to write is to make real

by lagertha

Summary:

Marcille finds fan fiction about King Laios the First.

…

What, like she’s supposed to keep that information to herself?

 

-

She’d heard that abroad there were independent spinoff works of the Dalatian Clan series, and people would come together at small but lucrative events to sell and swap stories. Some placed the characters in a different time period, or changed their race, or wrote sequels. Some of them were stories focused on individual characters, and others still about couples, canonic and speculative -

And those … those couples were denoted by the characters' names, separated by an “x”.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Chapter 1

It was a dreary morning. The dark cast of night had faded to a dull pale gray with little variation, like a dusty wall. Light enough to tell it was daytime, uniform enough to not portend a storm. The sky hardly looked like it had enough ambition to rain, though it tried anyway, producing more of a mist than a drizzle.

She couldn’t shake the disappointment that a long time ago, she would have worried her hair would frizz in the humidity. Now she felt nothing instead. She dragged herself out of bed and sat at her vanity, forcing herself to brush the strands anyway. A small ritual of defiance. The rebellion against apathy itself gave her the satisfaction she missed, rather than the resulting hairstyle.

Marcille had higher expectations for the weather, though it worked out conveniently. The misting did offer her a reason to wear a hood.

She pulled out a simple but well-constructed blue cloak and tossed it on her bed, then picked out a blouse and skirt that could pass for casual. She did not have much in the casual section of her wardrobe anymore. She’d have to fix that eventually, but that would have to be a different outing. As Court Mage, Marcille was famous enough to be recognized by face alone, but royal tailoring would make her stand out like a sore thumb.

There weren’t any meetings planned for this morning, or at least none that required her presence. She had technically reserved the first few hours of the day to be locked away in her lab, but she was sufficiently caught up on her current projects that they could be neglected for now. Which meant she was free to do as she pleased. Which meant she was free to escape the castle without informing the guards first, as long as she was sneaky about it.

She’d already planned her route - she’d leave her room, pretend as though she was going to breakfast, pass through the private breakfast nook and down the service stairwell, then pass through the long lines of cooks focused on prepping for the next meal, and then - bam - she would slip out a side exit that emptied out to rows of smoke houses and roasting pits. From there, she could make her way around to relatively less guarded exits. The castle walls hid doors small enough an invading army would have to enter single file, mostly used by employees coming and going, and occasionally small deliveries. These areas were guarded by foot patrols that passed frequently, but not too frequently, and watched by archers in the wall’s towers. She made her way through without obstacles, sending quick and slightly guilty smiles to the prep cooks who pressed closer to their tables to let her pass. She slipped out the castle, and past the castle walls.

Nobody would be the wiser that the Court Mage was out for some much needed retail therapy.

Very specific retail therapy.

A type she had to do alone.

She’d researched to find The Many Maids of Lady Margot, pouring first through the business licenses to find booksellers, then poking around to the unlisted booksellers, then narrowing down which of those booksellers carried or could import Elvish books, and then she had to work up the courage to ask for the title from one of them, and she had to pray the bookseller would procure it for her without asking any questions. She’d first heard the title in passing between Otta and Cythis during the seven-day feast, but when an enterprising logging maven’s daughter mentioned the series at the Kingdom’s last ball, in an attempted flirtation Marcille would otherwise rather forget, her curiosity was piqued.

The story was straightforwardly indicated by the title. The books were about the relationship between the Lady Margot and her maids. Maids, and other maidens that came into her life. Maids and maidens that Lady Margot inevitably seduced. Her understanding was that the series was explicit lesbian pornography couched in historical fiction.

She’d ordered two copies of the complete series, just in case one was damaged in transit.

 

 

 

Small puddles had formed on the street by the time Marcille reached the shop. She was two minutes shy of their opening hours, so she rocked back and forth on her heels at the door, watching caravans and carts and horses pass on the main road. It still surprised her, how similar this part of the capital looked to the commercial section of the once-island. In those first days, the area had grown in tendrils, connecting the castle to the only area that had been above the surface over the past thousand years. The earliest constructed sections used the same imported brick the island had, before Melini established its own brickworking industry. Sometimes when she snuck out, Marcille thought, up on her toes, it didn’t seem any different than passing a normal day on the island. Almost like the Red Dragon had never swallowed Falin in the first place. Almost like she wasn’t shirking her obligations as a Court Mage to buy pornography. Marcille rocked back on her heels. Almost. In seven hundred years time, she hoped she’d still have that same feeling, every once in a while. Maybe by then there would be more commercially accessible girl-on-girl novellas. Maybe by then she would even have the guts to order them to the castle directly.

The bookshop’s door swung open, accompanied by a light bellchime. “Good morning!” said the shopkeep, a cheery-faced, full-figured tallman girl dotted with freckles. “Please come in! The weather is dreadful!”

Marcille ducked inside and shook her dripping cloak in the doorway with an apologetic smile. “Thank you! I’m sorry to catch you right at the hour, but I’ve been waiting for an overseas delivery, and I’m impatient to read it now that it’s here,” she said. Impatient was certainly one word for how she was feeling. Marcille cleared her throat. “Would you have a moment to retrieve it for me?”

The shopkeep stepped behind the register and retrieved a thick binder. “Of course, I understand completely! Let me just -” she paused. “OH! Yes, of course. We’ve had a few foreign orders arrive this week, but, um…” The shopkeep glanced at the side of Marcille’s head, where her ears poked against her hood. “Not to be presumptuous, but there was one in Elvish, from the North Central continent, that came in yesterday. Would -”

“Yes!” Marcille said. “That one!”

"Two anthology copies of The Many Maids of Lady Margot?” asked the shopkeep.

It was her job, Marcille reminded herself, for the shopkeep to confirm orders from customers. There was nothing weird about this at all. It was just a title. One that wasn't even that revealing. Marcille cleared her throat again. “Yes.”

“I’ll fetch them for you right away! Our default packaging is discreet, but we have options available for gift wrapping as well, if you’d prefer.” She grabbed each side of her skirt, in contemplation of a curtsey, but abandoned the idea, clapping her hands instead. “I’ll be just a moment!”

Marcille nodded, and the shopkeep scampered away to another section of the store.

Discreet packaging?

Marcille turned to look at the tall rows of books. There was quite the selection in here, she thought. Books were an expensive endeavor, as businesses go. A bookshop was a sign of prosperity for an area, let alone multiple bookshops. Melini was doing well. All their hard work was paying off. Marcille ran a hand along the closest shelf, skimming the titles.

 

An Eight-Legged Secret,

 

In Deep,

 

Tangled Up in You,

 

The shelf had a small label: “Aquatic.”

What kind of theme was that?

