The Red King [Book II]

XXIX

There wasn't a need to travel to Wyndmerc this time.

ㅤStretching his worked legs, James beset his childhood city of Arkingham on foot. Dust gritted the inside of his sandals, disturbed off the roads by a menacing grey wind. It blew through his hair as if he were a boy striding between people's legs, fleeing his abused nameless bodyguards without a care.

ㅤPassing every familiar street—the same pub signs creaking on their hinges, the same cloth awnings flapping like wings, the same faceless citizens enjoying booze in the shade—everything was here, but it'd all already changed. Smaller than he'd remembered. It was no longer the size of his world.

ㅤJames would've worn a hood if it hadn't been too conspicuously hot.

ㅤThe inn he drifted to—The Strayed Lamb—had only been scenery constructed for his childish chases through town until now. Low beams and a musty wood smell: that was what had always been inside, unbeknownst to his boyself. Once-bright colours painted a fable on cracking plaster—a faded lamb abandoning its herd to follow a snake for better pastures. Varnished panels covered the rest.

ㅤThe bartender subtly nodded to the stairs, whilst the few customers mulling around contemplated their own company in silence. They took little heed of James even as the steps unavoidably groaned under practiced feet.

ㅤMorven was too easy to skip over, even as the only man in the room. James was only a little jealous of his ambivalent appearance, merging into whatever was behind him. James, on the other hand, always stood out like a radiant lamp with his uncommon blond hair, even if he shielded himself in a cloak.

ㅤ"Morven."

ㅤMorven jumped, his chair scraping back with his surprise. "Jeremy," he said. There was a beat of tense hesitation.

ㅤJames had little care for the reaction, taking his fluid seat on the bench opposite. Morven followed after another jilted pause.

ㅤ"How much money did you win?"

ㅤRather than grin wolfishly, Morven's trite smile left his eyes untouched. "Enough that it felt like stealing," he chuckled. "You told me to bet on the lion, but my trust did waver, I admit, when an armed soldier entered the arena. I bet that poor sod was wishing Duke Alexander entered much earlier. My God."

ㅤThe grin that split James' face was genuine. "An impressive display, wasn't it?"

ㅤMorven was inspecting him with a strange sobriety. Resisting against the habit of massaging his face back into normalcy, James stared back.

ㅤ"...Yes, it was good fun. I'm glad the king decided to host it, despite how obvious the intentions were even to this simple commoner."

ㅤJames hummed at that. "One doesn't always need to be subtle to get the desired effect."

ㅤ"That's very true." His gaze still hadn't averted.

ㅤThe tall bay windows had only been half-blinded, with light spilling over the top, reaching to embrace James wholly. His face, his unbandaged forearm peering from his sleeve, brown eyes that saturated a little too much in the glow—crow's lace pungent summer scent, faintly sharp and herbal—very little was hidden.