood to the side, “Tell me what’s going on between you and Marcille.”

Finger twirling faster, she answered in a hoarse whisper, “...Nothing.”

“Don’t try to hide it now–I already know you’re seeing her, so just tell me so I can help.”

She yanked the strand hard.

“I said, ” she hissed, “there’s nothing going on between us.”

She was in a lot of distress, whatever was on her mind. He decided to kneel beside the chair, making himself less physically imposing by bringing him closer to eye level. Keeping his eyes on her face so, if she wished, she could make eye-contact, he said, “I know that’s not true. Marcille was visiting your quarters–”

Her head whipped around to meet his gaze, scowl now a grimace. 

“And I dumped her. So there’s nothing. Understood?”

A flash of irrational anger surged through him.

Is she fucking joking? Already?

No, no, surely she had a good reason, a perfectly good reason to dump Marcille one night and then brood over the woman’s favorite books the next. Surely there was a perfectly reasonable, sensible explanation why she had to act this way–it was only her nature to push everyone away!

“So what was wrong? Too nice to you? Too interested?” he snapped. He bit down on his tongue before he could say anything else cruel. His heart was pounding in his chest. He felt like he couldn’t control what was coming out of his mouth, what he was thinking–none of it.

Rin twisted in the chair so she could bear down on him, finger shoved in his face.

“If you have to know,” she growled, voice rising towards a shout, “it’s because she wanted me to fuck her with the strap-on her girlfriend gave her, like I’m some kind of replacement for her.”

Against his will, his mouth opened again.

“But did you talk to her about it? Did she say she wanted you to replace Falin, or did you assume that because it gave you an excuse not to see her?!”

“What the fuck else could it mean?!”

Rin was nearly standing in the chair, balancing on her knees, and Kabru too had drawn up to stay eye-level with her, straining his back to lean down. They both teetered in uncomfortable, precarious positions, too engrossed in their argument to move to something more stable.

“It could mean she likes you enough to let you in even though she’s heartbroken over someone else; or maybe it means she likes you just as much as she does Falin, and wants to know you like she knows her! Or maybe she was just careless for a minute, and thought someone who was interested enough in her to pour over a book series she loves would also be interested in fucking her!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Rin cried, “Like you know me when I’ve barely seen you since fucking Laios came into your life!”

He stood up straight, crossing his arms. 

“This doesn't have anything to do–”

“Like hell it doesn't! When’s the last time you talked to me and didn't bring up Laios at least once?”

“Laios is my job .”

She threw her hands in the air and fell back in the chair.

“Bullshit! Fucking bullshit! ” she yelled, “You're in love with him, and you don't care how I feel about it!”

Bile bit at the back of his throat.

Swallow it down, Kabru, this is spiraling out of hand.  

Acquiesce. Deflect. Distract. That's what would work to de-escalate this. Tell her he’s sorry for talking about Laios so much. Neither confirm nor deny her claims. Redirect the conversation back to Rin’s relationship with Marcille. There was no path forward that would not be paved with ruin.

I like it when you're angry with me , came another voice, exhaustion soft and full of care, snaking its way through his mind, if it hurts, you have to let her know before you can fix it. It felt like poison the way it seemed to creep up along with the acid in his esophagus. 

It did hurt, but only if he dwelled. If he just didn’t dwell–

He had looked at Namari, surprised to see a member of the Touden party with a new group. As he decided if he should speak to her, Rin’s glare pricked the back of his neck. What had she said then, “You’ll even go for a dwarf? You have no standards,” or some other jealous put-down? And he’d deflected with “I’ve never let height determine my friendships before!” This is a normal exchange for them. She means well, she doesn’t want to see him hurt. She doesn’t want him to waste his time with women who won’t see him the way she does, won’t understand him the way she does.

He holds her close as she cries into his chest, and he loves her. She needs him, and he likes to feel needed. She loves him, and he wants to be loved. Being impaled in a spike trap had been how she died the first time, and it drew up those memories for it to happen again when they fought that monster that had been and would again become Falin. “Stay here, stay here…” she whimpered as she pressed her face to his breast. He stays, smiling softly.

“You’ll die if I don’t go with you,” she said when he told her what he had to do. He wanted her to come, expected she would insist on going even if he didn’t. There was nothing for her in the west–she needed any excuse to leave and find belonging elsewhere. She wanted it too badly. 

“I think I could just hire a mage, Rin,” he’d teased. She would feel slighted at the very thought that he might be fine without her. 

“You’re not pairing off with some magic school graduate who can’t cast to save your life!”

“I’ll hire professionals, Rin.”

“Like hell you will. I’m going,” she insisted, “you won’t last a day by yourself.” 

He ignores the aside, and puts on a charming smile. “I wasn’t stopping you.” 

He’d expected her to come. Why did every comment have to be barbed?

“I don’t see why you have to feel anything about it, Rin,” he spat, face kept neutral because it was all he could manage to keep from sneering at her. He was tired, so tired of the jealousy. 

With a snarl, she stood in the chair, letting herself sway while she tried to get height on him.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt, Kabru! What future do you think you have with a king?!”

It was insulting to hear her say that like he hadn’t already thought about the fact his lover was his liege. So what if she was king? Infidelity among royalty was as common as feathers in a chicken coop. If that was the path they had to take, Kabru could be discrete. But maybe… maybe there was a path to marriage, too, if that was what they wanted. There were ways for them to make this work, ways to keep it in balance, if they just wanted it enough to try.

No, it would not be simple or uncomplicated but he was sure of one thing:

“I’m not asking your permission to see Laios, Rin.”

Shock spread over her face in a wave, only to be replaced by fury that curled her lip and brought tears to her eyes. She shoved, hard, at Kabru’s shoulder–but he dodged on reflex, turning to the side and dispelling the force. Rin couldn’t recover from the unexpected lack of resistance, not when she was barely upright. Robbed of a support, she came tumbling down from her unsteady perch. Kabru tried to catch her, but she grabbed him as she went down, pulling him with her until they both crashed to the floor in a sprawl, Kabru’s arms around her and Rin’s fist twisted in his shirt.

Pain bloomed across his shoulder where he’d met the hard stone. Rin lay close to him, flat on her stomach, trying to raise herself on her elbows. Her dark hair curtained her face, but she was choked with sobs.

“Would you please, please just be honest for once in your life?” 

He couldn’t answer–the wind had been knocked out of him. She didn’t wait.

“You know. You know how I feel, so just be honest. Tell me you don’t love me.”

With voice weak and gasping, he said, “But I do.”

A tear fell, breaking upon the stone. Like he’s done so many times before, he tried to draw her close, to comfort her, but she wedged her elbow between them. He felt like a pit was opening inside him.

“You know what I mean.”

Two orphaned pups…

His voice was cracking, but Rin was already rising to leave, he had to force himself to speak. 

“I do love you,” he said, as calmly as he could, but he wanted to howl it until she had to listen, finally listen , “You’re a sister to me. I need you to be my sister.”

Quietly, she came to her knees, tears still falling. She wasn’t going to say anything back, was she? She pulled herself to her feet, and shoulder still aching, Kabru pulled himself to his feet too.

“Rin, I love you,” he called, “You’re the only family I have, please don’t go.”

She didn’t turn to face him. Arms wrapped tight around herself she walked for the door.

“I’m not your sister.”

Listen, just listen, Rin!

“Yes, you are!”

He grabbed her by the shoulder, only for her to whip around. The streaks of tears only made her look angrier.

“Kabru, I’m not–”

He wasn’t letting her run away from this again, wouldn’t let himself. He clapped both hands to her arms, holding them both in place.

“You are! You treat me like a little brother–you’re overprotective, you tease me, you cling to me for support, and you and Milsiril were the only family I had after I lost everyone else. And I was the only family you had.”

“We are not–” she snarled, trying to shift free from him. But he held fast–he could not pry away the vines if he didn’t close them in his fist, and if she ran away now, they’d tear apart at the roots. He would make her listen, if that’s what he had to do.

“We. ARE. You know you feel the same–that’s why you never would just tell me how you felt!”

They could fix this, there was a way forward, if Rin could just see it–

She stopped struggling against him and locked her ink-black eyes to his, like she meant to kill him with the malice in them alone. If she could spit venom at him, she would. 

“You find it disgusting that I love you, don’t you?”

“That’s not what I said–”

“Back in the dungeon, when you kissed me–you wanted me to think about those cold, slimy fish lips every time I thought about kissing you, right? I disgust you, and you wanted me to be disgusted by you too. Fuck you, Kabru.”

She did spit at him. He winced as the glob of saliva landed on his cheek, just below his eye. He didn’t dare let go of her to wipe it away.

 “But you knew too,” he said low and quiet, “You knew I didn’t want you that way. Why was it always my responsibility to put up with you feeling jealous when you knew I didn’t want that from you?!”

“Don’t put this all on me! You didn't want to tell me how you felt because maybe I’d decide I didn't want to stick around and play family with you.”

“What I wanted was for you to be happy! I can’t be everything to you, Rin! I can’t be your only friend, your brother, your lover–”

SMACK !

Kabru’s face stung, ringing with the impact of Rin’s hand against his cheek. The spit smeared and spattered under the impact. He finally let go of her to bring a hand to the fresh pain there, as if it could soothe it.

“I’m not you , Kabru,” she shouted, fists clenching and unclenching, “It’s so easy to get people to fall at your fucking feet, but I can’t do that! I can’t make anyone love me!”

All that hurt… he never could’ve prevented her from feeling it. It’s deeper than anything one person could fill in all their years of loving her. And when one person couldn’t fill the weeping chasm of her heart, she would decide it was too dangerous, too difficult, to keep trying. Safer, easier, to be alone–that way she at least wouldn’t be let down.

“You’ve never let yourself try.”

Rin backed away.

“I need out of this fucking castle.”

He let her go. He has to let her go. There's no sense in telling her that she’ll always find his help when she needs it–they both know that's half the problem by now. What she needs is to make her own friends to depend on, to spread those vines along a lattice of people who love her and want the best for her, so that when any one person falls away, she can survive the hole they leave behind.

“Talk to Marcille before you do. Say you're sorry, ask for an apology–I don't know, but don't just run away,” he begged. 

Still, she did not turn to face him. But at least she gave him an answer.

“Yeah. Fine. I will,” she said, and with a shuddering breath that she probably thought Kabru couldn't hear, she added, “ Need to do something with that thing, anyway. ”

She turned around the bookshelf and vanished out of sight. Soon after, a grim little gnome peeked from behind another shelf–the librarian.

“Sir Kabru, please do not conduct such altercations within the library walls again,” he said, his mustache twitching as he spoke.

Kabru gave a little bow.

“My deepest apologies. I’ll grab my book and leave for today.”

He felt exhausted, and did not want to stress the librarian’s good graces further, so he simply picked up the Daltian Clan book Rin had abandoned and checked out. Maybe he would sit out on the grounds and watch the horses run until lunch. Try as he might, though, he knew the iron grip of dread on his heart was not going to lessen–he could only keep going in spite of it.

Chapter Text

The sun was rising higher as lunch time approached, and the castle horses were galloping around the pastures before the day began to get too hot for such active play. The air was laden with the scent of flowers and grass and the less pleasant, earthy scent of farm animals, bringing Marcille back to her days in her parents’ home when she would sit with the chickens and read. She just needed to clear her head before the feast tomorrow—there was so much spiraling inside her mind the last few days that sorting her own feelings out was becoming impossible and the musty smell of the books in her mage’s laboratory was not helping. 

She’d spent the morning gathering the materials for a few spells for the feast, to compensate for the lack of preparation time—tiny illusion spells for beginners, like streaming sparklers, as well as the more central things like frost magic to avoid depleting their ice stores and some more barrier spells for security to relieve the burden on Leed’s guards. It all felt so trivial right now, when what she wanted to be doing was researching the massive project that was growing Laios a womb. It was complex and involved and though she felt solid enough in the theory, she’d never done something quite like it before. She would need help, lots of help from someone better at healing than her: she needed Falin.

But Falin was out traveling the world, learning magics Marcille may never see in person, sending the most sparse letters back with no detail on what she’s actually doing or who she’s meeting. No, Falin’s letters usually read, “Hi Marcille, I’m out in some country you’ve never been to and I met the most beautiful new cockroach! And I met a girl I think you’d like, and she taught me to do a new spell that I can show you in a million years from now when I come home! Okay, Bye, I’m out of ink. Love, Falin.” 

Marcille sighed heavily as she leaned against the fence posts, watching the horses. It didn't matter how much Falin wrote in her letters, it would never feel like enough until she was back here in person to tell her. Without her lover by her side, living and breathing and laughing as she told her stories, she could not be satisfied: a letter could not wrap its arm around her and kiss her sweetly.

But Rin had–Rin had kissed me like that, held me like that. Oh, what had I done wrong!

Laios had told her Rin was the jealous type, and still pining for Kabru who did not return her affections. She supposed, if she were in Rin's place, she too would be wary that Marcille didn't really care for her. She wasn’t used to having her affection returned, and how could she trust that Marcille liked her when she had another woman that she’d loved first? If only Rin could meet Falin, perhaps she’d understand that there was no competition, she could love both of them, and maybe Falin would love Rin too. She just seemed so lonely that it hurt to think of giving up on her over one fight—she needed to at least try to get on the same page!

But Rin’s hurt went far beyond anything Marcille had caused or knew how to fix. Getting over Falin seemed impossible to her, so how in heaven was she meant to tell Rin how to move on? Tell her Kabru’s with someone else now? Kabru’s dated plenty just in the time Marcille’s known him, nevermind as long as Rin has, and none of it had seemed very serious. If she were Rin, she’d probably think he’d lose interest in a matter of weeks as he often did when pursuing ladies of the court. Brief flings that burst like fireworks and faded into the dark just as fast, Rin had been waiting for each to fade and hoping to be who he saw when the fires all burnt out. 

And what if she was right? What made Laios different from the other girls Kabru’s dated? Their love may fade and they break up, or maybe Kabru wouldn’t want all the things required of him in marrying a queen! Did he even want children? Laios had pretty clearly wanted children, and soon, at least as soon as her operations would allow, but Kabru’s never mentioned wanting kids or settling down or anything like that to her. This could all go downhill and leave Laios broken-hearted. 

Ouch!

She jumped back, releasing her tight grip on the wood to see a splinter embedded in her skin. No longer watching the horses, she set to healing the small splinter in her finger. It itched badly as the wound closed and pushed the bit of wood out, and not scratching it took all her attention off her problems for a moment. As she shook her hand out, trying to distract herself until the pain faded, she noticed a figure out by the tree Laios usually sat under when she wanted to work outside. 

Sitting hunched over his knees, with a closed book in his hand, was Kabru. His head was tossed back, staring up at the leaves above him, black curls catching the breeze. Marcille was approaching him before she’d registered she was moving—if nothing else, she could get some answers from him. He didn't seem to notice her until she’d gotten quite close, and he looked terribly upset. He was holding Daltian Clan volume one, and quickly put it aside as she walked up, plastering a friendly smile on a tired face. His brilliant blue eyes were shot with red, ruining his facade.

“Hey, Marcille! How’s the last minute prep going?” he said, a little hoarsely.

“Kabru, what's the matter? The first book isn't that sad, is it?” she asked.

He glanced down at it beside him as she gathered her skirt to sit beside him, as if he’d forgotten it entirely.

“Hm? Oh, yes, just hit the scene where Uriale’s parents die,” he lied, patting the book.

She raised an eyebrow.

“We don’t get that scene until book two.”

“I mean when we find out she’s an orphan—it just made me tear up,” he said, a little too fast. His skin was a shade darker with flush. Marcille crossed her arms, ladylike, and gave him a very stern pout while she questioned him.

“Tell me the real reason you were crying,” she demanded, arms crossing tighter, “Was it about Laios?”