She pulled a random book from the selection and flipped through -

 

 

                             Leda shuddered as the cold, wet tentacle coiled upwards around her pale thigh, its suckers leaving a trail of bruising pleasure. She gasped as the tip slid between the cleft of her virgin-

 

 

Marcille immediately shelved the book and opened another. And another. And another - and without fail, no matter where she opened the story, she’d find some form of intercourse within the next few pages. Marcille scanned from shelf to shelf, and there was a category for just about everything, in alphabetical order, no less - bugs and insects, corpses, doppelgangers, eggs and egg laying…

Good thing she wasn’t planning to stay here very long. With every other fetish they had, she half expected there to be dedicated homosexual sections. May as well check. She approached the “L” area, and there were labels for lamias, love potions, lumberjacks (wasn’t that just a normal job?), and lycanthropes, but there was no “lesbian” in sight.

Maybe it was better that homosexuality wasn't lumped in with the rest of this stuff. Given the broad range of categories, homosexual romances probably ended up somewhere among the stories about corpses and love potions…

She moved along to the second, connected room. Larger signs labeled each half of the room - half of the books were under “gay”, the other half under “lesbian".

I don’t know what I expected, she thought.

She followed the direction of the shopkeep to a set of floor-to-ceiling curtains. There were sounds of rustling behind them. Marcille placed her back against the wall and peeked behind the edge of one curtain.

The shopkeep was standing on her tiptoes at the top of a stool, reaching for a package on a high shelf. The stool looked a little unstable, but well, if she wanted help, she could ask for it. There was another full room’s worth of books in here - assuming books were all that was in the large crates that lined the back of the room. They must do book repairs, she thought, scanning the long desk just past the curtain. There were binding materials and leather scraps, ribbons and pressed paper…

Huh, she thought, glancing at a pile of journals. Didn’t see those for sale. They were separated into three different colors - a pinkish white, a brighter pink, and a purplish blue. They looked cute, even if they were small and a bit rustic, but they also looked pretty flimsy, and definitely didn’t have enough pages to suit something for her needs. Unlike most journals for sale, though, the covers already had writing on the cover.

Given the rest of the selection here, it was probably something weird, but… The shopkeep was still failing to reach her shelf, so Marcille stuck an arm through the curtain and grabbed one of the bright pink journals. No harm in a little snooping -

 

 

King Laios x Lady Marcille, vol. XVI

 

 

What the hell was this?

Laios? And her?

Multiple volumes?

What on earth was the “x” for?

Oh no.

She’d heard that abroad there were independent spinoff works of the Dalatian Clan series, and people would come together at small but lucrative events to sell and swap stories. Some placed the characters in a different time period, or changed their race, or wrote sequels. Some of them were stories focused on individual characters, and others still about couples, canonical and speculative - And those … those couples were denoted by the characters' names, separated by an “x”.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Marcille reached and grabbed the top journals of the other stack-

The whitish one read King Laios x Reader, vol. XX. And the purplish one-

The purplish one was-

Oh, no way.

 

The shopkeep leaned forward just enough to knock the package down into her arms. “Got it! I’ll be out in one moment,” the shopkeep called over her shoulder. She paused when Marcille met her eye. “Ah, this area is for employees only, Miss -”

Then she looked down at Marcille’s hands. The shopkeep gasped and nearly tripped off the stool. “Oh! Oh my, um…"

“Are you, um … do you sell these?” Marcille asked, glancing between the shopkeep and the stack of journals.

Her face had gone sheet white. “Um…” she said, playing with the brown paper corners of Marcille’s delivery. “Yes, but…. Um… They’re not for display, I promise you. They are only available if a customer knows to ask for them…”

“And … people buy them?”

“My Lady,” she said, offering a one handed curtsey. “I assumed you didn’t want to be recognized, but …” She dipped into another curtsey, lower this time. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I assure you, it’s nothing nefarious. The position of our store, as you can imagine, is to encourage and support authors that may write, um, unconventional romances…”

Unconventional was one way to phrase it, even if Marcille expected the stories to be far off any reality of - god forbid - Laios’s yet undiscovered but likely horrific methods of flirting. But did people really think she was shacking up with Laios? Or even… She looked down at the purplish journal -

 

 

King Laios x Ser Kabru, vol. VIII.

 

 

As if.

“I understand if you would choose to confiscate them all, but please be merciful, My Lady!” The shopkeep held the package out to her with both hands, head bowed. “It is only a hobby, shared between friends.”

What the hell was she supposed to do? She’d never so much as issued a fine before. What was the protocol in a situation like this? She was basically the top of the ladder in the kingdom. She could do whatever she wanted. She should have SOME idea of what she was supposed to do right now.

On one hand, it was completely insane that even one volume full of romances between Laios and anyone else existed. But what was the appropriate reaction for a Court Mage in this scenario? Should she confiscate the whole pile? What the hell would she do with all of them?

“I’ll take one copy of each,” she said.

Notes:

*releases this into the wild* please get out out of my head

I feel like I have a lot to say but I want to hold myself back before I ramble.

Anyway if anyone wants to talk to me or tell me grammar/spelling issues/tenses/anything else my tumblr is @iagoe sorry in advance if I'm awkward

I’ll cite a few sources I took as inspiration on this :

https://www.tumblr.com/myszkaa/755445349522587648

https://www.tumblr.com/orphetoon/756269523561234432/when-theres-historical-romance-written-abt-ur

(These are the ones relevant rn anyway.)

I was originally going to publish a hugeee chunk of what I already had as one giant chapter, that I personally think would read better, but formatting everything on ao3 the way I want takes forever so I'm starting here. I have a tendency to get impatient with publishing and then wish I released less at a time so I don't have to play catch up... so I'm sacrificing a bit of style to accomodate my personal desire to pace myself better. So that also explains why there is no Laios or Kabru (or Yaad lmfao) yet. No current update schedule planned or anything but I want to be better about it. Hopefully I put together a finished story one day so I can go back and reformat it the way I envisioned. Tags/etc etc subject to change to hold spoilers and to keep it mostly accurate to what's included so far.

Ty to the Dungeon Meshi and Labru fandom for making every bit of this fun for me, hope y'all like it and that I can I release more sooner rather than later. <3

Chapter 2

His door was tucked away into the castle walls, one of many nearly forgotten rooms in the once-neglected castle. The hall was difficult to find, narrow, damp, cold, and generally unpleasant. The room connected with the door, Kabru had explained to her, was originally intended for the rotating King’s guard to sleep and store equipment. An essential little spot to keep additional weapons and additional guards, should a threat ever unexpectedly make its way to the King’s chambers above, he said. It was never intended for permanent occupancy. Nowadays, the remaining guards without similar temporary posts elsewhere in the castle stayed in the main guard tower in the bailey. Back then she’d told him it was hardly necessary to choose such a miserable spot for himself, when plush-lined walls with gold trappings sat empty, but he’d insisted on his selection anyway. Marcille knocked.

