The Kings Personal Joker (boyxboy)

Chapter Seventy One

"Sitting there an awful long time there sir." Rufius remarked, walking past with a box shaped spade he used for clearing the stalls.

My face was buried in Helga's side and I did not turn to look at him.

"You'll want to wash at some point..."

Which was true. I had gotten muddy before even visiting the donkey, and now as I sat there in the hay, smelling of wine, a cold breeze drifting into the airy stalls, on the dirty floor leaning into her side as she lay down beside me it was all too clear I was far too unkempt to be around people.

"You are right, sir. I'll head to the bathhouse soon. Just a moment longer."

He grunted, and his heavy footsteps plodded onwards down the hallway past us.

I felt sick, worries settling inside me like old bread. 

I looked at Helga and she looked back at me, snorting as though I had made her laugh, her lip curling back to show her front teeth.

With a chuckle I ran my hands through her mane as she knocked her head into my arms.

Perhaps this is the case with all animals, but looking into those massive eyes, the way they observed me and considered me carefully for a moment before nudging me with her head, it felt as though she was trying to understand me. To consider what I might be thinking or feeling so that she could comfort me.

I pulled out another treat from my pocket, which I had been warned by the horsier not to feed her, not to spoil her beyond need. She looked intensely pleased of herself, her wet teeth brushing my fingers as she ate from my hand. Making happy loud noises as her lips moved.

Then I reached inside my undershirt and pulled from it the piece of paper on which I had scrawled the hastily written, tiny note, before heading out to appear as though I were going about my day as usual.

The servant called Belem has an injury to his
arm like the one the Escapee was seen with.

It was ambiguous. I was not making a point, just delivering information. Would I be seen as a radicalised royalist supporter, to my blood relations if I did such a thing? Was it not perhaps more accurately my duty to ignore such a thing and attempt instead to make it home safely in order to take care of my wife-to-be and my family?

None of it mattered, because ultimately I would deliver the message and have my anxieties put to rest.

[Demosthenes' POV]

The room was warm, the curtains fully drawn as the men sat around me, the unflattering patterns of their capes clashing with the bold design of the carpet and embroidered seats. Their outfits drew a clear divide between them and the men I had under my employ of my own accord.

Neius was a particularly old commodity passed down from my fathers time as king that I disliked intensely. The sort of unfortunate character that was a sneering, self-serving, aristocratic snob. Much like myself, I supposed, only older and more weathered.

His sharp shrewd eyes and deep lines that looked like a cats claws had painted on his face were something that reminded me of my mother. A perfect posture that had his head tilted just so much that he could look down at anyone no matter their height, and being a lanky and tall man only a half inch shorter than I he was perfectly able to stick his nose up at me.