“No, Laios and I are great,” he said, hand over his heart at this affront, “Why, did Laios say something over tea last night?”

She sat on the ground beside him. Smoothing out her skirt and folding her hands primly in her lap, she gave her answer.

“Of course she did. She told me you two had a very romantic night and that she’s your girlfriend.”

For a brief second he looked surprised, but he then exhaled as if relieved and allowed himself to fall back against the tree. 

“Good,” he sighed, “I’m glad she already told you. Did she ask about–”

“The transition? I told her I would do it in a year, when we’re both more prepared,” she said. She would need to write that to Falin tonight, and run it by Laios just to be sure she didn't want to send her own letter first. 

“A year? That seems overly long.”

“I started her on a hormone replacement spell already, but a womb is going to–”

He shot forward as if jolted upright.

“A womb?!”

“Yes, a womb! It’ll be difficult and I’ve never tried to do such a thing without building someone from the ground up–” she tried to continue her explanation only to be cut off again as Kabru turned and grabbed her shoulder.

“That's–but that's–it’s possible?! A fertile womb? Ovaries and everything?”

Staring at her wide-eyed in disbelief, Kabru’s grip on her shoulder tightened like he was worried he’d float away if he didn't anchor himself to her. She swatted at his hand. He withdrew, embarrassed.

“There’s ways to do it using ancient magic,” she said, rubbing the spot where he’d grabbed her, “I regrew Falin’s womb; there’s no reason I couldn't build one for Laios. I need to double-check the theory, but things like converting testes to ovaries should be straightforward if I just know how.”

His hand covered his mouth and he looked away from her, losing himself in thought. He mumbled, “Then ovaries to testes should also be possible..?”

Unsure if this question was directed at her, she answered, “It’d likely be easier.” 

It would, she thought, probably cost less to convince the body to make tiny sperm rather than huge eggs that require a whole monthly production rather than a continual, low-level upkeep. But this response seemed to drive him deeper into thought, and his hand closed tighter around his own face as his other hand came to cradle his elbow. His brows were deeply furrowed and his mutterings even less distinct. Marcille gave a simple hmph and crossed her arms—she'd come to speak to him because she needed out of her own thought spiral, not to watch him get lost in his own.

"Kabru," she interjected, voice very stern (or as stern as she could make it, at least). He turned to her again with an almost dazed look as his hand loosened around his face but the fingertips still clung to his cheek and chin.

"I’d like to ask you something.”

Bright blue eyes scanning her face, he nods for her to ask away. With a deep inhale, she does.

“Do you really like Laios?”

His brows raised, and he began to look nervous before he put his face back into a more neutral expression.

“I do,” he answered cautiously, “What are you getting at?”

She realized now how accusatory that question had sounded, but maybe she meant to accuse! Kabru was her friend, but he was careless in love, got bored quickly, and didn't think about the future. It was one thing if he flirted with court ladies who knew nothing would come of their relationship, it was another to build up Laios’ hopes only to let her down later. She was sensitive .

“I mean, you’re her first real relationship,” she said, “but she's almost thirty already, and that's a big deal for tallmen–”

“I’m aware,” he said, his flat tone all he needed to accuse her of a bit of elven paternalism.

Marcille blushed and stammered on.

“And, well, if she wants to settle down and have a family, she doesn't have time to fool around!”

He asked, “Do you think I’m fooling around with her?”

She waved her hands around uselessly , unable to convey through word alone how serious this all was.

“Maybe! She’s thinking about babies and heirs now. Is that something you want?”

“I don't know, we’ve only just gotten together,” he said, losing volume even as his tone got more severe. He crossed his arms, and a shadow crossed his face as he looked down at the ground between his feet. 

“But is it something you want in general?”

He didn't answer right away. He sat there, quiet as a stone, while the breeze ebbed and flowed over the pastures, the long grass making waves like green ocean tides. 

Maybe she’d overstepped asking this. She didn't want to pressure them into moving too fast, but everyone felt like they were languidly rowing along a great rapid, unaware that they were going to be swept away so soon. If her mother and father had her straight away, Papa might've gotten to see her grow up. But they probably needed all the time they took to fall in love and decide they wanted to have a baby, and she didn't really want to know how long it took to actually conceive her. Everyone had to live at their own pace, she knew that, yet she was still the one who would be sitting on the banks watching as time sailed by, rushing everyone else along.

Slowly, Kabru picked his head back up and stared above at the dappled sunlight streaming through the leaves. His voice was a little shaky when he spoke, like it was hard for him to say what was on his mind.

“Before all this, I figured that I’d spend my whole life trying to stop Utaya from happening again, and there’d never be a point where I could commit to anything else,” he said, drawing his knees up to his chest so he could rest his arms on them as he kept watching the dappled light from above, “But now… it’s like there’s all this room that wasn’t there before. I wasn’t thinking about things like ‘would my mother want grandkids’ because I couldn’t raise a kid in a tavern basement like she did.”

Marcille heard the waver in his voice and knew there was a part of him that wanted to cry. There would be an even bigger part that wouldn’t want to cry in front of Marcille, a part that found it embarrassing and difficult to rely on other people, because he had to be the one who fixes problems for others and can’t afford to share his own. It was funny how alike Kabru and Laios could be. Taking his hand in hers and resting her head on his shoulder, she urged him to keep talking.

“ Did she want grandkids?”

He sighed, relaxing against her just a bit.

“I don’t know. I was only seven when she died, so it hadn’t really come up yet,” he said, “But I always wanted a bigger family. It was just me and her all my life, until she was gone. Then it was me and Milsiril, and Rin too.”

His voice broke when he said Rin’s name, a little hiccup of a sound, and then he bit his lip as if to keep himself from saying anything else. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, and hoped it would comfort him. He cleared his throat and kept talking.

“She always seemed really lonely, didn't have any friends that I remember. She’d probably want grandkids just to keep her company.”

“My mother was lonely after my Papa died too,” she said softly, “I couldn't see it as a kid because all I knew was that my Papa was gone, and I missed him, and he wouldn't get to see me be a young lady like he wanted.”

His hand squeezed hers.

“My mother didn't get to watch me grow up either—I have to wonder what it would feel like to get to have that,” he said, thumb grazing over the back of her hand absently, “to get to watch my child grow up…”

The horses galloped in the distance. The foals played in tall grass while their mothers watched carefully, never letting them stray too far as they grazed. Kabru watched them too, and Marcille wondered if he was tracking the foals as they pranced around or the mares keeping them herded well within the fencing. 

“I think… I might have to ask you a favor.”

She knew what he meant. He would want the ability to sire children, and take his own path to do so—his excitement over the prospect hadn't been subtle. It was work, a lot of work, but she would say yes without hesitation. It would make him happy. There was nothing else to consider but how to get it done.

“I’ll do it, Kabru.”

With a deep sigh, like he’d just laid a heavy burden at his feet, he pulled away from her to fall back against the tree, relaxed. He glanced down at the volume of The Daltian Clan lying beside him in the grass, considered it a while, and turned back to Marcille.

“Rin was the one reading this, by the way. I just picked it up after… after she dropped it this morning.”

Flush crept up Marcille’s ears as she considered what that might mean— Rin was thinking of me, she wanted to read my favorite books right after our fight —and flushed down to her neck as she realized that Kabru already knew about them. He cast her a sympathetic smile.

“Whatever she said to you the other night, she does like you. Please, keep trying to be her friend.”

“Of course I will!” she shouted, gripping his hand tight in over-excitement, “I like Rin, of course I want to keep trying to be her friend!”

He laughed, deep in his chest.

“Good, I feel better knowing you will.”

Still embarrassed, she let go of him and sat up, hands in her lap primly.

“Um… I’m sure you know already, but we had an argument, and if I wanted to apologize to her, what sort of gifts might she like? I-I mean, I’m sure I won't win her just by a silly gift, but if maybe–”

Kabru chuckled at her nervousness, and cut in with his answer.

“She likes dried cherries, red roses and kelpie hair oil. And I’m sure she likes you, Marcille. Just show her you like her too.”

Her blush deepened and she clutched her skirt in her lap. Her heart beat hard, but she felt sure now—there was a way to Rin’s heart, and she could find it. Kabru hummed contentedly beside her, watching two foals tumble around each other playfully.

Laios and Yaad had been locked in her study most of the morning, completing the work that still had to be done both for the feast and for reopening negotiations after. Management of the new port—who would live there, what stages people would settle in, how long a paved road would take after the one from Khaka Brud to Melini was built, and so on—all had to be determined still. Plus there were the correspondences normally handled by Kabru that Yaad and Laios had split between them on her desk. Laios was still waiting on Sandy to arrive with Lady Granite’s jambalaya recipe, but the rest of the instructions for the feast preparation was already handed off to the castle staff. 

A lot of the paperwork was mindlessly planting royal stamps on things which had already been written, answering yes or no questions in long-winded ways, or checking against the earmarked budget and running simple arithmetics, which meant Laios’ head went elsewhere while she sat in the near quiet with Yaad. She wished it were exciting, consuming, something that kept her attention, because where her mind kept circling was the awareness that Yaad saw her as a man. He didn't know any different, he had no clue that something had shifted inside Laios and now she could feel the chafe she’d long ignored. And though learning the spell Marcille had taught her had given her a rush like no other, the changes would be slow, slower than she could stand. It made her want to shrink away, back to Kabru and Marcille, who already knew, and already saw something she couldn't yet.

She wanted Marcille’s assurance, to hold onto her with the same intimacy she held Falin. She wanted to hear the purr of Kabru’s voice as he said “my lady” and held her hand and told her how beautiful he found her. Being with anyone who didn’t understand right now felt… itchy. It made her feel like there was a tension under her skin, that beast curled around her heart yearning to be free and pawing at the shell of her body. It felt like when Falin had been eaten and Laios realized she had to be honest about her love for monsters because there simply wasn't a choice for her anymore. It felt like she was a spring inside a trap that had already sprung, and now it seemed impossible to fit back in the dank nook she’d been hiding in before.

How on earth had Kabru and Marcille done it themselves? It was almost like they hadn't: Marcille said she’d spent almost all her time growing up as a girl, and Kabru spent much of his own childhood being a boy, interspersed with moments of having to be a girl again until he was a teenager. They’d had to do the opposite of what she was trying to figure out now. Marcille had mentioned it, blushing and embarrassed, the same night she confessed she was a half-elf and told Laios all about her father. Kabru had pulled Laios aside back when they were sharing a tent during the reforesting and confessed it just so she wouldn't be surprised if she saw him naked or had to heal him. But they hadn't had to look someone who they’d known a few years already in the eyes and say, “I’m going to be very different from how you see me now, and you just have to deal with it.”

Laios was in an area of disconnect, lost from a forest path, just within earshot of people, but with no line of sight back to her party. There was no way forward clear to her yet. All she could do was keep working, even as the creature inside her chest slithered around uncomfortably. Lying always made her anxious, but telling the truth made her anxious too.

Still scratching away with his quill, Yaad cleared his throat, calling Laios’ out of her cloudy thoughts.

“Are you going to tell me what your plan is to convince Lady Granite?”

She glanced at him over her papers. As best as Laios could tell, he was serious.

“I told you, if she’s impressed by the feast, she’ll soften up.”

“I wish I could be so optimistic,” he sighed, “but what if she’s not convinced?”

“Her daughter is coming–”

“Kabru told me about Miss Sandy, I’m just not sure it will be enough.”

I know it might not be, but what else can we do?

She held her tongue—it wouldn't be helpful to say what she really thought. Yaad was expecting a king’s composure from her, and at least while they were working, she felt she had to comply with that demand. But she really didn't know what would convince Lady Granite to deal with them. This plot felt like it could just as easily go south if Granite refused to understand why Sandy chose to stay in Melini, to stay as Sandy. It could only convince her to trust them if she was willing to yield.

“I’m trusting Kabru’s judgement.”

Yaad nodded slowly.

“He is quite skilled at negotiating, but her ladyship hasn't been swayed by him yet,” Yaad said as he continued working, “I know you hate to hear it, but I do think–”

“--It would be easier if I was married. Yes, I know.”

He sighed and put down his quill.

“I’m serious, Laios. They’ve stated over and over that they see us as unstable without a system of inheritance in place. They want a king to have a wife.”

“Having a wife wouldn't guarantee an heir either,” she muttered. 

“But it would be some assurance to them if you wed. I know you're against it now, but…”

And they would go in circles like that, arguing until Yaad started giving a lecture about inheritance and dynasty. They’d gone in circles like that before. There was a presumption she would sire, be a father, have a wife beholden to her, that all of this was the responsibility she’d accepted when she became king. No, I became the person who ensures we don't have a famine, she could try to counter, or maybe What if I’m infertile? I don't know I’m not. But those arguments have failed to convince Yaad so far because he had his own counter-arguments like And what about famines after your death? and This is about short-term diplomacy as well. Kabru’s strategy was typically to assure Yaad he’s winning support for his alternate succession plans and then change the topic. But clamping down on the truth had never been easy for Laios, and she’d spent too much of her life hiding who she was to win very little favor.

“I’m a woman, Yaad. I can’t have a wife and children the way you think.”

He stopped in his tracks. He gaped like a fish for a moment, leaving the last syllable he’d been trying to voice trailing away from him. After too long, he finally stammered a response.

“I–I had no idea, your majesty,” he said, averting his eyes as he spoke, “Does… does anyone else know?”

He wasn't taking it badly like she’d feared, he just seemed confused and embarrassed. She had to assume he thought she’d been a woman her whole life and had been pretending to be a man as an adventurer—like the prince in Marcille’s story. Yaad would need to know the truth eventually, but this was good enough for now.

“Not many. I just told Marcille, and Kabru,” she smiled as she remembered the sparkle in his eyes when he’s asked if she’d thought about becoming a woman, “he figured it out himself.”

Yaad’s cheeks reddened as if Laios had said something untoward. He cleared his throat and returned to his work. Unable to figure out what she could’ve said wrong, she picked up her own quill again. 

She wondered when Sandy would arrive, if she would get a chance to meet her. During their breakfast meeting, Kabru had mentioned that Sandy had run away from home because she couldn’t fit in, not unlike herself. Did she want to reconcile with her mother? Kabru thought so, but that was one area he sometimes walked blind: he wanted everyone to be able to forgive even the worst hurt like he could, or like he pretended he could. Sometimes, people wanted the bridge to stay burned—and that, Laios understood. 

She hoped he was right this time.

She sighed, tapping her quill on a blank page. There hadn’t been enough time at their briefing to talk about everything she’d wanted to, and now she missed him. It was silly to miss him as if she hadn’t just seen him, kissed him, a couple of hours ago, but it was like she wanted to be next to him constantly now. It was like tasting a new spice added to your favorite dish that you never tried before, couldn’t imagine before that first bite hit your tongue, but now you can’t imagine eating it without that spice. She wanted to taste him over and over, work that new dimension into her understanding of who they were to each other until she’d digested him fully, and then she wanted to try him again to see if there was something she’d missed. 

 The night could not come fast enough: she needed more than quick breakfast meetings and stolen kisses. She wrote a little faster, as if hurrying up with her work would bring him closer. Before too long, they’d made a noticeable dent in the paperwork and Yaad cleared his throat, calling attention again.

“Apologies again, your majesty, but I must ask: were your reservations around marriage about your… secret?” 

His voice was low, as if there were not all kinds of soundproofing charms Marcille cast regularly. He was simply that embarrassed about it, Laios had to suppose.

“Partly,” she answered, trying to hedge her bets—she wasn't sure where he was going with this.

“I’d prefer a political arrangement, an alliance with a kingdom somewhere, a trade deal, something we can build on diplomatically, but…” he trailed off as he cast a glance out the window, then returned to her with a wistful sigh, “...I suppose I understand now why Kabru insisted that anything we could get with a marriage was better gotten without it.”