A chair squeaked across the stone, and footsteps followed. A short pause, then the door opened and Kabru emerged, half-closing the door behind him. “Lady Marcille! To what do I owe this pleasure?” He smiled, head tilted, eyes sparkling as much as the lighting allowed.

Marcille, like Kabru’s companions before her, had become thoroughly inoculated to this maneuver designed to keep intruders away from his room. “Oh, cut it out and let me in, will you?” Marcille twirled her staff. “This hallway gives me the creeps.”

“As you wish,” he said, swinging the door open just far enough to let her through. It was about as far as the door could open at all, before it hit resistance from the pile of laundry behind it.

“Are you ever going to let a maid in here?” Marcille asked.

“Around sensitive documents? I couldn’t!”

It sounded like a joke, and it was intended to sound like a joke, except she knew that it wasn’t. Long ago, Kabru had suggested employees granted access to any court member’s chambers should preferably be illiterate - though literacy among the population shouldn’t be anything but encouraged, of course! It could even be part of an initiative - it was just something to consider, as a security measure - maybe they could hire dyslexics, instead? 

Marcille scrunched her nose up at the memory. Sometimes Kabru gave her the creeps, too. 

Kabru cleared off a pile of books from his spare chair before taking his own seat. He gestured for her to join him. “So, what brings you here?”

Social as he was, Marcille knew Kabru loathed to expose his perpetually unkempt quarters and was eager for her to leave. But she wasn’t going to try to have this conversation in the course of his normal working day, where he spent most hours in the office he shared with Yaad. Cornering him like this was her best and most discreet option. She sat, and squirmed, and twirled Ambrosia. Her sleeve pocket felt heavier as Kabru’s gaze upon her intensified.

She’d practiced her opening remarks a few times in the bathroom mirror but the effort was instantly wasted. The awkwardness of the whole thing was sinking in, and words left her.

He waited, with an easy smile.

“Marcille?”

She absolutely did not want to have this conversation right now, or ever. Maybe he would figure out exactly why she was sitting here through osmosis or something instead. He seemed focused enough for it. Pleasant. Neutral. Unblinking. 

God, this is why they’d promised him first crack at torturing prisoners. The opportunity hadn’t come up yet - maybe that’s why he looked like he was ready to start torturing her right now, in his own, very specific way, undetectable to the untrained eye. As if he wasn’t doing anything at all. Nobody would even notice it was happening, if it wasn’t happening to them.

The longer he stared, the more nauseous she felt. 

He could be so creepy.

“I don’t have all day.”

“Um,” she said, pulling Ambrosia into the crook of her arm to twiddle her thumbs instead. “So there’s this thing …”

“Go on,” he said.

She might as well just get on with it. Marcille took in a deep breath and drew out the journals from her sleeve. “I was browsing a book shop in town the other day, and I found some… surprising publications.” She placed the little stack on the desk between them, with the purplish one on top. The main feature. 

She watched as Kabru looked from her, to the stack, and back to her again. “Oh, yes. Fascinating. Is that all?”

“Is that all?” Marcille repeated, frowning. “I - What do you mean, ‘is that all?' Did you know about these?”

“Ah, one moment -” Kabru pulled a keyring from his tunic. He reached down and opened a drawer, then used the key to open a drawer within the drawer. He grabbed a handful of similarly crafted journals, and tossed them on the table. “I’ve amassed a small collection. They’ve been selling these in for the past, oh - half a year or so? Would you like to borrow any?”

Borrow any? The thought sent a shiver up her spine. Marcille shook her head. “Um, no.”

Kabru tsked. “A shame. Did you read any of them? Some of these auteurs have quite the imagination. They’re no Dalatian Clan, but there are a few multi-part series, which – ”

“You’re not worried about this?” Marcille interrupted. In a way, the journals, handwritten and handcrafted as they were, represented strange and deeply personal thought patterns of a human mind. Which, she realized, probably did fascinate him, in some similarly disturbing way. She glanced up at his ‘network’ above his desk, that endless and ever growing log he kept of everyone in the castle, every dignitary that had visited and many who hadn’t, every fruit vendor in town and all of their children, and so on and so forth. The bookshop owner and the shopkeep were probably there somewhere, too. Kabru could probably spend hours speculating on potential authors. Marcille mentally kicked herself. Of course, she thought miserably, of course he’s eating this up. “They’re, well. I guess scandalous is the word. You’re not concerned this stuff might start rumors about us?”

Kabru tapped one of the journals strewn about on his desk. “Rumors? Once people start writing informal but regularly published works about you and I, let’s call it ‘getting to know’ our good King, there are already rumors.” Marcille frowned. Fantastic. “These are evidence of existing rumors, not fodder itself. His Majesty is young and unmarried. It’s natural for people to daydream about their chances with a royal, especially one who has been so open about associating with every echelon and race society has to offer. Imagine yourself in the shoes of a young woman of meager income, who, statistically, has had a good chance of taking in the sight of King Laios in public, unburdened by the usual royal dissociation from the common man, believing that one day he could spot her amongst the crowd-”

Marcille was starting to regret this visit. “He doesn’t really go out like that anymore.”

“But he used to! And that made him seem attainable. And to that point,” he tapped another journal - King Laios x Lady Marcille vol. XII - “the same principle of attainability applies to any fantasies about the King in a relationship with you or I. For example, you’re a half-elf, and a member of the court. I’d imagine that is significant to mixed-race people, or at least non-tallmen, who would want to envision themselves as a future Queen or consort. It shows that he does not possess the none-too-rare biases about mixed-race people that would prevent him from elevating anyone to a high station on the basis of their race alone. To have an elf as a Court Mage is a status symbol for short-lived races; smaller and less wealthy fiefdoms tend to hire gnomes. Half-elves, though rarer, would be considered less distinguished, I’m sorry to say. Optics wise, a pure-blooded elf mage would be the expectation for the first true tallman kingdom in a thousand years, and he’s defied that expectation by choosing you. Therefore, a non-tallman might believe they could have a chance with him because if there’s a mixed-race member of court, why would the King object to a relationship where the product would result in a mixed-race child?”

“Okay, I get it!” This was starting to feel gross. That covered the appeal of someone envisioning her with Laios, which, again gross, but - “so what about you?”

“A similar idea,” he said, and ran a finger along a ribbon binding King Laios x Ser Kabru, vol. IV . “If someone thinks a foreigner or a man could seduce a King, why not them? It’s all related to the fantasy of achieving a sense of equality with someone else beyond their station.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, all of us are foreign here, except Yaad and the Golden City people. This continent didn’t even exist a few years ago.”

“The Northern continent isn’t that far away.” Kabru held up one hand and pointed to it with the other. “And the fact is I look foreign.”

