Chapter Text
A bloody fight was particularly entertaining up-close and personal while being just as thoroughly pleasant from afar. Being able to watch the contenders gasp for air, gaze upon their opponent with a stare utterly wild and feral and perhaps even a wicked grin resonated deep inside him.
Grim’s choice of demonstration was not solely for him and his pleasures, of course. A fight was a simple thing to host. To others, it was a demonstration of physical strength within combat, without the blessing of power. To him, it was merely for his own analytical benefit. And for a little fun.
Proving one’s worth through strength was the best way to gain some form of respect or fear from the people in Grim’s opinion, while also being an excellent way to settle his judgement of his fellow rulers. A fighter’s style often hinted towards the fighter as a whole.
Azul—quite the kind-hearted man, Grim honestly sympathised with him—yielded quickly with a pearly smile. He was such a peaceful and gentle man, burdened with the death of his beloved. Had Grim any image beyond ‘demon’ and ‘murderer’, he may have attempted to truly sympathise with the man. He would never be able to console the man on a personal level, but Nightshades valued their life partners dearly. If anything, Grim knew of the stress that would decay the heart.
Grim tutted at the sight of Aurora—‘Celeste,’ a woman who feigned her weakness. An inexplicable liar; perhaps ‘scoundrel’ would fit her better. Regardless, she was one disgraceful woman. Allowing her people to die on her isle while being absolutely aware of those creatures was a foul upon her title of ruler. The day her rule ended, Grim would celebrate over a steaming goblet of liquor-filled tea.
Aurora’s actions were purposely sloppy and rarely consistent. He had never been more pleased to see a fight come to its end, having had to restrain himself with his fingernails deep in his thighs during the whole thing. Even on purpose, such a performance irked him enough to want to sink down his seat to escape the mere sight of it.
Cleo was as cold as ice with her attacks, fitting for such a cold-hearted woman. If not for the Oracles and their riddles, perhaps the woman would have taken out Aurora. Grim wouldn’t have made an attempt to stop her, though it may attract some questioning and he couldn’t find himself willing to answer any interrogation. He could always turn invisible, teleport, play a mind game or two . . . but that was boring and would be expected.
Now Isla was a curious sort, being so young she wouldn’t have lasted a moment without intense training. Before, she had confessed only once to her tutors being brutal in their training of her. Now, he could see the torment of what they had done to the girl in its full glory, up close and personal, again and again and again.
Vicious, quick and calculated, that was Isla. As naive as the girl was, perhaps close combat was where she found herself most comfortable. Nothing would justify the abuse she underwent but he could see she had been taught by a cruel professional.
Grim knew her personally—intimately. This was an unnecessary judgement.
He himself preferred strong blows. His broadsword would ensure a person died upon impact and he had quite the time to have perfected his skill. Even now, he could only get better.
But of them all, Oro had truly piqued his interest. The king had failed to do so for a while, after so rudely denying Nightshade their right to join in with all of the Centennial’s games, but now it was hard to tear his attention away. He had known the king long before the curses, long before his brow set and he never smiled again, and the king was strong with combat.
He had been, once.
Grim just had to wonder what was on the king’s mind for his movements to be so stricken with exhaustion. He clearly favoured one arm. But why?
Isla looked impressed, surprised, all the while fearful. Grim saw through the swift swing of the king’s sword in a heartbeat. The king had a strong arm, one that Grim had felt the blow of, admired the muscles of.
The king’s curse was his vulnerability to sunlight. Oro, like Grim, had to take extreme measures to avoid charring to the bone. Full body covered, windows covered, mirrors covered . . . everything had to be covered. It was a pain, honestly, and Grim only wished it would have ended sooner. Yet, he had grown to tolerate it with time and had his own ways of escaping such a dark fate.
What was wrong with the king to have acted so stiffly? He couldn’t be tired, could he?
When the king dropped his sword from Isla’s throat, Grim locked onto the tightness of the man’s back. It was most certainly not exhaustion. Perhaps in his isolation he had long forbade himself the pleasantries of a massage?
Well, there were rumours that the king often locked himself away in his bedroom, only emerging to complete his duties before slinking back off to bed again. With a bed as large, soft, plush and warm as the king’s, Grim couldn’t blame him, he would happily spend his time in bed if it was quite as luscious as Oro’s.
But would it be enough to ease the tension of Oro’s back?
Grim smirked, tutting. Of course that had to be the case. What other reason could there be? Unless the man had slacked off in the past five centuries there was no reason for his tense frame. The man had stamina even Grim had to admit was impressive. He had witnessed it, up close and personal, feeling somewhat intimate for a time, and it was remarkable how long the king could go for.
As a Nightshade, Grim could offer to be of service. His people were known for their thorough exploration of pleasure and his ‘explorations’ may just warm up the stone-cold king, perhaps even spark a little trust between them again.
For a man with a thousand fires, the king was perhaps the coldest of them all, colder than Cleo—though she made it abundantly clear to all but Azul that she despised their guts—and perhaps the loneliest of them all.