He placed a paternal hand over Laios’ wrist, while she looked at him with wide-eyed confusion that he seemed to ignore. Another wistful sigh, and with a gentle pat-pat on her hand, he continued, “Don’t keep him waiting too long, Laios.”

The gears of her brain spun rapidly as they caught up to Yaad and then caught fire. How did he know?! Her face burned with embarrassment, all the hotter for the thoughts she’d just been having about Kabru. Before she could stammer out any kind of denial—why was she still such a bad liar!---rescue came in the form of a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” she shouted, just in case Yaad wanted to send them away.

A golden country girl who’d decided to stay serving the castle cracked open the door and slipped inside, the loops of hair around her ears swaying as she moved. Aria was a friend of Yaad's, a diligent worker, and right now, Laios’ favorite person in the entire world.

“Your majesty, Lord Yaad,” she gave them a curtsy each as she spoke, “There is a dwarf called Sandy who has requested an audience with Sir Kabru, who you’ve told us not to disturb for any reason until after lunch. What should we–”

Laios shot up from her chair, nearly knocking it over.

“I’ll go meet her right now!”

Chapter Text

When I first met Rin, she assumed I was a boy, and immediately decided she didn’t like me because of that. Helki brought her over from her cell in the same stained and ragged dress she’d been wearing when they’d captured her, and though Milsiril had warned me that “the poor dear is probably terrified and lonely”, the first thing Rin did was glare at me with her arms crossed tightly. When the adults left us alone to play, she said to me (or growled, really), “Boys are mean. I don’t like boys.”

“Boys don’t have to be mean. They can be nice, too,” I told her, carefully avoiding the question of if I was or wasn’t a boy. Both yes and no felt like a lie at that point in my life, and so I resented clarifying it.

My mother would call me her daughter in private and avoid gendering me unless pressed to, and sometimes apologized to me that I couldn’t do things like wear dresses and have long hair and had to have a boyishly-androgynous name. I always told her I didn’t mind, that I liked boy things, but she seemed to believe I was just trying to be obedient by pretending to enjoy the abnormal childhood she’d thrust upon me. This wasn't untrue—I mourned that we didn't have the extended families that other kids had, even other kids with single mothers; I wanted her to work less and play with me more; I had a hard time making close friends because I couldn't tell them much about myself without feeling like I was putting us in danger—but the fact that I didn’t have to be a girl, even if I didn’t quite get to be a boy either, made me genuinely very happy.

And now I had another chance to pass myself off as a boy, and I was going to take it.

“No way,” Rin sneered, “If boys can be nice, then prove it.”

The nicest thing I could think to do was to show her the thing that had really impressed me when I first got to Milsiril’s home: the icebox. Elven mastery over magic meant they can keep ice in the hottest part of summer, and so they could keep pressed juice as cold as if you were biting into a fruit plucked on a spring morning. I believe it was mango juice—I love mangoes, a rare treat in Utaya’s desert climate, with only the fruit that would not make it from the tropics to the elven lands before rotting being sold to us; meaning that there were abundant mangoes for rich elves like Milsiril to buy far from where they were grown. And so I plucked that bottle of juice from the icebox, and passed it to Rin as I introduced myself again.

“I’m Kabru. I’ve been here two years already, and it’s not too bad. You can have cold juice in summer here! What’s your name?” 

She took it, her brow furrowed, and uncorked it. She sniffed it as if she suspected me of poisoning it, cautiously took a sip, and then started chugging it down. Satisfied that no mean person could have cold juice, she answered, “I’m Rin,” and from then on she was my friend.

It crushed me when later that day Rin referred to me as a boy, and Milsiril gently corrected her. Her face went bright red just as I dropped my gaze, unwilling to meet her eyes and know what she thought about me misleading her. Helki ushered her out of the house to go back to custody before we could talk about it. I expected her to be angry the next time we met, but instead she acted like it never happened, and if she didn't want to talk about it, neither did I. Every time we played pretend, I’d play a boy, and she never questioned me on it. 

She helped me bury the bloody rags after my first few periods when I couldn't stand to tell Milsiril yet. She was seething the whole time because she hadn't had her first period yet, even though she was already 15, but she helped me sneak the rags out of the house and dig a hole to toss them in out at the edge of the forest anyway. 

As we kicked the last of the dirt into a tiny grave, she huffed at me, “This is so stupid. If you hate it this much, why don't you ask Milsiril if there's a spell to stop it?”

“She’s going to be weird about it; she really hates the idea of me going back to the dungeons,” I complained.

I wanted to rationalize my feelings about my body as a response to inconvenience, something that interfered with my mission to return to the dungeon and fix whatever went wrong in Utaya. A period would slow me down, breasts would get in the way of my movement, and a pregnancy was unthinkable no matter how old I got—nevermind all the female adventurers I’d seen who managed those things quite well, including my own foster mother. Trying to articulate what I was really feeling seemed impossible: how would a dog tell someone he hates wagging his tail because some part of him, maybe all of him, believes he doesn't have a tail? Even now, sometimes I feel like my body is just this container I am poured into more than it is some portion of myself. This feeling was never stronger than before I could fix my hormone levels. Bleeding reminded me of everything I was not and did not have and could not do, and I needed to ignore what was happening as much as possible to endure it.

“So? Just don't tell her why!”

“She’ll want a reason, Rin, and if it's not that, then she’s going to think it's because I’m not ready to grow up!”

Her expression soured. A finger began twisting in her hair.

I sat down, overwhelmed with the enormity of my unnamable emotions, and fell back against the springy moss.

“Hey, Rin,” I called to her, “when we leave here, it’d be a lot easier if one of us is a boy, don't you think?”

“Sure,” she agreed.

“Would you cover for me?”

She scoffed, eyebrows knit close and cheeks going red.

“As if anyone would believe you were a girl, anyway!”

I couldn't help but laugh. It was such a rude thing to say, but it still got at the heart of what I wanted to hear: ‘you make a better boy than girl.’ In another month, she’d find a spell to adjust my hormone levels and taught it to me, with all the same abrasiveness. 

I try to push Rin from my mind again and again today but she keeps coming back. She was there for so many important moments of my life that I don't know how to picture her not being there anymore. If I have children, will she want to be their auntie? Or will it be too painful that she isn't the mother? Would she come to my wedding to someone else, or would the bitterness she feels be impossible to conquer? I’m so angry at the thought she’d just leave me forever that I want to get up and pace around every few minutes because I can't think of any words that aren't telling Rin off or begging her to stay in my life. It takes so much restraint to act pleasant and unbothered in front of Yaad while we finish the afternoon's work that it starts to seep through after only an hour.

“You can confide in me, Kabru, if there's something bothering you,” he tells me.

“It’s nothing of consequence.”

He drums his fingers on the desk, as if deciding whether to let me off the hook or press further.

“Is it… about Laios? I know you two had that argument, but you never told me about what.”

I shook my head and faked a chuckle.

“No, my lord, we worked that out. Laios had received a letter from his father, and I had been insensitive about his feelings regarding it, that's all.”

Drumming again, tap-t-tap-t-tap.  

“Then what is bothering you?”

What isn't?! I scream in my own head. I want to crawl into bed and never emerge. I want… I want Laios to hold me again like she did the other night, while I cried. I feel guilty for wanting her when wanting her is the reason Rin has left me. And then I’m angry again because she has no right to dictate who I date, and I can't believe I’m letting her ruin this bit of genuine happiness I have. And then I feel guilty once more because all she did was have her own feelings on it and ask for space. And spit in your eye and then slap you, I remind myself, and get angry again.

“Really, it's nothing,” I lie, but I can feel the sweat on my brow.

Yaad sighs, disappointed.

“I won't press you on it, but I can be trusted with a secret, Kabru. Don't feel you have to hide from me.”

He pats my shoulder reassuringly, and it does help. But I can't discuss this with him. Not now. I don't feel capable of explaining this to him: what Rin means to me, why we fought, what Laios means to me. No, not now.

I just want to see Laios. I just want to bury myself in her arms and forget about Rin. If she doesn't want to be around me anymore, fine! I won't be thinking of her at all when I have Laios calling for me in that desperate whine. I won't be thinking of her when I’m happily curled up in Laios’ bed telling her that I’m thinking of getting a penis like I’d always wanted. I won't be thinking of her when Laios gets excited and tells me Marcille will be giving her a womb, and we talk about what we want for the future, as boyfriend and girlfriend. I won't be thinking of how I wish Rin could just be happy for me that I found someone I like so much.

I won't think about it. I just won't.

A hand brushes my knee under the table and I realize I’ve somehow shambled my way to dinner and have now been picking at my food, so lost in not thinking about it I have been. Laios leans towards me, a shy smile on her lips.

“Make sure you eat plenty,” she whispers, “You need the energy tonight, remember?”

I shove a bite in my mouth to please her, and as the fat from the fish coats my tongue, I realize I am starving. It’s savory and rich and I hardly ate at lunch because I've been so preoccupied today and now that I’ve started I can't stop. Laios beams when I dive in for another bite, another piece of fish that flakes away on my fork, another roasted cherry tomato that bursts between my teeth, and before I know it it's gone. A bit of oil coats Laios’ lips, making them look glossy and soft—she’s staring at my mouth, and I know she's noticing the same about me. I still feel hungry. I reach for a roll.

“It’s good to see you enjoy a meal so much,” Yaad says, somewhere between teasing and genuinely happy. Laios nods her agreement. Marcille says nothing but watches us with a skeptical pout, too caught up in her own worries to comment. 

“Guess I’ve just had a long day,” I say, feigning nonchalance. 

“Are you still hungry?” Laios asks, “Do you want seconds?”

I tear apart the roll and sop up the fat and sauce on the plate, and devour that too. Her pupils are dilated, turning them to honey once again. 

“I could go for dessert,” I say. Her smile is bright and genuine, and I want to drink it in, I want to dissolve into it. I’m not being rational and I don't care. Laios exudes richness and indulgence and endless appetite and I have never been so hungry.

“I can grab you something later,” she says, bubbling with excitement, “Just give me about an hour—no, an hour and a half—to get ready?”

It feels like an eternity to wait, but I say, “Of course! I’ll see you upstairs,” and watch her rise from the table and offer to take our empty plates with her to the kitchen. I smile, thank her, and head to my room, waving goodnight to Yaad and Marcille. I will try to busy myself until I can see her: wash up, don my harness under my clothes, and tuck my strap-on up against my belly. I will refuse to think about anything but how good tonight will be and how well the feast will go and how good Melini has been to me. 

~*~

Laios fidgeted with the edge of the nightgown, trying to pull it down so it wouldn't bunch at her waist, above the pouch of her belly. But as she straightened back up, the silk seemed to rise with her to find her narrowest point and sit there. She wondered if women's clothes were always like this, or if this dress just didn't fit very well. 

She laid back against the sofa with a soft exhale, threading her fingers over her lap and resolved not to fuss with it any further. It was one of Falin’s—specifically, it was a gift from Marcille that Falin had not liked. The light blue color, low bust, and strange split drapes where sleeves should be made it unappealing to her. Laios didn't really mind any of that—at least if Kabru was the only one seeing her in it—but what drew her to it was the soft silk and the way the skirt smoothly fluttered around her legs as if in a breeze. The drape-things were silly, but thin and soft to the touch. It felt good when she wrapped them around her fingers and wrists, like she imagined the embrace of a shadowtail to feel. They soothed her nerves as she waited for Kabru to arrive.

Twisting the silk between her fingers, she ran over her pre-date checklist once again: she’d grabbed a box of cookies and a bottle of wine from the pantry and set them out, rummaged through Falin’s wardrobe and found something to wear, shaved, done an enema and taken a bath, brushed her teeth, and gotten dressed. Had she set out some oil in the bedroom? She rose and hurried from her sitting room to the bedside table only to find she had indeed set out a bottle earlier, probably after using it on herself after the bath. Still restless, she returned to the couch.

Kabru was someone precious, irreplaceable, and it still felt unbelievable to her that she had him inside her not so long ago, telling her how good it felt to have her wrapped around him… She pulled the silk a little tighter to try and avoid working herself up too early, but it just made her think of how tightly he’d held her hand while he was thrusting inside her. She let go of the silk and went to open the wine instead, but she wasn’t sure he would want to drink tonight given what they needed to do tomorrow, and then she felt silly for grabbing it at all. 

And now the nerves that had been gnawing at her all day crept their way back in her head. Sandy had sounded so defeated and small when she’d talked about her mother, and it had given Laios no confidence that things with Granite would go over well. It had only been by some miracle that Sandy had put together that Laios was the girl Kabru had been talking about the other night that they’d managed to move past that chilly moment. She needed to talk to Kabru about it and seek his opinion on it while they talked on their date. Trying to be patient, she ran over the meeting with Sandy in her head once more, trying to get the details right for Kabru.

When Laios entered the room, the dwarf was staring wide-eyed at the palace around her, likely taking in the same grandeur that Laios had first seen in it after it rose from the sea. It was even grander now than then, scrubbed clean and polished, and it had still made her feel tiny and estranged—like she couldn't possibly be in the right place. Quickly, Sandy caught her eye and startled. She bowed low as Laios approached, sweeping her skirt out in her hand in a refined and practiced curtsy. The resemblance to Lady Granite was undeniable—she had the same dark skin, full lips, and fox-like eyes, though her hair was a shiny black that surrounded her head in an airy cloud of curls, pulled back from her face by a ribbon. They hung over her head as she lowered herself, almost bouncing as she moved, like a billion fine, entangled springs. Age had worn hard lines into Granite’s face, but Sandy, though she couldn't still be young, had a smooth, full face, and what wrinkles were there were hard to spot. 

“Your Majesty,” she said in a voice as clear as a bell, and Laios did not need to wonder why Kabru had been so enthused by her singing. 

Laios was filled with the sudden and intense desire for Sandy to like her, and she no longer knew if she should speak to the woman as a king or as Kabru’s friend. And once again she was envious of how seamlessly he seemed to move between the people he was supposed to be and wondered how he’d managed to both be a stranger in a bar to talk to and a royal official who could invite Sandy to be here and make her the one who felt out of place. Laios struggled to strike some kind of middle ground.

“Any guest of Kabru’s need not kneel to me,” she said. This trick often worked on acquaintances, like Namari’s girlfriend, to get them to stop saying ‘your majesty’ before every sentence, but she was nervous and had mangled the tone. It came out very stern and formal, like she was giving a decree or something.

Sandy rose hesitantly, clasping her hands together in front of her. Laios tried to give her a disarming smile, but perhaps it was too late, because Sandy continued to look uncomfortable.

“As you wish, your majesty,” she said.

There has to be a way to make her feel more comfortable, Laios thought, Perhaps if she saw more of the castle, she’d feel better oriented and we could talk.

Laios made a small, gracious bow, and pointed towards the hall out to the garden.

“I can show you where you’ll be performing, if you’d like,” she said much more kindly than before, “and if you need something for the show, you can tell me!”

Sandy agreed, but she still seemed nervous. She led the woman outside, holding the door open for her while she shuffled past. The tension in her shoulder dropped as she looked on the cultivated space, laden with fruits and vegetables ripening, fragrant herbs, and the vibrant colors of late-summer flowers still in bloom. The area encompassed much of the courtyard, and had many winding paths to seating hidden amongst large shrubs that created some sense of privacy in the open space. The paved patio in the center was large enough for a sizable dinner party, with a large bracket-shaped table to serve on and a raised stone stage near the center for speakers and performers to be heard by everyone. 

Sandy approached it, then stepped onto the stage, heels clicking on the stone. She seemed to study the position, then looked dissatisfied.

“I’ll be right here? In the middle of everything?”

Laios nodded. Was she worried about how close she’d be to her mother?