“Psychology of it all aside, what about, you know… actual rumors. Do people really think that Laios and I are…” She made a face, rather than having to actually say it out loud.

“Well, yes, I’m sure they do-”

“Ew.”

“Not in the castle, though, I assure you. You haven’t chosen to publicize your engagement with Falin yet -”

“We’re not announcing it until we’ve planned the wedding!”

“Of course, of course, I’m just saying - I’ve already given you the appeal, and you two are close, you are his chosen Court Mage, you are regularly seen together in public, and you were adventurers together before all of that. Why wouldn’t people assume your primary motivation in joining the Toudens’ party was to get closer to the dashing older brother of your childhood friend -”

Marcille shrieked, hitting Kabru square in the chest with her staff. “STOP!”

Kabru only laughed, interspersed with coughing. “You asked,” he said, his voice hoarse from impact to his lungs. 

“Fine! So what are you doing to give everyone the impression you’re sleeping with Laios?”

Kabru cleared his throat, rubbing the sore spot on his chest with the heel of his hand. “Me? Well, as far as I’m aware, he has no history of romantic relationships with women - or anyone, for that matter. At public forums, I stand next to him and assist him. Not to brag, but I’ve been called handsome before. Speculation has been started on less.”

“I think you’re enjoying this a bit too much,” Marcille sighed. She sunk back into her chair, tapping herself on the head with her staff. This was all ridiculous, and giving her a headache, but at least, in his own way, Kabru was making her feel a little better about it, his misplaced enthusiasm aside. His weirdly detailed analysis managed to make it sound like a normal consequence of notoriety, as if this stuff was a universal principle and not uniquely embarrassing.

“If it’s any consolation, these journals are the only written accounts of any gossip about our respective relationships with the King. They’re not widely circulated, or openly marketed, or presented in a disparaging manner. What is there to do? If we censor their little operation, what would people make of the Crown if word gets out? It makes us look weak, unwilling to tolerate any speculation - let alone criticism. It’s hardly worth worrying about, and making any effort to do anything about it would only draw attention to it, which would defeat the point entirely.”

“So that’s it then? We just leave it alone?”

“That would be my recommendation, yes. Especially since at least one vendor is aware you now know about these journals, they may be so scandalized they stop publishing them - or at least selling them - altogether.”

“They didn’t stop when you started buying them,” she said.

“That’s because I procure them indirectly.”

“Why didn’t you just buy them yourself, then, if you think me buying them might make the whole thing go away?”

Kabru shrugged. “It’s more useful to know what people are saying, and it’s easier to know what they’re saying if they’re not afraid to say it. It’s part of my job to help gauge public opinion, after all. I’d prefer my assessments to be accurate.”

“Yeah, but…” Marcille’s words faded in her mouth. Everything he said made sense. It was all perfectly rational. But… still. Maybe he was right that the whole operation may stop since she discovered it. The shopkeep did ask if she wanted to confiscate them all. The fact that they existed in the first place, however… as Kabru said, if people are writing about it, there must be rumors already. The limited circulation of the journals didn’t clarify how prevalent those rumors were.

“I’m glad we could have this conversation. I hope I’ve assuaged your concerns.” Kabru gathered her three journals and presented them to her. “Now, would you mind letting me finish prepping my reports for the Prime Minister? I have to meet with Yaad soon.”

Marcille took the small stack. “Um, there’s one last thing I wanted to ask you.”

“And that is?”

“Do you think we should tell Laios?”

“No.” Kabru began to clear his collection of journals off his desk, returning them to the drawer from whence they came.

“No?” After all his blathering about the sociology of pornography featuring the two of them, that was a much shorter answer than she expected. She thought he’d have a pros and cons list, at the very least. “I mean, this stuff is about him as much as about us. As rumors go, this is a soft ball. He’ll probably hear worse ones eventually.”

“It’s not like telling him would make any difference. Why upset him over nothing?”

“It was different when you were the only one who knew. Now we both do. If he’s the only one that doesn’t know, it’s like we’re keeping it from him.”

“We haven’t bothered to tell him about the few cults of basement dwellers that worship him as a god, either. How would that knowledge help him? He’s insecure enough about how he comes off to his subjects. We shouldn’t let that insecurity extend to interactions with us.”

“Yeah but… how worried could he get? Any worries he has will pass, and then we won’t feel guilty for leaving him out of the loop…”

“Why should we feel guilty?” 

“Well I’ll feel guilty! Is it really that embarrassing to you? You’re the one who seems to be having fun with it.”

“And you’re not embarrassed?” Kabru snapped his drawer closed. “And I didn’t say it was fun. I said it was interesting.”

“It’s obviously embarrassing! He’ll be embarrassed too! But he’ll know it’s all unfounded, so why does that matter?”

“You don’t have much to worry about. You’re engaged to be married, to his sister of all people. I can’t say the same.” Kabru drummed his fingers against the table. “You do realize that we’re in completely different positions in this scenario, don’t you?”

“So what? Just because you’re not seeing anyone doesn’t mean you’re -“

“Let me put it this way. You will be the King’s sister-in-law, in optimistically a year’s time, assuming wedding planning goes smoothly. You’re in a permanent position as Melini’s Court Mage, a position you had the benefit of observing your mother fulfill for another tallman government for decades. You’ve received a formal education in your field and have been recognized for your research and accomplishments.”

Marcille furrowed her brow. “Okay? So?”

“Meanwhile, I’m a student and secretary to the Prime Minister. I am only in my second year of proper study under his tutelage, since the first year was a total nightmare. My mother tutored me growing up, but I’ve had no previous formal education outside the home in political science, economics, or international relations at any institution that I can list on paper. I have no fixed title in this administration, no family name to lean on -”

Where the hell was he going with this? “So? Laios knighted you the minute he learned he could do that!”

“A knighthood is a ceremonial title, not a court position. The point being, I am of service to the King and the Prime Minister at their pleasure. Should I fall out of favor, I’d leave no formal vacancy. If they think it’s best for the Crown’s image for me to leave my post-”

Marcille’s jaw dropped. “Kabru! You don’t seriously believe they’d - what, try to kick you out? Over something as stupid as this?” Who cares if he didn’t have a title? He’d been there when they defeated the demon. He’d been essential in the formation of their government. He’d eaten part of her fiancee. He was Yaad’s only and therefore favorite student, and Laios’s second best friend, after herself. He’d been in every position since the beginning - Laios’s bodyguard, his valet, his advisor, his lifeline next to the throne. She could hardly imagine what the kingdom would look like without him. “You’re - that’s completely ridiculous!”

“It might not be entirely up to them. The King has been resistant enough to finding a wife already. There are all sorts of advisors, magistrates, village leaders that have sent letters inquiring about-”

“You think YOU are in the way of Laios getting married?” Marcille flung out her arms to their full wingspan. “HELLO? To who?”

