Chapter 300 - 298: Spot The Difference.

Chapter 300: Chapter 298: Spot The Difference.

​" Khobi , we’ve talked about this," Bongo chides long-sufferingly, inclining his head towards the princess as a reminder to watch his mouth while in company.

​" –It’s fine, Captain," Xena pipes up, smile bright, "I don’t mind."

​"I’m workin’ on it," Khobi mutters, and gets a scoff of disbelief from Loac standing next to him.

​" Are you ?" he snorts casually, and while it’s barely enough to be called an interaction, something about it immediately strikes Gurdet as... odd . And it nags at him.

Possibly more than it should.

​Something’s changed.

​He’s sure of it. So he does what he always does when something nags at him; he watches.

Quietly, and closely, because in his experience men watch their words but are much more careless with their faces and their actions and one only has to take the time to look and they will give themselves away.

Gurdet will admit that when it comes to his nephew, he has been guilty of not taking that time, but the more he watches the more he sees, and the more he becomes convinced that this is not the same Loac Trent he has come to know.

​Because the Loac Trent he knows doesn’t speak with such familiarity to anyone . And sure, he’s always had somewhat of a reputation for... playing up as it were, but not like this –not like a bratty teenager; trying to swipe whatever it is that Khobi’s offering up to Bongo, and whinging when Khobi snatches it out of reach.

​"Hey, Khobi, c’mon, just one more –" his nephew complains, openly put out and barging up into his space to make a second, more insistent attempt.

​"You’ve had five ," Khobi heaves back, jaw set and brow furrowed. There’s no bite to his tone though, and no malice in the way he sets an elbow between them to hold him at bay. If anything, there’s even a touch more red to his face than Gurdet’s used to seeing.

It doesn’t look like anger, though.

Anger in all its forms is vivid and deep. It is dark and rich, where this is light. Soft, almost. And Gurdet is very familiar with Khobi Frost’s anger; he’s seen the man desperate and raging enough times to know it well.

​And this is not it.

​This is not even close.

​In fact, even when he squints, and looks his hardest; in all the usual places that the masks of men crack to let the anger show through, Gurdet does not see it. Not here. Not this time.

​Curious.

​Eyes glinting, Gurdet folds his fingers together, and continues to watch --

​"One of them was small –" Loac complains, leaning into Khobi with one arm casually hooked up over his shoulder.

​" – Well you should’ve picked a bigger one, then ."

​--And what he sees is peculiar. Because where Khobi Frost has always had quite the propensity for violence and fairly nasty reputation for resorting to it on a whim, particularly where his castle and his nephew are concerned, there’s a degree of tolerance that he certainly wasn’t expecting.

​In fact –sour expression aside –he seems almost comfortable with this childish brand of back and forth.

They both do. And they can smirk, and snarl, and bark and roll their eyes as much and as long-suffering as they like, but what most people fail to realise it that for how troublesome distaste and distance are to conceal, closeness too, is equally difficult to disguise.

​(So very curious.)

​(And oddly nostalgic.)

​"Hey, will you get off?" Khobi huffs, throwing elbows as he tries for the third time to offer a basket --what on earth --out to Bongo without Loac trying to snake his hand into it.

Gurdet would be curious as to what exactly he’s trying to offer him and why it’s making Bongo’s expression soften so, but for something else catching his eye.

​Something very interesting.

He hadn’t initially paid the marks much mind.

Why would he? Loac’s always wearing those sorts of marks nevermind who they might scandalise; new ones often appearing even before the old ones have vanished and striking up all sorts of distasteful whispers.

Usually he tries his best to not see them; to pretend that he doesn’t know exactly what kind of mischief his nephew has been getting up to when he disappears.

And but for Khobi Frost, Gurdet would have paid them no mind like always.

​Khobi Frost, who is wearing the same marks. And while he at least has made some effort to conceal them, any pair of working eyes can pick them off his skin; can see that they’re faded to the same shade as the ones on Loac’s neck, like they’ve spent the same length of time healing.

Like perhaps they were made on the same night.

​(And Gurdet’s eyes work very well.)

​Coincidence ?

​Perhaps, he concedes. Sometimes that’s all things are. Just silly, little, unrelated coincidences.

​Then again, sometimes they’re not. And Gurdet knows which possibility he finds infinitely more intriguing.

​Well now, sweet nephew, he muses, leaning his hand into his chin to better conceal his amusement, and his curiosity. What have you been up to ?

​(He doesn’t think Xena’s noticed. Bless her, his daughter has been so dreadfully distracted.)

​And then, just as quickly as they’d breezed in, they’re off again, carrying this strange, new mystery away with them. Upon hearing that they’re training grounds bound, Xena hurriedly bounces out of her seat and declares that she’ll walk with them, and Gurdet’s recently acquired good mood plummets back to where it had been simmering for most of the morning, since the third time his daughter had adjusted her hair.

​"I’m off now, Father," she chirps, barely even glancing back at him as she flounces merrily after them and latches onto her cousin’s elbow.

That he doesn’t just shrug her off is further proof that something is going on. And under his very nose, apparently.

Even before he was a king, Gurdet had made a point of knowing what went on within the walls of this castle. And beyond, where possible.

He’s sure it’s one of the reasons why he won a crown in the first place.

But there have been a lot of surprises recently, and while it’s certainly a refreshing change of pace, he’s not sure he likes being caught out.