“There will be guards stationed nearby, in case anyone gets too drunk and rowdy,” Laios assured her.

Hands on her hips, she pouted.

“But what about the acoustics?! There’s nowhere for my voice to bounce off of, and we’ve got all these bushes to muffle it!”

“There’s spells we could use to amplify you if we need it.”

That seemed to placate her, and she returned to gazing around at the plants.

“Do you like gardening?” Laios asked, trying to engage her, “Sometimes I come out here to tend the plants, when work gets dull.”

“No, I don't much like getting dirty. It looks lovely out here though.”

They stopped talking. Laios wasn't sure what to say, and neither was Sandy—that or she simply wasn't eager to talk to Laios. She whistled a tune, and waited for an echo that she didn't expect to come. After another quiet moment, Sandy spoke again.

“What all do you grow out here, your majesty?”

Excitedly, Laios showed her the various flowers and herbs and vegetables, naming those she knew and ascribing the ones she didn't to Rin’s or Marcille’s potion ingredient stock. 

“Do you grow the castle's food right here?” she asked, then quickly tacked on, “Your majesty?”

“A bit, but mostly the things we want to have fresh off the vine, not proper harvests.” Laios pointed out Kabru’s tomato plants, the juicy red and yellow fruits hanging there, ready to be plucked for another emergency meal for him. “They’re Kabru’s favorite, so I make sure we have them right in the garden for him. He skips meals sometimes, so I have to make sure he eats well.”

Sandy cast her a curious look, but only asked about the next patch of flowers. As they finished walking the grounds, she suddenly remembered she was here on business, and pulled a sheet of paper from her skirt pockets, and handed it to Laios.

“Almost forgot the recipe, your majesty! Sir Kabru requested I deliver this, for the feast.”

Laios thanked her as she took it and scanned over it.

“Sounds delicious,” she said, remembering her hunger, “I can see why Kabru was eager to get this from you.”

“Thanks, it’s my mother's recipe,” she said cheerfully. But a cloud seemed to pass over her as she thought about her mother, taking that joy with it. “So I understand she's here as a negotiator or something, right, your majesty?”

“That’s right.” 

Laios tucked the recipe in her pocket, making note to bring it to the kitchen before returning to Yaad.

“Then I ought to warn you. She's not going to like seeing me here or having this recipe on the table.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don't know what you're planning, but she's going to take it as some kind of threat, or like an attack on her as a mother. She’s going to feel like you’re rubbing all her failures in her face.”

She meant herself. Even Laios could tell she meant herself. Laios walked a step back and sat on a bench so she could be closer to eye level with Sandy without demeaning her by taking a knee. If her mother’s disapproval stung, she didn't show it, but Laios knew that it wasn't a feeling that ever really faded. It hurt until you forgot it, and then something would remind you that the pain was still there and you had to feel it all over again. 

“We know it’ll be difficult, but we hope that seeing you happy here in Melini–”

Sandy shook her head angrily. Her voice didn't shake when she spoke; instead, she was far too calm, controlled.

“My happiness was never the point, your majesty. It was always about making me the sort of person she thought I should be.”

It felt like a punch to her gut. Her father's letter was still awaiting a reply, crammed in her desk drawer, telling her about the effort he’d be willing to put himself through to make a proper king of her. Because that was his duty as a father, and Lady Granite’s duty as a mother—make their sons grow into proper men who get married and have kids respectably and then fulfill their own duty to raise their sons into men and their daughters into women, and onward with the cycle. There was a cruel point to it: someone had to inherit the farm and grow the food in the next generation, and those children would have to live the same way their parents did. Happiness was less important than survival, because people generally seemed to find joy somewhere. But when people like Sandy couldn't do what was required of them, couldn't survive the misery of the life planned for them a dozen generations ago, and could find no sliver of happiness great enough to bear it, the consequences were brutal.

“I’ll find a way to make her understand, Sandy,” Laios said sternly, “I’ll make her see we’ve made the right choice.”

Sandy just stared at her, as impenetrable as her mother, for a long while. But something seemed to click in place in her head, and she began to relax for the first time since she arrived. With an easy grace, Sandy hopped up on the bench beside Laios. 

“I don’t think you’ll get through to her, but I’m long past asking for her approval. You'll get to the same place someday,” Sandy said. Laios blushed as she realized she’d said ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ like she’d meant to, and somehow Sandy had picked up the hidden meaning in that slip of the tongue. 

“It’s easier with people supporting you from the start,” she continued, a sly smile on her lips, “and that Sir Kabru of yours seems like a keeper.”  

A loud knock jolted her out of her thoughts. She scrambled to her feet, bumping into the low table in front of her couch and knocking over the bottle of wine—thankfully still corked—adding to the din. Even though she was pulling at her ill-fitting skirt as she hopped along, she made it to the door without tripping any further and cracked it open just enough to pull Kabru inside.

He yelped as he whirled around, still turning with the force of her jerking him through the door. Quickly she bolted it again while he got his bearings.

“Being pulled in looks more suspicious than just opening the door,” he chided. She could hear him straightening his sleeves behind her, ruffled by her grabbing. 

“I’m sorry, I just don't want anyone to see me in this!” 

Door secured, she faced him again only to find him staring at her. His dark, shiny curls were swept back from his forehead, which made his face look longer and more mature. His clothing was more informal, the kind of thing he’d wear when they spent time alone rather than the fancy clothes he wore for the court, but it was well-fitted to his trim figure. She could trace the lines of his lean chest and the small bulge of his biceps through the cloth, emphasizing his agile, cat-like strength. Those keen blue eyes ran over her figure just before he pounced.

His arms flew around her, across her waist and her shoulders, his hand cupping her neck as he drew her down to him. He kissed her hard, his tongue pushing past hers like he meant to taste every inch of her, starting with the back of her throat. She moaned into his mouth. Her heart thudded in her throat as he held her there, fingers digging into her side, with all the fervor that he had when he’d been fucking her last time. She steadied herself against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders so she hopefully wouldn't collapse as her knees weakened. After a breathless eternity, he pulled back.

Both of their chests heaved as he whispered, “You look so beautiful.”

Her face felt hot, and embarrassingly, she was already half-hard just from that kiss.

“Thanks,” she said meekly. Before he could kiss her again and wipe the thought from her mind, she pointed to the cookies and overturned bottle of wine. “You wanted dessert?”

He glanced towards it and laughed.

“When I said that, I meant you, my lady.”

“Oh.”

His long lashes fluttered as he half-closed his eyes and ran his hand down her jaw, the pads of his worn-smooth fingers following the curve of her neck to her collarbone on down to the lacing of her gown. His finger tangled in the knot holding the string taut, and he tugged at it as he leaned into her again, his teeth at her carotid artery, grazing the thin skin in a way that made gooseflesh raise on her exposed arms.

The knot gave way quickly, and Kabru began working the laces loose. Laios buried her face in his hair, rubbing her cheek against him as he undressed her. Sex the first night had been more than she’d ever hoped for, a buffet of sensation, an intimacy she’d never had before. When Kabru had held her face in his hand and made her look him in the eye, she felt like he could see through her, right to the cage where the beast inside her slept. He had unlocked its cage and set it free inside her to growl and claw at the sheets as raw pleasure overwhelmed her senses—hot breath on her skin, sweat dripping from him and mixing with her own, earthy musk of his bush in her nose and on her tongue, dull pain of his teeth dragging across her shoulder, fingers entangled with hers. Instinct had overwhelmed her as her mind went blank, and for a precious moment, she surrendered herself to the monster she longed to be. And Kabru had stared down that monster as she thrashed and cried out and then held her close to him as she lay panting, slowly coming back to herself. 

Even if she never had an orgasm like that again, she wanted to wrap around him and feel his heart thudding against hers. But she had to admit, she wanted to feel that freedom again, that brief oblivion of the self where all she was was a body, a body Kabru held.

Her dress slackened and the shoulders began to droop, revealing her bust to Kabru. He dove for her chest, cupping the spare tissue in both hands and squeezing them together as he kissed them sloppily. Tickled by the feeling of his lips, she giggled and dropped her hands to his waist. She pulled him closer until their groins touched as she leaned back to give him better access, which he rewarded with a flick of his tongue over her nipple and a roll of his hips. She inhaled sharply as something big and hard rubbed against her erection. 

He tipped his head back and winked at her.

“I’m wearing my favorite prosthetic,” he said, “Would you like to see?”

“I would,” she said, nodding along.

He led her to the couch and sat down, splaying his legs. The skirt of his tunic lay over his groin, now outlining rather than concealing the shape of the phallus beneath his clothes. He patted the spot beside him, and she joined him, hand over her chest to keep her dress from falling off. She pressed her palm to the hard length between his legs. She had liked his natural psuedo-penis, how it twitched and pulsed as she sucked it, but Kabru seemed to groan in much the same way when she touched his prosthetic. As she circled where the head should be, he leaned back with a shudder, the same as he had last time. She untied his pants and pulled his dick free.

Before she could look at it, he pulled her closer to kiss her hungrily. His tongue slid against hers as he cupped her breast again, and she could feel him gasp as she stroked from the head to the base of the shaft, landing on a solid set of balls. With her other hand, she cupped the rigid sack in her hands and squeezed gently as she began to stroke him faster. She’d never given a handjob—she hadn't given a blowjob until very recently either, but it had felt extremely natural to do. This however, felt like strange territory. The position felt awkward, she couldn't see it because he was kissing her so much, but she couldn't focus on kissing him either because she was clumsily trying to play with his dick, which couldn't even bend like a natural one.

Still, she was trying her best, so it came as a surprise to her when Kabru broke their kiss and—still close enough for her to feel his lips forming the words—asked, “Are you alright? You’re really tense.”

She gave herself a second to think about it, then answered, “Nervous about tomorrow, I guess.”

He cradled her jaw in his hand, and planted another kiss on her lips, soft and open-mouthed. His fingers brushed against her nipple as his other hand moved to pull her closer. Her own hands stayed on his cock.

“It’s going to go well, Laios. I know it’s a rush, but we’ve got a good party planned–”

“I mean with Sandy and Granite,” she interrupted, “I talked to her today, and she told me there's no way she’ll ever accept her, or any offer we make. She’s just going to feel threatened.”

With a light touch, he massaged her back underneath her dress, trying to ease her tension.

“We want her to feel threatened,” he assured her, “She’s not going to back down if she feels secure.”

Her grip on his shaft was tight. She forced her hand to open and start stroking him again, just to keep herself from hurting her own hand. Kabru’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze returning to his own rod.

“But what about Sandy? We could be putting her in danger—what if Granite accosts her or outs her or—”

“Laios, she knows better than you what the risks are, and she agreed to work. And stop yanking so hard, you're going to pull it off!” he hissed, taking her wrist and forcing her to slow down.

It still didn't feel right, but she had no other arguments. If Granite got violent and had to be arrested, that’d give them the perfect excuse for removing her from the negotiations altogether, and they did have a good amount of guards. Enough that they could escort Sandy home, if needed. And Sandy, despondent as she had been about the prospect of her mother coming around to respect her, had not been asking for more guards or a barrier charm: she’d been warning Laios. None of that made her feel any less anxious.

Kabru guided her thoughts back to him, he pulling her in to kiss once more.

“Just try to relax tonight, my lady,” he sighed.

 This close, he looked tired. He’d picked at his food during dinner until Laios gave him a nudge, and then he cleared his plate in record time, barely stopping to breathe. Was there something bothering him too? 

If there was, he wasn't saying it on his own. He closed the distance between them, kissing her and pushing her back on the couch. He pulled the thin straps of her dress down her arms, letting the bodice of the dress hang around her waist, all while kissing up and down her body. Everywhere his lips touched left her aching for more of him, and she couldn't stop herself from whining as he teased her, unable to touch him back until he finally freed her arms from her clothes. Once free, she combed one hand through his hair and the other gripped his shoulder, in turns stroking and squeezing him as he kissed and nipped at her skin lower and lower until he was down at her gut. He hummed delightedly as he buried his face in her flesh and fondled her love handles, like he was trying to make her believe he was enjoying himself. 

“Kabru?” she said, trying to suppress the waver in her voice and failing, “Are you alright?”

His sweet face pitched up from her belly, and he gave her a look: eyebrow quirked and lips drawn in a smirk.

“Do I seem like I’m not?”

Why does he have to be difficult like this?

She shrugged. 

“You weren't really eating earlier, and… I don't know, you seem on edge. Kinda tired.”

He tilted his head away from her, a little pout on his lips like a child caught in a lie and more upset with being caught than anything else. But as his expression began to sour, she realized he’d been pouting because he was trying to hold himself back and keep from getting angry.

He snapped at her, his patience suddenly giving way, “Fine, yes, I’m on edge! I followed your advice and talked to Rin.”

Like he couldn't stand to look at her, he buried his face in her belly again, hands still gripping her sides. She wasn't sure if touching him would make it better or worse right now, but she felt she owed him comfort, and she wanted him to feel better. Worriedly, she stroked his hair. He nestled further into her.

“What happened?” 

He squeezed her again, growling into her stomach for a second before picking himself up to say, “I did what you suggested is what! I tried to ask her about how things were with Marcille, and she got nasty with me for daring to ask, so I got nasty right back! I’ll be surprised if she ever talks to me again after that.”

He rose to his elbows and knees, bringing him up to her bare chest, mere inches from her face. Her hands had fallen from his head and shoulders to his waist

Defensively, Laios snapped back at him, “I never said to get nasty, Kabru! I just meant–” 

“You said, and I quote, ‘If you're angry, you should let her know.’ I got angry. And look where I am now.” He flourished his hand in the air like he was gesturing to her room.

“You seemed really upset that she was always acting jealous, but you two never talked about it! I just… I thought you’d just be harsh with her like you do me,” she tried to explain, her fingers idly teasing the belt of his tunic.

“That doesn't work with Rin! I know she tries to look tough, but she’s fragile. She can't even handle being happy in public—she’s not strong like you, Laios, she crumbles under pressure.”

She winced at the word strong , like it was an insult he’d slung at her. Strong was the last word she’d pick to describe herself tonight. She felt like a freshly molten mimic, naked on the dungeon floor, scrambling for a new place to hide and finding nothing.

“I was all she had growing up, and now because of this, she might have no one!”

“She has Marcille, Kabru. Let Marcille take care of her a while, while she takes some time to cool off,” she tried to assure him.

“I know that, but she needs me , and I’ve pushed her away!” he stressed, his fingers digging into Laios’ love handles as he stared her in the eye, handsome features drawn into a frown. He closed his eyes and exhaled, turning his head away from her, and sighed, “I don't know why I’m trying to explain this. You weren't there with us—you’ll never understand.”

She felt so stupid. Just so stupid. Stupid, stupid Laios, fucking up every relationship she can manage to find—not only her own, but everyone else's too.

“I don't know why you listened to me in the first place when I’m so stupid!”

She was yelling, tears were stinging her eyes and threatening to spill, and her hands were twisting his belt. Her face contorted in a snarl to try and keep herself from crying. This was going so poorly, and selfishly she just wanted him to hold her and comfort her. She stared blearily at the wine bottle on its side and the cookies in a little basket she’d brought up for them sitting untouched.

He shifted, his weight lifting from her legs. She peaked at him from the corner of her eye: he was up on his hands and knees above her, still angry, she thought, but deflated somehow. He leaned over her, upright, his hand on the back of the couch for support.

“I didn't—” he sputtered, “I would never say that, Laios! You know that's not what I think of you.” He held his hand to his heart.

“That doesn't mean it's not true,” she growled. 

“It isn't true! Laios, you’re inventive and studious and careful—you’re the leader because of how intelligent you are, on top of everything else.”

Laios shook her head. 

