The Story of Dhanvanthri

ten

Red, Black, and a Sprinkle of Blond

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Dhanvanthri sat beside his father, just skimming the documents that was being read through. Despite feeling a slight unease at such a close contact, Dhanvanthri was interested enough in the document contents to ignore any feeling of discomfort. He leaned closer to his father when he saw something that caught his eyes in particular, ignorant to the subtle look of guilt his father had when he looked down at him.

"Father," Dhanvanthri called out, reaching his fingers to point at a particular line. "This part, there's a miscalculation. The total in between there, there is a loss of a small margin but when you add it together with the total over here and then subtract the expenses from the cost here, the loss adds up to become a large margin."

Dhanvanthri frowned, "But since it's on your table right now, that means it's not a miscalculation but rather—"

"—An embezzlement case." His father finished with a dark tone, organising the file easily. He reached out hesitantly and then placed his hand onto Dhanvanthri's forehead, rendering the poor boy shocked with affection. He froze then for a moment and couldn't help but soften when the hand on his head began to pat him softly.

"Good job." His father complimented, voice still soft.

Dhanvanthri swallowed a lump in his throat and wondered, not for the first time since he had returned to the imperial palace, on whether or not he was subconsiously craving parental love. A craving so deep that he could seek comfort regarding it from this tyrant father of his who, no matter how hard he'd try to ignore, had spared his and his sister's life on a whim.

"You're welcome," Dhanvanthri replied stiffly. And then, when he made sure his father wasn't looking, Dhanvanthri covered the lower half of his face and allowed a small genuine smile to appear behind his hand.

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"Are you the Magician of the Tower?" Dhanvanthri asked, his tone polite and vastly different compared to the one he had used back in the conference room. Even Noah, his loyal knight, had relaxed from the previously tensed form. Before them stood a beautiful mn with long black hair and crimson red eyes.

Don't let looks fool you, Dhanvanthri knew very well that behind that decevingly harmless appearance was a being with far more power than anyone in Obelia could imagine.

The man raised his brow, slumping down onto his chair with no eloquence or manners that would befit one that had an audience with an Emperor. Even when said Emperor is royal from another land. But this didn't offend Dhanvanthri, he never put much stock into his identity of royal blood anyway.

"You're of the Imperial Bloodline," the man commented casually. "I am the magician. So, what of it? Want me to teach you magic or something?"

"No, rather, there's something crawling in this kingdom that makes me uncomfortable," Dhanvanthri said. "Would you happen to know the source of it?"

"Ah." The man made a sound of acknowledgement. He leaned against his palm, twirling a small vortex of wind in his palm as if it was something a toddler could do for fun. Dhanvanthri was patient, one doesn't become an Emperor of an Enemy Kingdom without patience. After a long moment of silence which included one party pretending to ignore the other, the magician finally spoke.

"I know who you're talking about. The black thing hovering around the Emperor all-day long, not that anyone had the brains to see it," The Magician snided. Then, the magician appeared right before Dhanvanthri, invading his personal space. Dhanvanthri didn't bat an eyelash nor did he flinch back, merely stare back with an equally intense gaze.