Viva La Vida

Part 19

"Just hold that pose a little longer, Sir—oh, Your Majesty. A pleasure to see you, Your Majesty."

"Yeah, a bloody pleasure," Zayn says between gritted teeth. "Can I release now?"

Zayn's physical therapist doesn't turn her attention from Liam. "Go ahead, Sir Malik."

"It's Zayn," Zayn says, releasing the stretch he'd been holding and wincing. "Good God, if I didn't know what it really felt like, I'd say the shit you make me do is torture." There's a slightly awkward silence, and he raises his eyebrows. "Tough crowd."

"No one knows how to respond when you say things like that, Zayn," Liam says.

"It's a joke. The socially acceptable response would be laughing, Your Majesty."

Liam manages to refrain from rolling his eyes and turns to the therapist. "Mind if I steal him for a quick moment? There's a few things we need to discuss."

"Please, go ahead. We were almost done anyway."

"Perfect, thank you."

They walk—or rather, Liam walks and Zayn limps along while throwing vaguely resentful looks at his therapist over his shoulder for whatever pain her stretches have inflicted upon him—just out of earshot and come to a halt.

"What's the emergency?" Zayn asks before Liam can even open his mouth. "I'm not in fighting condition yet, so if you need someone's arse kicked, I'm sure Louis would be happy—"

"No arses need to be kicked, and before you ask, no one's died either."

"I wasn't going to ask that," Zayn says smoothly, "because I'm the only person we know who's in danger of dying. And obviously I'm quite alive."

"Not funny. I need to ask you about two things, yeah? First of all, there's a state dinner with the Americans next week, and I need to know if you can come."

"You couldn't have sent a lackey to ask that? Or even an email? A text, perhaps? You just had to come down here yourself and—"

"You caught me, I just wanted to see you. But I may as well get a confirmation from you if I can while I'm here."

"I'll come if I'm not busy barfing my guts out, as I often am." When Liam's alarm must have registered on his face, Zayn cackles. "I don't do that too often anymore, I'm joking. But I will come." A considering look crosses his face. "I dunno if I have anything wear to impress the Americans, but if we get one of Louis' suits altered—"

"We'll get you fitted for your own," Liam says, waving a hand impatiently. "If there's nothing else useful about being the king, it's that I have some fucking fantastic tailors. No point in not using them. The second question about council meetings. Lou and Haz and Nialler all are on the king's council—"

"I want in," Zayn says instantly, and Liam grins.

"The next meeting is the same day as the dinner next week. You sure you're up for it?"

"The day I can't do two things in one day is the day I die," Zayn says. "I want in. Are they like the Small Council meetings in Game of Thrones?"

"Less murder, less incest, otherwise generally the same idea." Liam sighs. "Not really. It's mainly squabbling over how to budget the very limited resources we have. Very unglamorous."