“If I fuck up with Granite, I could ruin our kingdom, Kabru. If I can't get her on our side and keep her there, it’ll take years to build that road. And what if our crops fail? Or the mana here dwindles, and we can’t rely on the monsters anymore? Or Yaad and the others go to dust soon? You know how important getting this trade secure is, and—and I’m not cut out for this like you!”

His eyes never leaving hers, he lowered himself until his forehead pressed against hers. His fingertips trailed over her cheek, soothing and gentle, but the look in his eye made her heart pound with the intensity of it. 

“There is no one— no one —I want on the throne but you. You're a good woman-king.”

His thumb dragged against her lower lip, like he had done the other night to comfort her. It felt like a kiss.

“Firstly,” he said, voice firm, “I have no doubt in my mind that if the worst came to pass, you would still be the best person to find a new way forward and keep as many people as possible safe and fed.”

“But–”

“ Secondly , it will work! Granite isn't going to be able to deny us if we can sway her compatriots—she still needs their support when this is over.”

“But Kabru,” she insisted, “If she can’t even accept her own daughter, how am I supposed to convince her to accept me? How can I convince any of them? No one is going to want to trade with Melini if I’m leading it. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

He had that raptor-spotting-a-mouse look to him again, that alluring keenness that signaled he’d finally heard something he’d been dying to know. But he touched his lips to hers, briefly, delicately, restrained, and when he reopened his eyes, he looked at her tenderly. 

“You’re not making a mistake by choosing to be a woman, my lady,” he whispered, stroking her jaw, “I’ll help you decide what story to tell to keep the kingdom safe, but we need to do this because your happiness matters to this kingdom, too, and… I don’t think I could watch you make yourself miserable just because you’re worried others won’t accept you.”

He crashed down to her, crushed in a hug as Laios wrapped herself around him. Her heart pounded in her chest and her skin seemed to tingle everywhere he touched and all she wanted was to hold him as tightly as possible. Her lips met his with bruising force over and over as she tried to find a way to have him and talk to him at the same time.

“You’re - so - so - so - good to me,” she gasped out in the short breaths she allowed herself between trying to meld their faces together. He was warm and fit so well in her arms and between her legs, and she wanted to be close to him, to let him know exactly how important to her he was. One hand tangled in his curls and the other held his back tight, she spoke softly in his ear, “I’m sorry you fought with Rin because of my bad advice.”

He shook his head, hair tickling her as it brushed against her cheek. He tucked his arms under hers, cradling her body. Her skirt was riding up, bunched up between them so she couldn’t feel his prosthetic as he lowered his hips to meet her, but it only made her pine more for the moment that they’d join together again. 

“No, I should be sorry for snapping at you like that,” he whispered, lips grazing her ear, “That fight felt like… inevitable I guess. There was too much we weren't talking about.”

She stroked his hair, trying to soothe him the way he soothed her.

“You haven’t lost her over one fight, no matter how bad,” she said, “You’ll make up, and you’ll be closer for it.”

He nuzzled against her neck, kissing her again, soft and restrained still. He kissed again, a little harder, and kept kissing her harder and harder each time. His hands trailed down her sides to her waist, like he meant to start pulling her dress the rest of the way off, but then he popped up and away from her.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make you do this,” he said as he tried to sit up from her, “you still seem so upset–”

“No!” she cried out. Her legs crossed over his waist, holding him in place. She wasn’t clever with words like he was, but if she were, she’d tell him how her heart felt like it was beating in time with his now. She’d tell him that he’d hung the moon and the stars for her already, and she would give anything to bring him the sun. She’d tell him that the monster that curled around her heart purred for him, soothed that she could growl at him and he’d stick around to see what was wrong. She’d tell him how privileged she felt to be who he went to when he was hurting, a trusted friend and a new lover.

But she could only be herself, so instead, she said, “I really, really like you, Kabru—I want to be close like this. Wargs bare their teeth and then show their necks to their mates like this too, because they trust each other most of all.”

His face screwed up for a second as if in anger or disgust, but then he collapsed onto her chest in a fit of laughter. And she laughed with him, heart soaring.

“Don’t–don’t compare me to a warg, Laios,” he said, still shaking with laughter.

She held onto him with all her might while he squeezed her back.

“Sorry, but they do ,” she insisted.

He rolled his hips on top of her, making her hum with delight.

“When I get the procedure I want done, I’m getting a perfectly human phallus with no knot ,” he said before nipping her neck playfully—much like a warg would with his mate, she resisted informing him.

“You’re getting it done soon?” she asked, then gasped as she realized what that might mean, “Are you going to be able to ejaculate?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan–”

“Because that’d be sooo cool! And it’d be so much easier to tell when you’re coming–”

She tried to ramble on about it, but he covered her lips with his. Kabru’s face was all red as he pulled away.

“You can just ask if I’m coming, Laios,” he said very sternly for how flushed he looked.

Toying with his curls shyly, she said, “But I like to be able to tell on my own—like when I gave you a blow job, I could feel you twitch on my tongue.”

He kissed her again, all the restraint gone, entwining his body with hers until they were twisted together like snakes. When he broke the kiss, he couldn’t pry himself from her as he spoke, instead letting his lips brush against hers as he purred, “I’ll show you how to tell.”

She giggled, excited, and answered back, “Let me out of this dress first.”

Chapter Text

“Thank you all for being here to celebrate. I hope that our friends from Kakha Brud enjoy the best Melini has to offer, from our food to our musicians. To my subjects, please show them a good time. Without further ado, please welcome tonight's band, and please eat well!”

Laios bowed to Sandy as she backed off the stage to let her on, and the crowd hollered in excitement as her band quickly set up to play. People scattered around the courtyard, taking plates to the buffet tables to load up on the first course of the night and loading up flagons of the Golden Country’s best ale and the new dryad wine that The Huntress had been very happy to provide. Sandy’s band struck up an upbeat tune as soon as the cheers died down, and her voice slowly filled the air, making half the crowd take their flagons to the middle of the courtyard to dance. The dwarves from the Khaka Brud delegate mingled and laughed with locals and drank plenty. Yaad and his ministers joined them, taking the chance to build camaraderie and improve the chances of their dealings going well tomorrow afternoon. 

Laios collapsed back in her chair, her temporary throne at one of the larger tables in the middle of the courtyard. Public speaking always made her nervous, and never more than right now. She eyed Lady Granite over a wreath of pink and blue flowers that seemed to wilt in her presence. Her stony face was turned to Sandy with a look Laios recognized all too easily: parental disappointment. Every wrinkle seemed perfectly creased to convey the precise words ‘I’m so disappointed in you, son,’ without ever intending to give the recipient the dignity of hearing it aloud. Afterall, anything a parent actually says can then be argued with, but that silence was impenetrable. 

“Good job setting the tone,” a gentle voice from behind came, startling Laios’ out of monitoring Granite. Kabru placed a hand on her shoulder as he came around and sat in the chair next to hers, setting a plate of cut fruit and cheese and a pair of mugs between them. His eyes seemed to sparkle in the light as the summer sun finally began to set on them—they’d have to put up the magelight in another hour, but for now it was warm and bright still. 

“Thanks,” she sighed before grabbing a bit of [goat cheese and a fruit] and shoving it in her mouth. Her mouth felt too dry for it to taste like much of anything, but the creamy texture of fresh goat cheese was comforting at least. Her eyes wandered back to the old dwarf, and Kabru’s gaze followed hers.

“If there's an incident tonight, it’ll be when we serve the jambalaya,” he said, pushing her mug of dryad wine towards her, “Try to relax at least until then, alright?”

He was right, and Sandy had said as much that having her own recipe served to her would be taken as an insult, but she could not help but be anxious. This was not like trying to slay a dragon to resurrect Falin, or even finding a way to beat a demon—this was talking to someone's mother. And that was far more frightening.

“She’s already accosted Sandy once. Can we really be sure she won't try it again?” she said. She took a small sip of the wine, and tried to focus on the sweet, floral taste of it.

“Sure, and she’ll be arrested by every guard you’ve got patrolling the party and she’ll have publicly humiliated herself in front of everyone,” he said, picking up his own mug and clinking it against Laios' in a one-sided toast before taking a deep drink. 

Begrudgingly, Laios raised her own and drank too. It was such a perfect floral taste, a nice sweetness perfect for charcuterie—she took another bit of cheese and apricot from the plate, fingers brushing against Kabru’s as he did the same, and they both ate gladly.

As their plate cleared, the first of the crowd came to approach her. Lord Aragon strode towards the king’s table with the elegance of a man who has already begun to move from tipsy to drunk with no intent to stop when he gets there. Whether he was a rare dwarf with poor alcohol tolerance or had been pre-gaming the feast, Laios didn't know, but he was quite loud and very cheery.

“Your Majesty, I come to pay my respects to the gracious host,” he said as he tried to bow with his raised mug, the wine inside sloshing to the ground, then swayed back upwards with his mug spilling down the side, “And this wine you’ve got is fantastic. ‘S like drinking a bouquet—lovely with all the flowers about. I cannot put it down!”

Her initial estimation was a few mugs off: Aragon was well into drunk already. Kabru greeted him like an old friend.

“You’ve been enjoying yourself tonight, Aragon!” he teased, raising his mug to him.

Aragon raised his mug back, a wide grin splitting his face. 

“Too good not to! Have you tried this stuff? ‘S really incredible—I had no idea dryads could make wine, but I’d leave it to the king of monsters to get ‘em to do it.” He nodded at his own words, as if he’d said the truest statement ever uttered rather than a series of misconceptions.

Before Laios could dive in with correcting him, Kabru put his hand to her shoulder, trying to signal to her to hold her tongue. Then Kabru laughed and answered in her stead, “The dryads don't make it, Aragon, they are the wine. They have fruits that farmers mash up and ferment like any other.”

He looks at his wine with newfound appreciation, if a bit wide-eyed.

“Really? Didn't think you could eat them—look rather people-like, don't they?”

Kabru released her shoulder, allowing her to handle that question.

“The flowers do, but it's just to scare off small monsters who would otherwise eat their fruit. Humanoid figures are more imposing than a standard flower would be, even one that can attack,” she explains as Aragon nods along, his wide eyes closing to a squint.

“Hmm… Well, it’s still quite tasty!”

Then the dwarf leaned against the table, looking to them conspiratorially over his mug, his voice lowering as he said, “You know, something like this would be extremely popular with elves. My clan may’ve been big oyster mongers, but the big money was in shipping the pearls and nacre west. They like pretty things, and I can’t think of a prettier wine than this one—they’d eat it up!”

“Drink it up,” Laios corrected.

“Exactly, your majesty!” he said, jabbing his finger on the table for emphasis. He took another swig, and said, “I say if times change, we change with them, unpopular as that might be with some dwarves, so you can bet you’ve got my support—regardless of what those other dwarves say tomorrow.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, a little absently. 

“It’s my pleasure, Your Majesty,” he said with another deep, sloshing bow, “I have a fleet of trade ships all beached in Khaka Brud’s dried up dock, and I’d love to dock them in a new port, you understand.”

Kabru leaned towards Laios, a hand on her wrist to whisper, “See? We have some support at least.” Then, looking back over Aragon swigging more wine, he added, “Loutish support, but support is support.”

But Laios was watching Sandy on stage, tapping her feet and twirling her skirt as she sang, and her mother was watching her too, still angry. There was nothing Aragon could offer that would mend that break. Maybe Sandy was fine never speaking to her mother again, but it hurt to have to give up on that, to decide there's just no way she could be understood by someone who used to love her. It felt wrong. 

“We shouldn't talk about business at a feast, Lord Aragon,” Laios said sternly.

And Kabru swooped in to soften her words, nodding along and saying, “This is a time to have some fun, to meet the people of Melini you’ll be doing business with later—why not go dance and mingle?”

The dwarf downed his mug of wine, and answered, “Yes, ‘suppose you're right—we’ll talk more tomorrow then, Your Majesty!” Then he wandered back into the crowd.

She sighed in a mix of temporary relief and a great deal of coming frustration—everyone would be coming to greet her as the night went on, and she was already dreading it. As she began to sulk, Kabru's hand slipped inside hers just under the table, warm and grounding.

“I’ll be beside you tonight,” he said softly, squeezing her hand and making her blush. His eyes sparkled with excitement, eager to get to talk to so many people.

“That sounds good,” she whispered back. She rubbed his hand with her thumb as he turned to greet the next well-wisher, the bright smile on his face plenty welcoming to make up for Laios’ distractedly scanning the crowd for those stony gray locs periodically. 

As the light grew dimmer and the second course came out in the hands of the kitchen staff, Laios spotted the twitching ears of a distressed Marcille as she searched the grounds, a large bag slung over her shoulder. Her head swiveled as she looked around, clutching the strap of her bag, until she caught sight of Laios’ table and started hurrying towards them.

She nudged Kabru, interrupting his social hour. 

“One minute,” he hissed without turning from the people he was talking to. So Laios nudged him again, harder. He turned to glare at her when she pointed towards Marcille, who looked on the verge of tears. He sucked on his teeth and whispered, “Oh, that's no good…”

Laios stood from the table, said, “Sorry, everyone, but our mage seems to be having some trouble. We’ll be right back.” 

As they moved through the crowd, Laios asked, “Why do you think she’s upset? It's not Rin, is it?”

He sighed, long and sad. 

“It probably is,” he said, his tone bitter. She wished she could hold his hand, but with so many people around, it seemed unwise and she settled for a hand on his shoulder. 

Marcille's best shoes clacked on the stone as she ran up to them, ears now sagging towards her slumped shoulders.

“Have you two seen Rin? I’ve looked all over for her and she’s not here, and she hasn't been to her shop today…” she said, twisting the strap of her bag in her hands.

Kabru crossed his arms, still sore over his fight with his dearest friend. He wouldn't want to say anything hurtful about Rin, especially to Marcille, but he was still snappish, and seemed to be holding his tongue to avoid saying something he knew he would regret. So Laios said, “Rin and Kabru have been arguing, so we haven't seen her today.”

Crestfallen, Marcille’s shoulders slumped.

“With you too? I thought you seemed sad yesterday but…” she said, pulling the bag close so it wouldn't fall, “Poor Rin must feel awful.”

The misery on Kabru’s face was plain now, his gaze pointed up towards Rin’s room, watching the dark window. Laios wondered if she had really meant it when she’d told Kabru she was moving out of the castle or if that had just been what she wanted while she was angry. It had been in anger and despair that Laios had left her father’s home, but she had certainly meant it, and as much trouble and hardship as she’d faced, she did not regret it. Even leaving Falin behind felt necessary now—maybe they had both needed that period apart to grow up, maybe Laios would've come to resent the way Falin had clung to her when they were young, or maybe Falin wouldn't have learned how to make friends like Marcille on her own if she’d always had Laios for company. 

The pain creased into Kabru’s brow right now was the same pain she’d felt getting those lonely letters from Falin before she’d met Marcille. She took Kabru’s hand in hers, and his fingers interlocked with hers like a jigsaw piece snapping to another—if anyone saw and thought it was weird, that would have to be their problem, she supposed. Kabru needed her, and he needed her right now, not just when they were alone.

He exhaled, seemed to calm, and turned back to Marcille.

“She’s in her room, probably packing. She… She needs space and wants to move out,” he said.

Her eyes went wide as she said, “But… but you told me I should talk to her!”

Kabru’s fingers tightened in her hand, as if he were about to do something painful.

“And you should. She needs space from me, but she still needs a friend right now.”

Solemnly, Marcille nodded her head and gripped her bag tight to her chest. Her stiff upper lip didn't stop her lower from quivering as she made her way towards Rin’s room, but she moved with the determination Laios had come to admire in Marcille, a willingness to do all the things she hated if it helped someone she loved. She looked back to Kabru, who had the same sort of backbone Marcille did, and knew it must be difficult for him to accept that what Rin wanted—what they both seemed to need—was for him to let go. 