“I never said that, but it doesn’t help that he’s made no effort to entertain any prospects. I’m just saying rumors about his sexuality won’t do him any favors-”

“Kabru come on, he’s the one who won’t dance with anyone at the balls other than Falin-”

Wait.

Something was coming back to her. She had tried to teach Laios how to dance ahead of Melini’s first ball, but she’d given up pretty quickly when he wouldn’t stop stepping on her feet. They’d considered getting him a private tutor, but Kabru volunteered to teach him instead. His patience must have been unmatched, because Laios managed to look almost graceful twirling Falin around on the dancefloor. Most of the missed steps were Falin’s fault, anyway.

But right before that -

 

 

“Go dance with someone!” Marcille hissed, behind her fan.

Laios balled his hand into a fist in front of his face. It covered his mouth, but was only so subtle - not that anyone could hear them up on this platform anyway. “Do I have to?”

“Yes! You have to go talk to people! It's the easiest way! Go out there and act gracious!” she whisper-shouted back. 

He sighed and slumped lower into the throne. “Regular talking is bad enough,” he said. “I scared off those Dozahk representatives already.”

“It’s a ball! You’re supposed to dance! At least once, to prove you can! Just pick someone! Anyone would be honored to dance with you!”

 Laios rolled his eyes and tipped his head towards the other side of the throne. Kabru stared out at the undulating crowd with his hands behind his back, as prim as ever.

“Psst, Kabru,” Laios said, waving his free hand to urge him closer. Kabru leaned down accordingly. Laios cupped a hand around his ear. 

Marcille watched Kabru’s eyes widen, then narrow, before he straightened up to his original position. “If you don’t want to dance with a stranger, then ask Marcille.”

“Hey!” She said. 

“She never got through a full song with me,” Laios said. “Please?"

“You’ve improved a lot.” Kabru glanced over to Marcille. “He’s improved remarkably, in fact. You should go and find out for yourself.”

Marcille scoffed. “He’s supposed to try and meet new people at this thing-” she gestured out to the diplomats, scions, and magnates below. “Dancing with me isn’t going to help that!”

“Well maybe if you get him down there long enough to show he won’t trip, people will invite themselves to dance with him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Laios said. 

 

 

 

 

Falin came back from the buffet table shortly after, and that was that. She and Kabru watched the Toudens dance. Aside from occasionally reflecting on how gorgeous Falin’s dress had looked on her that night (and even better off of her later that same night), Marcille had never thought about that interaction again. In her view, it had been a completely unremarkable, even typical, exchange.

So why was she thinking of that right now?

Kabru continued to prattle off without her input. “- the political benefit of a marriage isn’t only to secure a worthwhile alliance abroad, or to line the coffers of the treasury while we’re at it. Think of it this way: would you invest in a company with no long-term future? Probably not. You might remember most monarchies have a succession based on bloodlines, and the fact is, people are more likely to consider Melini a worthwhile investment if there’s a foreseeable-”

Marcille’s eyes wandered to his network on the wall. A sketch of Falin and Laios from an old advertisement for party members rested at the center, yellowed and curling at the edges. As she remembered it, the paper was yellowed and curling when he first put it up.

How long had he had that picture?

She’d never really understood why Kabru and his party had tried so hard to help them in the dungeon when they’d only just met - and they’d been massacred shortly thereafter. 

As soon as the demon was gone and the world had fundamentally changed, their friends had scattered. It felt strange to be apart so long from everyone else in her old party, even if they were all still in contact. Chilchuck wasn’t far off in Kahka Brud. You could never tell how far Senshi and Izutsumi were until they popped up to visit. Their government had contracted with Namari’s shop in the capital to help her restore her family’s reputation in weaponry - though she was so busy she rarely visited. Shuro had gone home with his retinue. Even Falin was only at the castle a few months of the year, the rest of her time spent traveling.

So now, it really was just Marcille and Laios left from their party - and Yaad, because where else would he go?

And then Kabru. A tag-along. 

Though her first response had been to be suspicious of him, they became fast friends in putting the kingdom together. She had her specialty (setting up barriers around the kingdom, establishing her lab to better plan large-scale spells for crop growth, wastewater treatment and the like) and he’d had his (public relations, navigating diplomacy with Laios and a man who’d spent the last thousand years trapped in a dungeon). It was a mess, but their roles fell into place, and she’d stopped wondering why he’d shown up in the first place. 

She didn’t question his presence in the castle anymore, and she’d also stopped questioning wherever he was at any given time. And at this point, she just expected to see him with Laios. Within that first month after the continent emerged, the two of them became almost inseparable, and they’d stayed that way ever since. She expected to see Kabru coaching Laios in court during the day, and she expected Laios’s evenings to be spent with Kabru in tutoring sessions, either in the library or in Laios’s room. 

Marcille had learned to spot when Kabru faked his smiles, played at flirtation, and offered false flattery. She was accustomed to it, and learned to expect it. 

But what would it look like if he actually meant it?

Would she be able to tell the difference? 

All those times Kabru made the slightest unnecessary adjustments to Laios’s collar, his doublet, his cufflinks. The way Kabru seemed to always touch him - his shoulder, his hand, his arm - to get his attention. The way Kabru always sat a little too close to him, leaned in a little too close to whisper to him, lingered a little too long after their conversations ended…

He was just always like that. She’d never thought anything of it.

But thinking about it now…

What the hell had he said earlier?

Why wouldn’t people assume your primary motivation in joining the Toudens’ party was to get closer to the dashing older brother-

Ah, shit.

“Um, so I actually have another question.” Marcille twisted Ambrosia in her hands. This was almost as bad as asking him about porn about himself. Actually, it might be worse.

Kabru sighed. “Marcille, we can always continue this conversation another time, but I really should be going. I appreciate that you came to me first about this, and I hope you can understand that this matter is best kept between us.” He stood, dusted off his pants, and gave her a weary but genuine smile. “You know where to find me if-“

“Kabru,” Marcille interrupted, as carefully and gently as she could muster, “do you… maybe…” 

It would be insane. Completely insane. 

But Kabru was completely insane, as much as he liked to pretend he wasn’t.

“Do you… have a crush on Laios?”

He scoffed a laugh and gathered a few papers and folders off his desk. “Oh, please. You’re not that bored.”

“What do you mean ‘bored’?”

“What else would bring this on, all of a sudden? Are the rumors not scandalous enough by themselves? Are my explanations not interesting enough? I’m sorry I couldn’t offer anything more exciting. I had fun sharing my theories, anyway.” Kabru walked to the door, turned the handle, and held it open. “But now it’s time to go. If you have anything else to discuss on the topic, I’ll be available after dinner.”

“I’m serious.”

