The Kings Personal Joker (boyxboy)

Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen

The fast roll of the carriage wheels on uneven ground made my stomach queasy.

All too fast they had felled the tents and squirreled away the  components into the carriages at the latter end of the procession. Quietly, I had been ushered from a deep sleep out into the carriage, the moon still in the sky as I followed with some confusion, rubbing my eyes, and slowly climbed into the carriage I was led to.

When I looked up and saw where I was I realised the King had been true to his word, he had promised not to keep me out of his sight and he would not. So while I did my best to ignore the foreboding King as the turning wheels turned my stomach, it was almost more painful to look in any other direction.

I sat beside him, which I now knew was uncourteous by Euphraian standards, though there appeared to be little middle ground between that of master and servant. He looked tense and angry, eyes gleaming off in a direction somewhere outside the top corner of the gap in the veils that rippled as the carriage moved uncommonly fast.

A steely gaze, a crease in his brow, and a set of unmoving thin lips as he ignored me, but also set me close by him where he could likely keep an eye on me.

I wanted to ask how Ophelos was, whether I could go to see him myself and check upon his wounds, however I felt the heavy air with every sense and knew not to. It was probably best not to bring up murmurs of the night before.

Although he never turned to glare at me or force the punishment he promised in the foreseeable future I knew he was still angry.

I would have been miserable had I not been easily distracted by my turning stomach as we lurched to a faster speed and I gripped the cushion.

He exhaled, as if annoyed, then turned to me, reached out and caught my hand. I looked up at him, relaxing my hand in his. He still looked annoyed and tense, but there was a shift in tone now, because his grip on my hand made my heart ache, comforting and distinctly him, a casual gentle force.

He didn't look at me, and I swallowed and looked foreword, some of the nausea was gone, so that now I had full ease to sit quietly and feel regret it all.

Innately I had known he would not be so angry as to kill me, and yet it was easy to make the assumption he would based off of everyone else's expectations. The natural response to them was to think the one I expected, feared, backlash and anger towards me, would be the result of my beating his relative to escape punishment. 

But Demosthenes was not really the King they all thought he was.

I think, he was nicer.

So I held his hand a little tighter, and found myself accidentally basking in the strange feeling in my chest that seemed to fill the room.

Part of me, I suppose, continued brewing in remorse, but I found myself feeling quietly happy as the wheels rolled onwards and the bright streaking sun of the day careened into the room.

The servants were no longer walking along side us, which made sense at the speed we were riding. On the previous trip it had felt fast, and now it truly was.

"Why are we moving so fast?" I asked him, cocking my head at the curtain.

He did not reply.

I looked up at him and frowned, squeezing his hand, he glanced at me.

"Demos..." I tried to placate him.

"Oh now you remember my name?" He replied in a low voice, squinting at me.

My brows furrowed. "I do not think I could ever forget it..." I mumbled, looking straight ahead, about to slip into my own thoughts.

But now he turned fully to glare at me, in a way that seemed like a glare without some of the bite expected. There was a moment of silence before he spoke; "When did you learn how to sweet talk?"