“She’ll come around, Kabru,” she said softly, “She won't be heartbroken forever.”

“I know; I just wish I knew how long is long enough,” he answered. He pulled her towards their table, back to work, and Laios looked over her shoulder to where she’d seen Granite last. She was still seated, fuming at an empty plate as her daughter swayed on stage. Far to the north, Falin was roaming their old village and all the places they’d been too young to travel before they’d both left it behind, intent to stay for some time still before taking the months-long trip back to Melini. Their father was likely at his desk, or hunting with the dogs, and wondering when Laios would answer his letter, if he should make further plans to travel with Falin. Maybe, after sixteen years of silence, he was already resigning himself to never hearing back from a son he no longer knew.

How long is long enough? Laios didn't know either.

Shoving all your belongings into bags, panicking and taking them all out again, going into a rage and packing them again, continuing to rage and tossing the bags all over and then throwing yourself onto the bed to beat at the pillow and cry until you can start the cycle over again had taken most of the day. And much of yesterday. It would probably take tomorrow too. Your thoughts are spiraling, turning about the same points over and over.

I have to get out of here; I don’t have a place to go, am I supposed to crawl back to my last landlord and tell her the castle thing didn't work out? Who cares, I’ll sleep under the counter at the apothecary—fuck that, I shouldn't have to suffer because Kabru’s an asshole! But what am I supposed to do, I can't face him and I can't face Marcille either. What do I do, what do I do…

And then you’d wail into your pillow. 

When you spiralled like this, it was always Kabru who pulled you out of it. He’d smile at you softly, nudge his shoulder to yours companionably, maybe hug you if you started it—he knew to let you start it, always—and he’d pull you away from whatever was making you break like this. He’d talk to you until you were calm, let you work through your emotions.

It dawned on you that you’d never seen him so panicked and out of control as you had during your fight. The way he’d gripped your arm had frightened you, and his attempt to force your relationship into the box that suited him had pissed you off, but he’d seen you at your absolute worst and helped you through it without complaint. That fight had started with him trying to help you with Marcille.

Your head ached with the weight of your guilt over that fight. Maybe she was prissy and uptight and didn't even realize how pathetic her own situation with Falin was, but she hadn't deserved the way you’d shouted at her—not even at her, at a phantom of Kabru taunting you. No one deserved to be treated like the worst of your thoughts. Maybe you were incapable of loving someone. You were doomed to be afraid of everyone and treat the ones you wanted to love like an encroaching threat. There were thorny vines around your heart, and anyone who got close would always feel the bite of them.

Hot tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, and you tossed your head into your pillow, willing them to disappear. You missed your parents. You missed Kabru. You missed Marcille. The stupid heart beating inside you longed for someone to brush your hair from your face and tell you that you’ll be okay, like you're still a child in need of reassurance. Smoke choked your lungs, and you heaved deep, painful breaths as you sobbed into your pillow.

You don't stir again for a long time, not until you hear the distant sound of music and the rumbling of a small crowd. Though there is light still outside the window, the sun is low in the sky and can no longer breach the second floor windows. You must’ve fallen asleep.

That stupid feast must be today. 

Your stomach growls, but the thought of facing anyone at all makes you feel ill. If you were on speaking terms with Kabru, he’d have been badgering you about coming downstairs for a couple of hours and sitting at his table with him for a bit before reclusing away. If nothing had happened between you and Marcille, she would have come to meet you, made small talk, then wandered on. They would’ve both checked on you throughout the night until you left, exhausted but… but glad you came. Without their defense however, it would be a sea of unfamiliar and hostile faces with intentions you can't predict. And now Kabru and Marcille too were sites of unpredictable danger.

“Promise me you’ll talk to her,” Kabru had pleaded, and stupidly you had agreed. But Kabru hadn't seen the tears streaming down Marcille’s face as you kicked her out. He didn't know how thoroughly you’d humiliated her to send her running away, sobbing, while you kicked her girlfriend's dick under your bed. 

You pull at your hair in frustration as you once again remember that you have to deal with that fucking thing before you can leave. The right thing to do would be to give it back to her, but who knows what you’d say to each other? If you were in her place, you’d be stuttering red-faced as you tried to say every insult you knew at once the second you ever saw each other again—but knowing Marcille, she’ll likely burst into tears and run away again. You don't know what you’ll feel when that happens, but your chest feels tight even considering it. You wish you hated her. This would be easy if you hated her. There’s so much messy, ugly feeling sloshing around inside you that any of it could come forth and you don't want to deal with any of it. Giving it back in person is not an option.

You can't leave it where it is, because someone would inevitably find it, and then they’d think you're some kind of sex fiend with so many dildos that you don't even notice if you leave one behind. Taking it all the way to the middens is near impossible to do without being seen, and any smaller trash heap has to be collected to go to the middens, and someone will see the cursed thing. The material is some special thing of dwarven make that you don't know how to destroy, so that's out too.

That leaves returning it covertly. Maybe you could sneak into her room while she's down at the feast, and leave it somewhere for her. Maybe you could write a note, a simple: I’m sorry I’m like this, please leave your girlfriend anyway even if I’m worse than she is. No, that's terrible—ditch the note and just leave it under her pillow. Yeah, you’ll do it when you’ve finished packing.

Twisting your hair between your fingers, you look over your things in the fading light, scattered about. You’ll deliver the stupid thing first so you can think. If you still want to write a note, there will be time later. Or you could just avoid it forever. You bet if you chucked it from an open window, nobody would ever know it was you. Except Marcille. She’d know. And she’d hate you even more for it.

Before you can drive yourself into anymore maddening circles, you grab a bag, shove the dildo inside it and storm out of your room, slamming the door behind you, intent on getting rid of it and closing this chapter of your life.

The magelights hung around the courtyard like tiny stars descended from the sky, casting a soft glow over the party. Dish after dish was ferried out of the kitchen, while empty plates and leftovers were cleared away. So far, everything had gone to plan: Yaad and his ministers had managed to get along very well with many of the delegates after a mug or two, and the delegates had been so far impressed with the quality of Melini’s goods. Laios was still preoccupied, but Kabru was able to keep pulling her back to the conversation—and in finery, the fixation out over the crowd comes off less anti-social and more loftily aloof.

As the night wore on, though, and she stayed focused on tracking Granite like a guard dog, either lost in thought or waiting for something to happen. The vigilance looked exhausting but she kept telling him that she would be fine whenever he offered to take her into the garden to take a break from the crowd. Kabru tracked her gaze again, following her eye to Lady Granite, alone at a table, watching Sandy bitterly as the performer started a slow song.

A number of couples rose together, men holding out their arms to the ladies they brought as dates and moving to the open dance floor in the dim light. He watched them twirl around each other, lovers hand in hand, gazing eye to eye as they danced close enough to kiss. One day, he’d have to get Laios to dance—what he wouldn't give to be on there right now, hand in hand, showing her why he loved to dance.

“Perhaps you should go enjoy the feast rather than work the whole night?” 

Kabru jumped slightly as a man stepped beside him, but relaxed as he registered Yaad's voice. He glanced towards Laios, still picturing her in a waltz with him.

“It wouldn't feel right to leave him alone when he’s having a hard time.”

Yaad hmm’d thoughtfully. With a quick, inconspicuous glance to determine no one was in ear shot, he lowered his voice and said, "We should talk about her."

Her. So he knows.

"She told you?" he asked, a little surprise bleeding into his voice. Laios had seemed pretty reserved about the revelation, unsure how to proceed—she had told Marcille too, but Marcille was her best friend and confidante. Yaad was hardly a stranger, but he was, in some ways, her boss where he was Kabru's mentor.

Yaad nodded. "Blurted it out to cut me off from lecturing her about getting married and siring heirs," he said, scanning Kabru's response carefully, "and she told me that you 'figured it out on your own'."

The 'mind sharing with me why you didn't mention it?' was implied in the way he was staring. Possibly, the stare was meant to communicate 'tell me what exactly she meant by whatever she said'—this was Laios afterall, and she'd probably made the most opaque statement imaginable, saw that it had gotten the job done, and then evacuted the awkward conversation as soon as possible before Yaad could muster the nerve to ask clarifying questions. Yeah, he thought with a smile, that sounds exactly like what she'd do.

Straightening his back, Kabru replied, "It's her decision what to tell people and when, my lord."

With a sigh and put-upon shake of his head, Yaad said, "You two give me gray hairs. A thousand years without aging, and in two years of knowing you both, I'm an old man with wrinkles and gray hairs." He pushed Kabru towards Laios, saying, "We'll all have a lengthy discussion about this later, but for now, go take a break and take Laios with you—she's been no help at all tonight."

Yaad didn't give Kabru room to disagree before turning back to the officials he'd been talking to. Sandy's sweet crooning was still carrying over the air, and Kabru approached Laios with his arm hooked for her to take.

"You've been ordered to come dance in the garden with me," he whispered into her ear. She turned to face him in her chair, down-turned eyes filled with longing but mouth set in hesitation. Her fingers twitched like she was considering taking his arm. She glanced back towards Granite.

"You know I can't dance still," she answered.

He nudged her with his elbow and pointed out towards the couples dancing in slow motion, how simple the steps were. "It's not difficult—I just want to be close with you."

Slow music filled the air, and Kabru wanted to sway with it, to hold someone he loved close. But still Laios hesitated.

He offered his arm again, gentleman to lady, and said, "You can tell me what's on your mind when we're alone."

After a long breath, she agreed, taking his arm and raising her cloak like it was a long skirt as she did so. She fidgeted as he led her towards the hedges that seperated the garden from the rest of the courtyard, tapping her fingers against his arm. He was going to take her to the most private corner, the bench Rin liked to smoke on, deep in the greenery and over a small fence, tucked away from everyone. But as they got just beyond the entrance, there was a loud crash behind them, and his stomach sank.

This could be anything, he tried to tell himself, anyone could drop a dish, anyone could've drunk too much and gotten in an argument and knocked something over. There's a million reasons, it doesn't have to be Granite! But he knew as well as Laios did that they were not that lucky. When the music stopped abruptly, he knew it was going to be trouble.

Laios tensed, a hunting dog pointing, staring straight towards the source of the commotion—right at Granite. She tore through the crowd like a tornado through a grove. People jumped back from her path as she headed for the two of them.

Laios stood tall, fists clenched at her sides—she looked like she was going to do something drastic.

"I'm going to tell her," she announced soto voce.

"What? Tell her what?" Kabru hissed. He wanted to defuse the situation as best as he could, and he wasn't sure Laios was on the same page with that. He watched her fingers tighten.

"That I'm like Sandy. That's the only way she'll understand it."

"That is not a good idea, Laios! This is cattle raiding!"

Frowning, she said, "I don't have time for riddles, Kabru. I need to know you can recover it if it doesn't go well."

The storm was upon them now—the clacking of Granite's shoes on the stone seemed to boom like thunder even through the din of the party. He exhaled heavily, trying to calm himself. He trusted her, and she trusted him. This was why he'd stayed with the kingdom, what he knew how to do better than anything. She needed his support. He reached for her hand, and their fingers locked tightly.

"Do what you have to. I'm beside you."

It couldn't be real. She had to be dreaming, trapped in a nightmare she could not have predicted. Granite knew this feast would be a grating experience—an attempt by the king to ingratiate himself with her company, break up the ironclad alliance between them by offering her fellows fine goods and plying them with monster wine—but she never could've predicted what she would see as the king stepped down from the dais and invited the musicians to come play.

The singer took the centerstage, and Granite clenched her fists so hard the knuckles popped. Intricate braids that would've taken hours to style, decorated with the same kinds of gold cuffs Granite wore on her locs, swished behind her son's back as he began to sing. He was beautiful, a glimmering jewel in the late afternoon light, a sight more gorgeous than his mother had ever been in her youth. His ballgown fit like a woman's should, hugging her waist and giving her the full figure any dwarven woman would envy. His voice was perfect, just like she remembered it when he'd last sang for her. Maybe better after so many years of practice.

It was like watching the daughter she never had come alive in front of her. Like seeing a rose bloom from a bush she thought was dead.

She felt sick. What fucking game did The Devourer think he was playing bringing her estranged son out here to perform in front of her? Kaolin hated her, didn't want to be near her—there was no way he'd have agreed to come here if he knew she would be sitting in the audience, but here he was dangling like a piece of bait in front of her. How did he even know?

He must have sent spies after her. He could've tailed her when she'd gone looking for him—she was in no state to watch her back that day. If she'd been followed, they would've heard her arguing with Kaolin, calling him her son and begging him to come home. They would know he'd been cast out from the clan, and it would be obvious why. And then that demon king would've hired her darling son to be here to taunt her, to hang him here in front of her knowing she could not do anything about it.

Lady Granite had only ever had sons—that always impressed other dwarves, and it was a fact everyone knew. She couldn't claim Kaolin as her own like this; everyone here just saw a woman who far outshone Granite herself, not the son who looked so much like her. If she made a scene, they would all catch on quickly that this was her runaway outcast son, and what would they do then? Turn on him? Feel the same disgust towards him that those boys that would torment him as a child did? His long braids swayed with the rhythm—how easily they could be grabbed and shorn again.

No, she could not let these people hurt her son. Instead, she had to watch, frozen in fury, as he danced and sang as if he didn't even know the precarity of the situation he was in.

She did not eat. She barely moved. It was not until she caught the wafting of pork sausage, bell peppers and onions towards her that she would finally stir. It smelled like jambalaya.

It smelled like Kaolin's jambalaya.

Before she could think, she found herself at the buffet table, pushing aside anyone in her way to get to the main dish. She felt like the ladle was either going to snap in her hand or her fingers would break around it as she scooped some into a bowl for herself. The server was babbling as she stared at the dish, about the tomatoes and bell peppers being grown in the castle garden and the onions and celery in local farms and on and on and she only wished he would shut up. She lifted her spoon to her lips, and tasted it.

It was her family recipe, down to the texture of the stewed tomatoes. It was exactly how she made it for Kaolin anytime he was sad, his favorite dish. A mother's love poured into a meal.

And Melini had the fucking gall to take it from her and serve it back to her.

The bowl crashed to the ground as she whipped around to look for the king and saw him leading his aide into the gardens like he meant to hide from her wrath. No way is he getting away with this. She tore through the crowd to reach him—she could not let this stand, could not let anyone twist her arm like this and go unpunished. If he wanted to play dirty, so would she.

Marcille was going to make things right—she had to believe that with all her heart or else might give up before she even reached the staircase. She cared about Rin, and if that meant she had to keep trying to reach out and talk to her, she was going to do it. If she was fighting with Kabru, something was very, very wrong and she needed someone to be there for her. Everyone needs someone in times like that.

Selfishly, she had wanted this apology to be out at the party. She would take Rin's hand and tell her how much she thought of her—her dark hair, her intelligence, the sweet side that she doesn't like everyone to notice, the feeling of her hands in Marcille's—and she would give her the presents in her bag and watch her eyes light up. But Rin would want to be somewhere quiet, away from the crowd, to talk privately, and this was about her.

Marcille swallowed a lump in her throat as she started to climb the stairs up towards Rin's room. The last time she'd done this, Rin had shouted at her, fury twisting her face as she opened the door and letting Marcille fall to the floor. It had been so humiliating. Maybe she does hate me, she worried, clutching the stair rail. Rin had never been mean to her before, even if she'd been reserved and a little curt. It felt like she had to hate her to act like that.

But when they had kissed—no, after Marcille had taken off her gloves, Rin's face had gone soft, the crease between her brows smoothed out and her lips parted, more at ease than she'd ever seen her. Marcille had held her as she was panting afterward and had watched those ink-black eyes glimmer as she looked at her. She had pushed her against the door and kissed her so forcefully, like she'd been waiting for Marcille to come back. There was something between them, and Marcille couldn't leave her alone without at least saying she was sorry.