“Are you?” He tsked. “Well, so am I. You’ve made me late already.” He checked his watch for emphasis. Marcille grabbed the edge of the door to shut it, but even one handed, Kabru kept it in place. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I do have somewhere to be.”

Marcille slammed her staff into the floor, muttered a few words, and a shimmery film covered the doorway.

She’d gotten really good at making barriers.

Kabru reached at the film, and small ripples formed under his fingers when they made contact with the wall of mana. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m dead serious.”

Kabru shut the door. He crossed his arms and leaned against it, rolling his eyes. 

“So? Do you?”

“I said no.”

“You did not say no.”

“No,” he said. “How’s that?”

“So why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know where this came from,” he said, “but believe me or don’t. I’m not going to argue with you.”

“What? So that’s it?”

Kabru shrugged. “I don’t know what you want from me. I get questioned like this enough. How do you expect me to prove a negative?”

“Excuse me? Questioned? By whom?”

“I said there weren’t rumors about you in the castle. I wish the same could be said for me. How would you feel if every half-wit grain inspector blamed you for their inability to secure a contract because of their own incompetence? That because I’m the King’s whore, I’m responsible for their inadequate, inaccurate reports. Please.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “So what? Should I argue every time? Or would arguing raise suspicions further? I’d think the latter.”

Marcille slid down along the wall to sit on his laundry pile. It was nearly impossible to believe anyone, let alone multiple people, would have the gall to say such a thing to his face - especially when, for better or worse, Kabru bent over backwards to stay on everyone’s good side. “How… how often does that happen?”

“Once a week, maybe? ” 

That often? Good god. How long has that been happening? Since people started publishing those stupid stories, or even earlier? “Have you told Yaad?”

“No, but I get the feeling he knows anyway. Those ghosts are awful gossips.”

Marcille tipped her head back against the wall, tap, tap, tapping. “So if you don’t have a crush on Laios, and you think Yaad knows people accuse you of sleeping with him, and it’s bothering you, why not just tell Yaad directly? Why not tell Laios?”

“What are they going to do about it? Put out a bulletin? I just have to ignore it. I’ve made an effort not to be alone with him behind closed doors lately, but that hasn’t seemed to make a difference yet. May still be too soon to tell.”

That was news to her. “Since when?”

“The past month or so? He hasn’t noticed. Or if he has, he hasn’t said anything. He’s been too wrapped up with that giant owl pellet.” Kabru grimaced. 

“What’ll you do when he notices?”

“I’ll tell him I’ve been busy.”

Marcille twisted Ambrosia in her hands. “You sound mad.”

“Why would I be mad? He’s not supposed to notice. I hope he doesn’t.”

So the rumors were bothering him, not enough to say anything, but enough for him to try to do something about it. He didn’t sound too concerned about Yaad knowing about them, but maybe that was because he assumed it was out of his control.

He’d already said he didn’t want to tell Laios about the journals because he was worried about hurting their friendship, but he didn’t seem to think avoiding Laios would hurt his feelings - or maybe he thought it would, and hoped Laios would ask him about it. He could be passive aggressive when he wanted to be.

Laios really had been spending a lot of time on that giant owl pellet. Unsurprising, given that he rarely got any monster remains he could mess around with for more than a week. But eventually he’d run out of ways to fool with it, and then what? Assuming Kabru kept it up, Laios would only buy that Kabru was too busy to see him for a week, tops, whenever he did notice. Or maybe Laios had already noticed and didn’t want to say anything. That was doubtful, though. He was awfully sensitive about that sort of thing, and he’d gotten better about proactively asking if he was doing something wrong in social situations. That fight with Shuro did a number on him.

But maybe his own feelings about it were complicated. It wasn’t that she seriously thought Laios had any romantic interest in Kabru… but he also asked Kabru to dance with him at a ball with half the kingdom’s nobility in attendance. Laios was awkward, but he wasn’t naive. He could guess what sort of assumptions people would have about their relationship had Kabru actually agreed, and he didn’t seem worried about it. It wasn’t every day a man danced with another man. She’d danced with Falin at the every ball, but it was more common to see girls dancing together as friends. Now that she thought about it, she’d never seen two men dancing together at a formal event, even through all her years growing up in a tallman kingdom. At the time, she just assumed he’d asked Kabru because Kabru was his practice partner.

But then again… “So what would you do if Laios liked you?” Marcille asked.

“I’d turn him down gently, I suppose.”

“Why? You could give it a shot. He’s a good guy, even if he’s a weirdo.” 

“No, I could not ‘give it a shot’. You know better than that.”

“Why?”

“I ran through a whole list of whys with you two minutes ago.”

“Because you don’t have a proper title?” Be serious, she didn't say.

“Among other things,” Kabru grumbled.

“So is it that you don’t like him, or do you think you can’t like him?”

“Both can be true. Everyone is entitled to their own feelings, but mine happen to be rooted in some semblance of reality. Why entertain the impossible? It would be delusional on one hand, borderline treasonous on the other. It would be a doomed exercise to even consider it.”

“So you think - what, that it’s stupid for anyone beneath his station to have feelings for him?”

“More like futile.”

That was pretty harsh, especially considering his extensive analysis earlier about people beneath Laios’s station wanting to bone him, or bone him by proxy. “Then what if Laios wasn’t a king? He was just some guy until a few years ago.”

“But he’s a King now, and will be, until he dies, barring the unthinkable.”

“But what if he wasn’t?”

“That’s not a realistic scenario.”

“We’ve seen plenty of unrealistic scenarios play out,” she said. “It’s a hypothetical. Would you give him a chance, if you weren’t worried about the opinion of the whole kingdom?”

“I’d still have to worry about Rin’s opinion. And my mother’s, god forbid.”

“Your first worry is still what other people think?” Marcille snorted. “Neither of them were thrilled about you sticking around and starting a government, either. Answer the question.”

“I doubt you’d be happy about it.”

Would she? Kabru was his own brand of nuts, but she had been around him enough to get used to it. He had his fortes and faults like everyone else. Truthfully, she liked him. She had sway with him and she enjoyed his company. She was already stuck with him - the devil you know, and all. And for what it was worth, Kabru made Laios happy. She could see that, at the very least. “You’re not so bad.”

Kabru stared out the sliver of his window at the other side of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“…I might think about it,” he said.

That might be as good as she was going to get. It sounded honest, at least. Marcille moved to stand, but he kept going - 

“But I’d still say no. Laios has never had his heart broken before, and I don’t think I’d be able to resist that temptation.” He looked down at her and smiled.

Kabru put on a good show for her, anyway. That smile was almost convincing.

At any point, Marcille thought, he could have just said the monster obsession is a huge turnoff. 

She’d always thought of Kabru as a vain creature. He had to practically beat women off of him whenever the two of them went shopping together in town. Yaad had chided him more than once that he needed to quit charming young ladies and send them Laios’s way -

Oh. Maybe he really was in the way of Laios getting married.