A massage it would be, then. If Grim could finally gain the king’s trust, his respect, perhaps he could convince the man to listen to him? Perhaps this nightmare would be over sooner?
If so, Grim would take a selfish walk down the beach at its darkest hour without any coverage or artefact to keep his skin intact.
* * *
Shadows were Grim’s most dear friends.
The king undoubtedly knew he was being followed. How could he not? It was not as if Grim was trying to remain hidden, he merely happened to have an uncanny knack of being able to follow a person around without being caught.
There was no excuse for his presence being in this specific corridor. His bedroom was on the other end of the island’s castle, opposite to the king’s and rightfully so. Grim could have done anything he pleased had they been any closer and the king may not take too kindly to being stared at while he slept, though Grim wasn’t one to watch a person sleep unless he held them dearly in his heart.
Grim was no man to lie, manipulate truths maybe, but he was not a liar—technically, not even to Isla, he just had to make sure to keep his tongue to himself around her. And why would he bother to lie to the king? Not only could he be barred from the castle, he could be thrown into the cold clutches of the night.
Unlike shadows, death was no friend of his, though he had met it many times before. Dying by the source of his power would be an embarrassment and he would not have that go down in any history books, no matter how accurate scholars demanded they be.
“Grimshaw Malvere.” An unreasonably cold voice for Oro. Grim had done nothing to warrant such a tone. How cruel of the king to already be making such assumptions. And to use his full name was no endearment.
Grim hummed smoothly as he parted with the shadows to bow before the man. “King,” he greeted, meeting the king’s blazing stare with a smile of faux innocence. “Quite the fine evening we have, wouldn’t you say?”
“Either state your purpose in stalking me or dissipate back into the shadows from whence you came.”
Grim smiled at him, as kindly as he could manage. “Your faith in me is quite the spectacle, Your Highness.”
“Your Majesty,” the man corrected.
“Now, that is no title for a man like me,” Grim mused. He settled his hands behind his back. “Or have you finally chosen to pass on the crown? You have been ruling for quite the time, but to imagine that I, a Nightshade—”
The king turned and walked away without another word. Grim didn’t know which he preferred: to be cut off or to be blatantly ignored. Neither were particularly captivating.
Grim pouted and continued his pursuit of the man, wanting some sort of apology for such behaviour. As a royal, surely he should know a dismissal was more polite than ignoring a person? Even Grim knew that and he could ignore people almost as well as a statue could.
“Oh, King, I was not finished.”
“I am very aware, now I demand you leave me.”
“And why would I do that?” Grim asked, making his way in front of Oro to pout. “Five hundred years isolated from my fellow rulers can do a lot to a man like myself.” Grim plucked a golden hair from Oro’s shoulder, disregarding the man’s tensing shoulders. “You may doubt my words but I truly valued our time together, we used to have the most pleasant conversations.”
“Where you would tell me the goriest details of Nightshade and I would recoil in horror?”
“Precisely.”
Grim pretended to pluck another hair, taking the opportunity to trace his finger down the seam of Oro’s cloak, right where his shoulder would be.
The king fired a look that displayed his clear disdain that Grim had yet to combust into flames where he stood. But the emotions Grim could feel radiate from the king suggested the response was something more vulnerable than not.
“Oh, come now, one half hour spent over a fine cup of willow would do the both of us well. I can practically feel your stress from here and might I say it is quite the disturbing grey colour. Whatever have you been up to recently?”
The king stilled entirely, back drawn so tightly Grim wondered how Oro would react to being pushed over. Would he shatter like glass or explode into a cacophony of insults that not even Grim could have thought of? The king had a creative tongue.
“Nightshade.” Oro spoke sternly. “What do you want?”
There were a plentiful of things Grim could say. He was a simple man with simple desires, many of which were physically eased, but to have a conversation with someone who didn’t fear or despise him was something he missed. He had grown tolerant of it, like his aching allergy to the night, but it was a desire of his and he was no man to admit it. He was a ruler, after all, and being honest to vulnerability was weakness.
“A moment with you,” Grim answered, partly honest. He lifted his hand to gesture between his and Oro’s chests as he said, “Ruler to ruler.”
Oro looked him up and down, brow furrowed deeper than it had been before. Rightfully suspicious in Grim’s opinion, he was the famed Nightshade ruler after all, many were right to be wary of his presence let alone his motives.
“Just one moment?” Oro questioned.
“Well, I would never deny you another had you asked.”
The king’s stare hardened into something Grim couldn’t recognise. He could tell his emotions apart but Grim often felt it was an invasion of privacy, something to be used in most dire situations.
He had lied to Oro before, intending to tease him, but the man had spoken nothing of it. Grim may have guessed correctly but it would be obvious to even a child that the king was stressed.
“Twenty minutes and nothing more,” Oro said.
Pleased, Grim fell into step beside Oro.