She pulled herself up the stairs, gripping the railing until her knuckles were white with each step. As she came into the hall she saw her: long, silky hair swishing behind her as she hurried in the direction of Marcille's room. Steeling herself, she called out for her.

"Rin, wait!"

Just get rid of it and leave, you hiss to yourself, your bag clutched tight around you. Your stomach is churning, all bubbling acid and fear—you don't want to see her. There's no way in hell she would forgive you for the way you treated her, and Kabru was being stupid and naive as usual in trying to get you to talk to her. It would be fucking cruel of you to even try to talk to her again. What would you even say, 'Sorry, turns out I'm not cut out for interpersonal relationships, bye forever'? No, absolutely not, you cannot bear to tear her heart out twice.

You hurry down the hall towards Marcille's room, praying she's left it unlocked, hurrying past the stairs just as someone scales them and reaches the entry. No one can see inside your bag or read your mind, but you still shift it in front of yourself as you leave the stranger behind, willing them to leave you alone. It's only when you hear her voice that it registers who you saw.

"Rin, wait!" Marcille calls, her shoes clicking on the stone as she runs after you. She too has a bag, swinging from her side as she darts towards you.

You jump back, taken by surprise, your arms raised in front of you, and she skitters to a stop a few feet from you. Her pointy ears are downcast, her cheeks are pink, and she's staring up at you like a kicked puppy—the thorny vines in your heart tighten, because you are the reason she looks so miserable. You can't stand to see it.

Brow furrowed, you look away. But your feet refuse to pick up and run.

"Rin," she says, breathing heavy from her sprint, "I'm so sorry that I hurt your feelings. Can I… Can I make it up to you?"

Your frown deepens. Of course she doesn't know what you were seeing while you talked to her, what else could she think but that you were angry with her?

"You didn't—" you choke on the explaination, and have to clear your throat and try again, forcing every word, "I.. overreacted."

Her hand goes to her mouth, fingers delicately covering her lips—which you saw out of the corner of your eye, not because you glanced at her. Because you don't want to see her, so you would not glance at her.

"No, I wasn't thinking about how you'd feel…" she says, twisting the bag in her hands, "I didn't tell you how much I like you."

She glances at you too, your eyes locking together as heat crept across your cheeks and your heart jumped as if you'd short circuited yourself. Even the hair on your arms rose as if electricity buzzed in the air around you, all because she was staring at you with a force of will belied by the sheepishness of her posture. It was the same boldness that had led her to peel the glove from your hand and slip her own under your skirt, perhaps even the same that led her to practice black magic.

"You're one of the most talented mages I know; you seem so mysterious and cold at first, but you're also really sweet and shy; and you're so beautiful, maybe one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen—I really, really want to get to know you. And I want that to mean dating, but I want it to mean being your friend even more, so please…" she sniffles, tears gathering in her eyes, "Please accept my apology!"

Then she gasps, nearly drops her bag as she tries to open it and remove a package wrapped in a silk kerchief and tied with a ribbon. She hands it to you, ducking her head in embarrassment.

It's somewhat heavy in your hands, given its size. The silk is painted with a flowering vine, white and black on red, soft against your bare skin. The ribbon felt sleek between your fingers and slipped free from its bow easily—you think you've seen it tying Marcille's braid at some point. The kerchief falls away in your hand.

A bottle of kelpie hair oil, a dried red rose, and a satchel of dried cherries all sit in your palm. You uncork the kelpie oil, wafting it to your nose, and can smell rose oil Marcille must have added to it. The rose was perfectly preserved in the height of its bloom, no doubt with great effort using that perfect textbook magic you hate. You pop one of the cherries in your mouth, and savor the tartness of it, salivating over the first thing you've eaten in hours. Marcille would've had to ask after your tastes, because this wasn't something you'd ever talked to her about. Kabru, probably, you think, unsure how to feel about that.

The woman hunts down your favorite gifts by asking your best friend, and you're going to hold that against her?

No. You aren't going to play that stupid fucking game with yourself today. You like the gift. You wanted to talk to her. Kabru was being an ass for a number of reasons, but he was right that you hadn't really been trying to move on—you were letting him loom over everything, making him a constant point of comparison for everyone else. She had been watching you anxiously as you evaluated the offering like a goddess about to pass judgement on a supplicant. You swallowed the cherry you'd been chewing and faked a cough as you tried to make yourself say what you really felt.

"It's lovely. Thank you," you mumble.

It's not adequate, not by a long shot, but Marcille smiles sweetly and reaches into her bag for something else. A book—a better kept copy of the Daltian clan book you'd picked up before. The book you'd picked up because you missed her.

"If you want, I'd love to talk about Dal clan with you," she says, blushing and clearly feeling your bare bones appreciation was enough, "It's my favorite series."

Angrily, you huff and stuff the lovely gift into your bag, trying to ignore the item you had meant to return for now. With a scowl, you tell her, "You can't just move on and not make me say sorry back!"

She clutched the book to her chest as you shove a finger at her, stunned at your outburst.

"I did overreact! I didn't need to yell at you, and I don't want you acting like it's okay just because you think I'm some sad sack who needs to be pitied," you snap. You shake your head, trying to make the right words fall out as she stares at you, eyebrows raised and mouth agape, all while you bluster and go red in the face. "Shit, no, this isn't—I'm making it sound like I'm mad at you again, and I'm not mad at you, I just—"

Soft skin brushed against your hands before Marcille slid her fingers between yours and rendering you blessedly speechless. There was a sparkle in her eye as she batted her lashes at you, and asked directly, "Rin, do you like me?"

You felt ill.

"…I do."

The confession felt collosal. The world seemed to go quiet with the weight of it falling between you, but Marcille did not flinch as it dropped; she simply held your hands and looked up at you in wonder. Her lips look soft, like petals off a flower, something you couldn't ruin no matter how hard you tried. Your heart pounds in your ears, drowning out the sound of your thoughts as you lean towards her.

It's chaste, the way you two kiss now, but there's a promise there in the way you linger, breath mixing in the warm summer night air. It's like an invitation to her room, a reminder of what's hidden in your bag, the feeling of her skin against you and the sweetness of her voice as she tells you what feels good. It's dizzying.

"Rin?" she whispers, lips still barely apart from yours.

"Yeah?"

"Why were you going towards my room when I got up here?"

You clear your throat and grab at your bag as if it would not just draw more attention to it.

Flustered, you grumble, "I was going to give that thing you left in my room back to you, but maybe I'll just hold onto it…"

She goes just as red as you did and titters as she squeezes your hands. She was about to say something when your stomach growls, ruining the moment. You turn your head in embarrassment as your appetite catches up to you after going so long without a meal.

"I could use dinner too," she says, pulling you towards the stairs, "I missed all the appetizers looking for you."

You were letting her lead you along when you hear a distant crash, like a ceramic bowl shattering on stone, and the music outside stops. You both peek out the window to the courtyard and see an elderly dwarf pushing through the crowd towards Kabru and Laios. You watch Kabru put himself between Laios and the old woman, and decide the feast is the last place you want to be—Kabru can solve his own problems tonight.

"Let's just sneak into the kitchen," you say, continuing down the stairs.

Back behind the parting crowd, Yaad was ushering one of the Golden Country boys on stage with a fiddle as Sandy and her band skittered away to their dressing room. There was supposed to be more time before the jambalaya came out of the kitchen, to get it out only once Sandy was already on her break, but clearly something had been lost in the relay of instructions. Granite was incensed—before, the disdain in her expression had been masked in ice cold professionalism, but now her face was a mask of pute hatred. She looked younger and more alive than she had all during this visit as she stormed towards them.

Without thinking, Kabru stepped in front of Laios as if to shield her with his body. His mind was running through the danger and preparing for the worst.

Not a physical threat, dwarves are strong but she's elderly and thin, no muscle mass, focus on diffusing tension.

He put on a charming front with a hint of concern and tried to call out to her, "Your Ladyship, let's talk about this—"

She ignored him, cut him off entirely. She pointed straight at Laios behind him, like she didn't even see him.

"We need to talk privately. Send away your servant."

With a wave, she tried to dismiss him without looking at him. He could feel his jaw clench at the insult, but he could not respond. He smiled and prepared to slip into the garden to eavesdrop when Laios stepped forward, putting herself next to him, her hand brushing his.

"Kabru is not a servant, he's my right hand and the designated successor to the prime minister. We're not talking without him," she answered sternly. She turned to look at him, as if to force Granite to do the same.

"Fine," she hissed, "Keep him then!" She refused to look at him, but it was the first concession she'd made for them.

"Kabru," Laios said, much more kindly, "Could you take us somewhere we can all discuss this?"

"Right this way, your majesty, your ladyship," he answered with a short bow towards Lady Granite and a deep bow towards Laios. This was, of course, the proper thing to do given their respective ranks—and he took a petty joy in seeing her tapping her foot angrily as he did so, knowing she would take it as an insult.

He led them to the farthest corner, back to Rin's smoking bench, where he'd intended to take Laios. She would be pretty mad to know he'd planned on comandeering her favorite spot to dance with his girlfriend, and perhaps even angrier to know he was using it for politics, but he could make peace with that. The high hedges around it kept it private and blocked much of the din of the party. Even the low garden fence around it gave it an air of separation from the rest of the world.

He opened the gate for them, and said,"Ladies first."

Granite rushed past, a boulder rolling down hill and unable to stop, and Laios followed in behind her, just as determined to settle things. Kabru barely had the gate closed behind him before Granite began to unleash the volley she'd barely been holding back.

"You are a sick man to hold my son here like this," she growled, fists balled tight at her side like she wanted to punch anyone in front of her, "What's your plan? Are you threatening me? Going to throw my boy to the wolves if I don't comply? You let my Kaolin go right now, or I swear—"

Kabru was rushing to get between them, opening his mouth to explain why they'd brought Sandy, to diffuse the tension, but Laios was there in front of her, and she fired back quicker.

"I don't know who Kaolin is. If you mean our singer tonight, my copy of her employment contract says 'Sandy', and so do all her tax records," she growled.

"I named him, and his name is Kaolin," Granite growled back.

"While you're in Melini, you're calling her Sandy."

Kabru pressed his hand to Laios' back, reminding her to watch herself. Her shoulders relaxed as she exhaled. She glanced towards him, as if to give him a brief thank you, then went back to staring down Granite. The older woman was grinding her teeth as she spat her next words.

"Then let Sandy go. You will not threaten my child."

"We're threatening her?! You broke into her dressing room—" Laios shouted only to be out-shouted by Granite.

"SO YOUR MAJESTY WAS SPYING ON ME!"

Kabru stepped between them again, not letting Granite draw any closer.

"I sent my agents to tail you, yes," he said. Granite's eyes went wide before she got her expression back under control—she had been underestimating him and hadn't realized he held any real power at all, even as Yaad's successor.

"It seemed suspicious that you did not want an escort if you were going to wander around town, and I wanted to know who you were meeting," he explained, keeping his voice level and calm, "My agents saw you enter the dressing room, heard the argument from upstairs, and reported back to me. I decided to meet Sandy in person to gather information on you and to check in on our citizen. I thought she was an excellent performer, and asked if she'd sing tonight, warning her you would be here, and she agreed."

There was a deep pain in the old woman's brown eyes as she grimaced at the word citizen. She had to know that Khaka Brud was not Sandy's home any longer, but even that felt like giving up the son she held so dearly in her memories. She crossed her arms, trying to close off her vulnerability.

"That's a total breach of trust against the delegation. We did nothing to warrant following me," she said, still clearly angry, but the fight was draining from her.

Laios pushed forward to stand beside Kabru again, putting him to her right. "Please understand, Lady Granite, most of my people are like Sandy—they didn't belong anywhere else, and they came here where they wouldn't be cast out. We have to do everything we can to protect them."

"I never cast him out," she snapped, but her arms only tightened around herself, "He left me only a note to hold onto, and the rest of the clan decided it out from under me. I never, never would've thrown him out."

"But you can't accept her either," Laios said, hands kept awkwardly at her side, "You won't let her have what she needs to be happy."

"And what could you possibly know about what he needs? What could you know better than his own mother?"

His lady's lips were tight, her expression pained as she tried to will forward what he knew she wanted to say. He took her hand, and felt her breathe in and out before she finally said it.

"I know because I'm just like her."

Unsuppressed confusion and surprise made Granite look younger. Her eyes were wide again, her face finally relaxing out of the perpetual scowl she'd held since she arrived in Melini. She seemed to be searching them both, eyes trailing over Laios and then Kabru, taking in their clasped hands.

Kabru's stomach was bubbling with anxiety, so he could only imagine the pressure Laios was feeling. He rubbed circles into the back of her hand with his thumb.

Laios pressed her hand to her chest and said, "Sandy is never going to be the son she needs to be for other dwarves to accept her. She isn't going to grow a beard and settle with a wife and sire an heir for the clan—the whole idea of it makes her miserable. I know because that's how it feels for me. I love Melini, I want the best for my people, and I can't make myself be that man either, even though it would make everything easier," she squeezed Kabru's hand tight, "But since I've realized that people could accept it if I was a woman instead, I've been happier than I ever was trying to be someone I wasn't. You saw her tonight, looking the way she wants to look, doing what she wants to do. Was she happier at home, or right now?"

Granite's hands clenched around her own biceps, straining against herself. She looked like she was going to deny it and try to twist away from confronting what she knew when that sweet voice carried through the garden again like the perfume of flowers carried on the summer breeze. Kabru couldn't make out the words, but you could hear Sandy's heart spilling from her lips. Just as Kuro had said, she made you want to sing along even as you fell silent, afraid of disrupting its beauty. All three of them turned to face the dais beyond the hedges, like they could catch a glimpse of her over the graden walls, glimmering out there as she sang. A tear beaded in the corner of Granite's eye, and she quickly blinked the offending thing away.

"Melini needs this road, Lady Granite. We're too new and unstable to stand by ourselves yet. Our farms are still growing, and if anyone spends a night hungry in Melini, it's because I didn't feed them," Laios said, still gazing out over the hedges, still holding tight to Kabru's hand, "I need to take care of Sandy, and so do you. I know how much she means to you."

Never had Laios looked as regal as she did in that moment: she stood with her back straight and her hand outstretched to Granite, inviting her to stand beside her, to come closer and hear the music. And Granite must have recognized the same thing, because despite all the stony exterior she'd been projecting for so long, she did.

Her voice was quiet and somber as she finally replied, "It won't come for free just because you can pull heartstrings, Your Majesty."

Laios smiled at her, then turned to Kabru to share her elation. And Lady Granite turned to him as well, addressing him directly.

"And you—Kabru, was it? I expect an apology for spying on me before we proceed, Sir Kabru."

He bowed graciously, happy to at least be moving things forward.

"My sincerest apologies, your ladyship. Melini welcomes you with open doors."

The old woman sighed deeply, her shoulders falling. She gathered her skirts as she turned to leave.

"I haven't eaten a damn thing tonight. We'll settle what you'll give Khaka Brud for your road tomorrow—I need to eat and go write a letter to my… daughter."

She opened the gate, turned the corner, and disappeared back into the party, leaving Laios and Kabru alone. Chest swelling with emotion, Kabru pulled Laios to him, wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting their clasped hands. Her arm fell across his shoulder and she squeezed him tight to her chest, an excited squeal escaping her throat. She rubbed her face against his head like she was so overflowing with energy and affection that she just needed to be as close to him as possible.

"That went beautifully!" he said, muffled as they tried to hold each other close enough to fuse, "I think we'll finally seal the deal tomorrow."

"Thank you so much for making this happen, Kabru, I never could've… I'm so glad you're with me," she said. She kissed him on the forehead and straightened back up, her gaze falling on him tenderly. "Did you still want that dance?"