The more she’d gotten to know him, the more she uncovered that his personality was a finely constructed thing. His true feelings or opinions were almost always second to getting whatever he wanted out of any particular conversation, and he relied on the fact that nobody would get to know him well enough to discover what he actually felt about anything in time to realize that he was manipulating them. Marcille counted herself as one of the few who could now recognize the disconnect in the things he said in front of her to other people and the things he shared with her in private. He was popular, but the more she saw him talk to people, the lonelier he seemed.

Of course Kabru still had limits on what he thought he could say, even to her, when he admitted he placed limits on what he could even think about. Maybe he’d refused to think about it so well he fooled himself. Over the most oblivious man on earth, no less. Maybe Kabru was the second most oblivious man on earth, if only to his own feelings. She hoped he could at least admit it to himself, if he couldn’t tell her.

Poor thing. 

Marcille stood up and threw her arms around his neck.

“Ow, hey-”

She released him, dropping her heels to the ground, and grabbed his free hand. “I’m not going to tell anyone, you know.”

“Tell anyone what?” he asked, rubbing his throat.

“Nevermind.” Marcille tapped Ambrosia to the floor to release the barrier, and flung the door open. “If Yaad complains, blame me for making you late.”

“I was planning on it,” Kabru said.

Notes:

I love thinking about Marcille and Kabru's friendship would develop postcanon. They seemed to be two of a kind. They're both so nosy. I could go on, but I wanted to explore the idea of Marcille being nosy into Kabru and Laios's relationship.

Marcille mentioned at least twice her surprise at Kabru + his party helping Laios & co. party. I also love how Kabru's party loves him but thinks he can be weird/scary, so I wanted to give him a little breathing room to lean into his analysis of human behavior the way Laios can about monsters

Ye olde fanfic drama still playing out

Chapter 3

The King had a special appreciation for time alone in the castle. His opportunities to avoid the constant demands for his attention were few and far between, and became fewer and further between with every influx of new citizens carrying their competing interests with them. His opportunities to center himself, to cling to the threads of his personage beyond his title, were most often in late nights and early mornings - but this afternoon, he had been gifted an unexpectedly long break for lunch, as conditions at sea had delayed a planned meeting with a party of diplomats from Sadena for another two days. So after King Laios of Melini, first of his name, Devourer of All Things Horrible, had eaten to his permanently imposed threshold of unsatisfaction, he retired to his chambers for the the few hours before he was expected to hear local complaints: gripes against neighbors, their undeveloped townships, and the weather. For now, he hid in his study, away from judgemental eyes of friends and foes alike, reconstructing skeletons of small rodent-like monsters from a giant owl pellet gifted from Izutsumi and Senshi during their last visit.

He’d made decent progress on assembling a yet-unidentified ribcage when a knock came at the door. Laios frowned and turned his eyes to the clock, which reassured him he had plenty of time to tinker with bones before he was expected to be anywhere where he wasn’t supposed to have bits of undigested fur and the scent of chemical preservatives clinging to him. “Who is it?” he called, wiping his hands on his pants. His old clothes, back from when he was just any old tallman from an irrelevant and distant village, were reserved for this purpose. He appreciated them far more now than he ever had before.

“It’s Yaad,” Yaad called, in his borrowed voice that was both simultaneously too old for him and much younger than he actually was. Should’ve guessed, he thought, as the ghosts that tended to accompany him passed through the doorway to usher in their corporeal companion.

“Come in.”

As Yaad entered, Laios turned back to his project to scrutinize the little pile of drying bones in front of him. Yaad wouldn’t mind if Laios went back to his preferred work. He could listen and place ribs into position at the same time. Yaad, luckily for him, lived long enough among monsters to not be disturbed by his efforts. He’d even offered some constructive criticism.

“I see you’re back at that owl pellet. Any new findings?”

“Nothing surprising yet. Izutsumi said they picked up this one in the northwest portion of the Eastern Archipelago, so I’ve been reviewing common rodent-like monsters in the area,” Laios nodded to a few open pages of reference books, “but I haven’t decided which one these are yet, exactly. They’re pretty hard to distinguish even from normal rodents. I might need to do some cross referencing with regional surface rodents. Of the portion I’ve sorted, it looks like there’s about five complete sets of bones of the same type. When I laid them out all the femurs were the same length, so…” he sighed. “I might ask you about it later. Maybe you can help me with posing them all when I’m done?”  

“If there’s five skeletons, I can at least come up with something for one of them.” Yaad said, pulling a chair up to the desk, at a distance far enough to set down a pile of papers without the risk of any chemicals touching them. “Do you still have the book of squirrel taxidermy I gave you?”

Laios slid a wire through one of the slender bones. He did. While the book did a good job of showing the range of motion squirrels (and by extension, other small rodents) had, the arrangements in the book were anything but natural. He didn’t like that the majority of the illustrated poses included putting outfits on the subjects, and he didn’t want to arrange his haul into a jousting scene, or a wedding.

Laios clipped the wire. “Yeah. I do. So what do you need?” 

“There’s a bit of an … unexpected development I’ve stumbled upon recently. One I would rather not have to discuss with you in too much depth. We’ve talked about your relationship with the press, your Majesty…”

He normally wasn't too worried about that sort of thing. It must be serious. “Oh. What have I done now?” Laios set down his clippers and the bone, wiping his hands on his pants again. He had been hoping Yaad would just make him sign something.

“You haven’t done anything, really. It’s not necessarily negative, either. Perhaps this is only my age talking, which is why I wanted to discuss this with you privately.”

“Um, okay.” 

“Remember when we discussed the role of the press? That it’s inevitable that people will make nursery rhymes, playground jokes, and all sorts of mockery about you?”

How could he forget? He got to shoulder collective blame on just about anything. That was sort of his job. But despite the regular verbal thrashings he received from Yaad, Marcille, Kabru, and their cadre of rotating advisors at every turn, nobody had told him he was getting any major complaints in the newspaper yet. To him, things seemed pretty alright, but maybe they weren’t. He picked at a tuft of fur caught on his fingernail. “Yes.”

“Well, I think this is one of those sorts of things, though it might just be prudish of me. I’ve heard of comedies produced about kings during their reign, but romances are a new one.” Yaad extracted a folder from the lower half of his stack of papers, and opened it to reveal three thin, inartfully bound journals.

“A what now?”

Yaad sighed. “You are a young bachelor King. It isn’t surprising the public would speculate about potential courtships that may face you.” He lifted the journals and closed the folder, tapped the journals to even them out on the bottom, and laid them in a flat stack atop the pile. “Your Majesty, I’ve learned of a handful of publications that produce dirty stories about you, on a monthly or bimonthly basis.”