"You know I do," he answered, winking at her as he adjusted his stance: one hand in hers, the other at her waist, standing apart for a simple waltz.

The music was quiet and slow, and he stuck to the easiest motions so Laios wouldn't get in her head about following the steps as he spun her in slow circles. His feet carried him along effortlessly, buoyed by his full heart.

"My mom used to dance with me standing on her feet," he said, reminded of it by the simple dance.

She had seemed so tall and strong to him then, but he was likely bigger now than she ever was. He tried to imagine her here, seeing his new home for the first time. He pictured inviting her in and showing her his quarters, the library, the garden here—would she have been able to call Melini home? She'd never seemed to get fully comfortable in Utaya, but she had loved him dearly, her only child, and maybe she would come to love it so long as he was here with her. He was a much better dancer at least, and she would be proud of him if she could see him.

Laios' eyebrows knit together as she drew up her own memories.

"I don't think my parents ever did that with me," she said, "Was it fun?"

"Lots! She's probably a big reason I like to dance now," he said, spinning her round once, "Dancing with someone makes you feel closer to them."

He had danced a lot with Rin, too, though she had never enjoyed it the way he did. But she had agreed to it because it made him happy, and it kept him from dancing with someone else in her stead. She was unlikely to ever let him swing her around with reckless abandon again, but it had made them closer friends all the same to share the space that they did. It didn't matter if she saw him as a brother or not—she would always be his family.

As they danced, Laios drew closer, pulling him out of his thoughts and back to her. His hand slipped around her waist as their bodies pressed together. She leaned her head against him, and his heart soared again as her cheek rested against his forehead.

"Kabru," she she said softly, "I think I'm ready to write back to my dad."

"You're sure?" he whispered back. She buried her face in his hair for a moment, swaying with him to the music as she thought.

"I think I can make him understand how much Melini means to me, and that I don't need his help finding a partner who belongs by my side."

He could feel her cheeks heating up as she said it. That certainty he'd had when they'd first slept together that he was going to fall in love took him over again, and now he knew she had the same feeling. He stopped dancing, making her pull back to check that she hadn't offended him. He pulled her down into a kiss, tasting the dryad wine she'd been drinking and finding he didn't mind it—it only made her lips taste as sweet as they felt.

Chapter Text

Dearest Falin,

It's been very strange here, but very exciting. I'm not sure how to tell you what I want to say in a letter, but I don't want it to be a surprise. I'm going through some changes right now, and I'll look very different when you see me again. I'm not a man anymore, and my body is changing to reflect that. It's very cool, actually, and I'm very excited about it, but we'd like to keep anything that's not obvious to the public secret for now, so I can't put it in a letter in case you drop it again. Marcille's got medical questions she'd like to ask and I think she wants you to do a little research in your travels, but she'll send her own letters.

I've been spending a lot of time with Kabru and he's been very supportive. Not just with the changes, but with everything I'm going through. He's so nice. I feel really lucky to have him as a friend, and he tells me the same. He's a valuable member of the court too, and I don't know what I'd do without him here. I think he's going to make me learn how to dance, but that's okay because he's already agreed to eating crickets with me—if you can find out how you're supposed to prepare and season fried crickets, please tell me.

Marcille and Rin (do you remember Rin? She's Kabru's friend, the dark haired mage who scowls a lot) have gotten very close recently. Marcille's always excited to go see her. She's not living at the castle anymore, and it seems like she needed more room to grow. Extra territory away from Kabru. He's pretty upset about it, but I think that if he gives her a coupl of months to get over their fight, they'll be best friends again. They're already starting to mend things now that she has her own space again, and it gives Kabru a good excuse to go into town to visit her.

Anyway, Marcille can't wait to introduce you two. I'm just happy she's happy.

Melini is steadily growing, too. I won't bore you with the politics, but your journey back will be quicker than it was to leave, and it'll be quicker still once we have a port on the coast, though it'll be some time still before we can begin that project. It makes me happy to see our home grow like this, and I hope when I have kids, they love it like I do. I don't know, I've been feeling very sentimental.

Speaking of home, I'd like you to pass on a letter to Father. And say hello to Mother.

Love,

Laios

Enclosed:

Dear Chief Touden,

Respectfully, I decline to interview any marriage candidates from the village. I ate a demon, as I believe Falin told you, and now I'm not a man anymore and would thus make a poor husband. It's all very complicated and I'd rather explain in person when we have the chance, but know I'm very happy with the change.

I will find a husband of my own when things have settled down more. Once I'm engaged, I will be inviting you and Mother to the wedding. I hope you'll enjoy the food here—orc cuisine is particularly good, and there's many sweet fruits to eat, and we produce (and now export!) a lot of the best olive oil you'll find. I hope you'll be able to make the journey when the time comes.

Forever your Daughter,

Laios, Woman-king of Melini

"Miss? Miss..? Excuse me…"

Falin had heard a beautiful, chiming voice beside her as she dozed, and she'd written it off as the beginning of a good dream until she felt someone tug her sleeve. Then she'd snorted awake and turned towards her side to find a stunning dwarven woman—her dark skin shone in the light coming through the carriage window, and her tight black coils were pulled away from her face by a silver clip and allowed to form a dense, stormy cloud upon her shoulders. The woman pointed to the carriage floor.

"Sorry to disturb you, miss, but I figured those might be important to you," she said in the same clear, warm voice Falin had heard in the dream. She continued to point down, and Falin finally saw her toppled bag and the letters she was carrying spilling out from it.

With a curse, Falin gathered them up and folded them into her pants pocket instead. They must've hit a bump somewhere and unseated her bag. Most of the trip—at least what she'd been awake for—had been incredibly smooth since they left Khaka Brud and it had lulled her to sleep.

"Thank you," she said as she retied her bag before anything else could spill out, "My father would be pretty upset if I lost that letter for my sister. They've only just started talking to each other again."

The stranger shook her head slowly, expressing her sympathies. "I know how difficult all that is. I'm just coming home from visiting my mother for the first time in a long time myself," she said, gently patting Falin's arm.

"Did it go well?" Falin asked, trying to return her kindness.

"Better than I expected, at least. She doesn't really understand me, but what she wants most is for me to be safe and happy, and that's something," she said. She fell back against the seat with a little huff of exhaustion, weary from either her visit or the travel. "If your father really wants the best for your sister, I'm sure they'll make peace eventually."

"Thanks, Miss… uh…"

Falin realized she hadn't asked the stranger's name, but just as she was about to, the carriage stopped and the driver called out 'Welcome to Melini!' and hopped down to open the door. The stranger rose from the bench and stretched before grabbing her purse and letting the driver assist her down the steps.

She glanced back to Falin over her shoulder, and said, "It's Sandy. Good luck with your sister, miss."

Falin followed her out of the carriage, but before she'd finished double-checking her pockets for the letters, the stranger had disappeared into the streets. Though they hadn't met before, she had a feeling she would see Sandy again someday. But for now, she had to focus on finding her way to the castle.

It had been a long carriage ride through a great expanse of wilderness to come home, but when she'd left, she had to hike for days to get to the nearest port and sail north. If she was lucky, there would be a band of orcs nearby who would let her camp with them and make sure she stayed oriented. But when she hadn't been lucky, she'd had to put up wards to keep safe as she slept alone in the wilderness, and as she got further from Laios, the more dangerous that became as monsters started to show up again. The new road had made the trek home from the north days shorter with no risk of getting lost between Khaka Brud and Melini.

Pack slung over her shoulder, she wandered out into the town, letting the street signs guide her. They were busy with early evening crowds, people filling taverns or haggling with a shopkeeper just before they closed. It felt just as lively as it had been when the dungeons were open now that people could get here faster and safer than ever, even when it was only a day by boat.

As she wandered, tall spires came into view, stretching above the fields growing on the other side, opposite the city. Castle workers and citizens and guests all passed her on the road, heading to and fro, and she greeted the familiar faces as she kept on her path to the castle. At the gates, the guards recognized her led her into the great hall where she heard a familiar, excited shout.

"Falin!"

Marcille's shoes clicked rapidly against the stone as she ran towards Falin, braid swinging wildly behind her. Falin's arms flung open for her as she rushed to meet her, wrapping around her waist and hoisting her up as they spun around. Giggling and breathless, she clung to her until Falin set her down gently. As soon as she was on the ground again, however, she dragged Falin by the hand towards a woman Falin hadn't noticed in her excitement at seeing Marcille.

"You have to meet Rin!"

In their letters, Marcille had made Rin sound like a rare beauty ("a sweet rose with raven hair and night-sky eyes that sparkle like stars," as she wrote once, if Falin remembers correctly, but she was likely cutting out a few stanza), and now that Falin had laid eyes on her, she realized it was true. She had a scowl on her face and looked worried, like a cat that's scared of strangers and might start hissing, but she was pretty all the same.

"Falin, meet Rin; Rin, Falin," Marcille said, gesturing them towards each other.

Falin bowed forward holding her own hand out for Rin to accept. Her scowl deepened and color bloomed on her cheeks as she cast her gaze aside and cautiously set her hand in Falin's palm. Her skin was soft, a bit cold, and the back of her hand felt like rubbing her thumb over a flower petal.

"I'm so glad I finally get to meet you, Rin," she said, "Marcille writes about you constantly."

"She never shuts up about you either," she mumbled, her face going redder, but she didn't snatch her hand away, leaving it in Falin's palm.

"You must make good lotion at your apothecary—your hands are so soft." She continued to stroke that flower-petal texture with her thumb, and Rin continued to let her. In fact, her fingers seemed to tighten, locking their hands together even as her frown deepened.

"Thanks," she grumbled, "Yours are calloused. Maybe I'll give you a jar since you need it so badly." Her index finger rubbed against Falin's pinky, inspecting the skin roughened by recent adventure.

"Really? That's so sweet of you, Rin. I always lose my lotions and stuff when I'm traveling—those little jars are hard to keep track of!"

Rin twirled a lock of her hair in her finger as she said, "I can put it in a waterskin or something you can tie to your bag."

Their hands were suddenly sandwiched between Marcille's who was looking between them with eyes sparkling with hope that they would grow close. Rin's scowl turned to a grimace as Marcille wedged herself in the middle and lead them both forward by their hands, but her fingers slipped between Marcille's as naturally as if they'd been cut from the same pattern, just as Falin's did.

She led them up to Laios' quarters for dinner, filling the air with her familiar chatter, updating her on all the castle gossip she couldn't put in letters as they walked, who was dating whom and who was secretly engaged and all the other minutae Marcille was always taken by. Rin would supply a comment here and there as they walked, clearly more invested in the going-ons than Falin was—Marcille's gossip was just a chance to hear her talk for Falin. Instead, she thought about how long it had been since she'd seen Laios and how different she must look now, how she would be different still before Falin journeyed on again.

I get to help her, and maybe I'll be an aunt, she thought giddily, hoisting the strap on her pack up. Her bag carried a number of reference texts for herself and Marcille to use when they conducted the rituals needed to give Laios a womb later on: books on fertility runes and fleshshaping and how to adapt the body to its new form. Marcille had gotten to practice by helping with Kabru's ritual, and Falin had taken up rune-tattooing on her travels as soon as she knew she might need it. Between the two of them, she was sure it would go well.

When they opened the door to Laios' sitting room, her sister shot up from her chair and bolted to envelope her in a tight hug. She smelled of herbs and soap and well-tended furs. Her body was softer and fatter than it had been the last time they'd seen each other, which Falin could not be more pleased about: the last time they'd been apart so long, Laios had been skeletal and filthy like a starving stray when they met again, and now the abundance she was surrounded by hung from her frame.

"I'm so glad to see you," Laios said as she gave Falin one last squeeze before letting her breathe.

They pulled back, still clutching each other's arms as they took in the changes of the last year. Her hair was longer then Falin's now, pinned back neatly from her face and trimmed until it was even all around—it didn't look a thing like the way Father wore his. Her face was softer and rounder, subtly more feminine than before with a noticeable double chin. Besides her chimera cloak hanging on the back of her chair, her clothes were remarkably different: she'd swapped her old tunic for a mid-calf length dress with pants underneath, tailored to make her shoulders look slimmer and raise her bust, which was itself a new addition since their last visit

"You have boobs now!" she gasped.

"They're growing a lot faster than Marcille said they would!" Laios replied with a laugh, giving Falin a quick hug before releasing her.

"I wasn't accounting for fat deposits," Marcille said defensively. She and Rin went ahead and took their seats at the table, now waiting for everyone to join them. Rin glared at Falin, still flushed, then quickly darted her gaze as Kabru went to take Falin's hand in greeting.

"Good to see you again," he said cheerfully before pulling her into a brief and friendly hug. While he had her ear, he whispered, "Looks like Rin likes you."

"Really?" she said, glancing rather obviously towards her. That satin sheet of black hair shimmered as she turned her head, just as Falin laid eyes on her, as if she had been staring at her too. Marcille stifled a giggle beside her.

"Definitely."

He gave her a conspiratorial wink before taking his place at the dining table between Laios and Rin, leaving the spot between Marcille and Laios open for her. She took her place, and the conversation came easily as they passed eachother the serving dishes. It was always surprising how easily she managed to fit back into the lives of the people she loved, how new faces came and went and came again and how easy it was to share a meal with them all. They talked more about what Falin had missed—Rin's new apartment built above her shop, the roaring popularity of dryad wine, Kabru's new responsibilities under Yaad. Laios was excited to announce that she and Kabru were officially, publicly courting now that she was out, their hands finding each other as she said it.

"Congratulations!" Falin said, placing her own hand over both of theirs, "Do you have a wedding date planned?"

"Not yet," Kabru answered, "We want to court for a while before we finalize anything." He gazed up at her tenderly, and she gazed back with a fondness Laios had previously reserved for Falin and more recently Marcille.

Laios said, still holding Kabru's eye, "But we are thinking about it." And Kabru nodded that yes, they were both thinking about it.

The mention of planning a wedding nagged at something in her brain until she remembered the letter in her pocket, the one her father had insisted she deliver by hand. He could tell Laios was unhappy with his last letter and had wanted to make sure that he did not miss his chance to reconnect with his child whom he not seen in years, and he figured recieving it from her would soften Laios to it. Falin hoped that too. She fished it out and handed it over to Laios.

"Sorry, just remembered—Father wrote back. He's really like to come to the wedding."

Laios took it gingerly from her, looking over the envelope like it might attack her if she opened it wrong. Kabru took the other end of it, steadying it as she broke the wax seal with her fignernail and pulled out Father's letter so both her and her maybe-fiancé could read it together.

Dear Laios Touden, Woman-King of Melini,

I would be honored to attend your wedding ceremony. Falin has told us about a suitor of yours you fancy, and we are glad that he makes you happy. She has made him sound very charming and high-lighted his accomplishments in your court, so he sounds quite suitable as a Prince-Consort. It would seem you were right that you did not need my assistance in finding a good candidate. Please plan for a summer wedding so your mother may travel when her health is best. If such timing is impossible, please give us some other occasion to visit: it has been so long, and we both want to see you again and meet your fiancé.

I am curious, I must admit, about what orcs cook. I hear from Falin that they are skilled hunters, and I will be interested in discussing whatever they take down for your ceremony. Is it monsters they typically hunt? Are the recipes similar to that of the book we gave you that you so loved as a child? What an interesting wedding feast it shall be.

Please write us again soon.

Forever your Father,

Chief Touden

She put down the letter, tears beading in the corners of her eyes. Kabru stretched his arm across her back as both Falin and Marcille rose to comfort her and even Rin looked across the table at her in concern, but she waved all of them off as she wiped a tear away. Sniffling, she said, "I'm okay, I just… I'm happy. It's a really nice letter."