Laios looked at the journals, then up to Yaad, then back to the fur in his fingernail. He chose the fur first, and when he pulled hard his fingernail partially came off with it. Laios swore, put his finger in his mouth, then grimaced at the taste of formaldehyde. He extracted his finger from his mouth and wrapped it on the corner of his shirt, pressing down with his thumb to stop the bleeding that way instead. He looked back to Yaad. “What do you mean? Dirty stories, like…?”

“Like pornography, intercourse, yes. Some of them are merely tales of you sweeping presumably fictional young maidens off their feet. Those aren’t the ones I’m worried about.” Yaad dropped the first journal in Laios’s lap. It was held together with ribbon and stiff white stationary.

 

King Laios x Reader vol. XX

 

 

“Wait, huh?” 

“I’m more concerned with the ones written speculating on the relationships between you and certain members of this court. I imagine this is just the boredom of housewives, but they’ve written romances about yourself and Lady Marcille.” Yaad dropped King Laios x Lady Marcille vol. XVI atop the first journal.

The vivid memory of that succubus - or was it The Winged Lion? - wearing Marcille’s face, the implication being… Well. He didn’t like that at all. His feelings on that idea had been settled a long time ago, and Marcille’s feelings for his sister were more recently settled. She would take no pleasure in this development. “I am absolutely not reading that -” he started, and moved to stand, before Yaad threw the final journal in his lap.

“There are also stories depicting you with Ser Kabru.” 

Huh?

Laios looked down at the topmost journal. 

 

 

King Laios x Ser Kabru vol. VIII

 

 

His silence must have lasted long enough, because Yaad spoke again. “It is only out of an overabundance of caution that I’m bringing this to your attention, your Majesty. I’ve seen nothing in their contents that indicates that, for example, there is a spy within our walls.”

“You read them?” Laios felt the color rise in his face. “Why?”

“Laios, son,” Yaad started, slowly. He placed a firm hand on the King’s shoulder. “I am your Prime Minister, for god’s sake!” One royal to another, Yaad shook him, hard, jostling the journals in Laios’s lap. “Do you really think I have time for this!? Of course not! But I made the time to read them, because who, exactly, would you have preferred I pass along the task to?” The hand that wasn’t on Laios’s shoulder pointed to his lap. “The other subjects of these works!?”

Ah, right. Laios tried to shrink back away in his chair, but Yaad’s grip was iron. “So… uh… you didn’t tell anyone else about this?”

“I thought I’d spare you that.”

Between the strength of his grip and the steel in his eyes, Laios assumed Yaad was telling the truth. He glanced back down to his lap, at the little purplish journal threatening to fall off its place on his knee. He could move to re-center the journal with his hands, but he might get monster hair and chemicals on it. Something about the thought of staining it made him feel guilty, so he left it where it was. 

How did Yaad even find these? If anyone was prone to digging up worthless indications of Laios’s popularity as a leader, it was Kabru. Kabru made sure to tell him every adjective used to describe King Laios I and the land of Melini in political cartoons, foreign ad copies for real estate, and on sweaters at the gift shop near the dungeon’s entrance. Kabru had to know about these, um. Stories.

And knowing Kabru, he would have certainly read them, no matter how repellent he found the subject, out of both (entirely self-imposed) duty and morbid curiosity. 

He, himself, did not possess that brand of morbid curiosity, Laios thought, with a glance at the pile of bones in front of him.

“Well!” Yaad clapped Laios’s shoulder, and stood - too fast, evidently, judging by the loud pop of his spine realigning. He rubbed at his lower back with a grimace. “I would regret to leave you to it, but considering I already had to read them...” He sighed. “I will say some of these writers have a certain talent, though whether that talent is wasted I’ve yet to decide.”

Laios didn’t know what to say, so he didn't say anything, and frowned instead.

“Ah, the pains of being a young man, burdened by prospects, real and imagined!” Yaad gathered the other materials he came with, tutting to himself. “Things could be far worse for you, boy. You’d fare even better if you stopped smelling like formaldehyde all day.”

And with that, he left. The ghosts, however, lingered, and watched as Laios awkwardly shuffled the purplish journal to the center of the pile with his knees, so he could lift the whole stack by the bottom journal. He didn’t care about ruining that one, he thought, which was the normal reaction to have. He placed them on his desk, away from the bones.

Laios washed his hands in his bathroom, watching the little tufts of feathers and the rainbow sheen of chemicals flow down the basin with the water. As he dried them, he met his reflection in the mirror.

His own face had always felt like a foreign thing. More so now that he’d been given the chance to see the world through six (eight, counting his tail) eyes, on three (four) sets of faces. He tilted his head, and his mirrored version tilted with him. The mirrors in the castle were of a much better quality than he had been accustomed to. His mother had a nice hand mirror, but she never let him use it. It still surprised him to see each individual eyelash, every small freckle. He’d always assumed he looked something more like what he’d seen captured on shop windows or tin can lids - a handful of blurry shapes arranged on an oval. That was part of the terror of being attacked by thousands of versions of himself. He’d looked different from what he imagined. He hadn’t realized that he was, in lack of a better word, detailed. The same way other people were.

It took him a while to get used to the idea that people cared how he looked. He shaved daily (against advice) and avoided cutting himself in the process. He got his hair trimmed every so often. He tried to avoided overeating, with some success. Aside from that, he tried not to give it much thought, even though he was the metaphorical and literal face of Melini.

He was the most powerful man on the continent. Or was supposed to be. It was still hard to believe. He was nearly three years in at this point, but aside from the fact that his position consumed his every waking minute, he really didn’t feel like much of a King. As far as he was concerned, the King of Melini was just an idea, and he was just Laios.

Laios had to assume any interest in him came from his title. After all, he didn’t live under a rock. He’d heard fairy tales when he was young, and most of them involved some royal figure. There was a natural allure to wealth and power. It had nothing to do with him personally.

He was not someone that people would imagine running away with. He had, for a long time, been someone to run from.

Some of the ghosts had tagged along with him to the bathroom and joined him in the mirror. They had been instructed not to follow people into restrooms - mainly by Laios and Falin, because they could see them - but since they were already dead, there was no way to punish them for their indiscretions.

He watched himself frown next to phantoms of decayed corpses, and walked back to the desk, retrieving the journals and throwing them into a rarely used drawer, where he hoped they would eventually disintegrate. 

If he felt a little bad for wishing that the purplish paper cover would fall apart one day, that was his business. It wasn’t the paper’s fault what was written on it.

Notes:

Wow I wonder how Yaad got those.

POV switch time! can you believe we still aren't at the end of what I planned my first chapter to be? I have been trying to put these up weekly, I have at least one more in the chamber that's fully completed before I might get a little irregular...

Thank you to my commenters, your words mean a lot! Please know I am doing it for you :)