Chapter 316: Crown Princess Choice.

Chapter 316: Chapter 316: Crown Princess Choice.

Unfortunately for Loac, Gurdet is no such observer, and while it’s hard to know for sure if it’s conscious or otherwise, the longer Gurdet watches, the more he comes to realise that there’s nothing random about just where his gaze catches, and lingers.

The paths it takes are always different, sure, but lead without fail, back to the same person each and every time.

And Gurdet’s not sure whether he should be surprised that that person just so happens to be Khobi Frost.

​(No, he eventually decides. He’s not surprised.)

​Possibly the more interesting thing is that Khobi can’t seem to keep his eyes to himself, either.

​Fascinating , Gurdet muses to himself as he watches the way their gazes flit to and fro, ducking each other and never lingering untowardly long, yet at the same time somehow unable to stay away.

For what it’s worth, Khobi doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s doing it anymore than Loac.

​Truly fascinating.

​And honestly, far more interesting than whatever it is that Xena is dealing with.

Loac must think so to because abruptly he yawns, stretching out and slumping down another inch into his seat, and Gurdet can’t stop his expression from curling into a small smile as he watches it happen all over again.

He starts in the top corner of the hall this time, watching a couple of birds in the rafters, but when they get spooked by some polite applause his eyes start roving again; shifting across the crowd until finally they find purchase again on Khobi’s profile.

For once he’s not looking back; whispering something under his breath to the soldier next to him, but the moment he glances Loac’s way, as Gurdet knew he would --Loac’s gaze goes skittering away again.

​Gurdet makes a delightful little game of it; waiting to see just how long Loac can bear to look away before his gaze will track back, and how long Khobi will stare before he realises he is and abruptly shift his attention to absolutely anything else.

He almost wishes they would look his way, so that they would know that he’s seen, but they never do.

​(It goes on for quite some time.)

​Unbelievably, it takes almost until the end of their proceedings for someone to ask for Xena’s hand.

At times it’s hard to believe there’s even anyone left in the kingdom (or beyond) that hasn’t made some attempt, but somehow they just keep coming out of the woodwork.

This fellow in particular is dressed particularly extravagantly, but in the kind of ostentatious, meant-to-impress way of a man flaunting wealth he doesn’t truly have. At least the son he’s brought with him is handsome.

​Not that that would have done him any good.

​" –My apologies," Gurdet interrupts before Xena can politely rebuff the man, having finally tired of watching his nephew play eye tag with his betrothed.

And of the proceedings in general. Hopefully he hasn’t come far; this is awful weather to be travelling in, especially for no reason. "I am afraid that I cannot grant your request."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Xena shoot him a look –he rarely intervenes, after all , and it’s even rarer for him to be so direct. Ah well, it serves her right; she should have wrapped this up an hour ago, before he got bored.

​"A match for my daughter has already been arranged."

​A gasp goes up, and oh it is music to Gurdet’s ears. The whispers, unable to contain themselves, suddenly change direction, change tune; blowing away from his nephew and on into different, stranger, fresher winds.

And then the speculation starts. They want to know who; they want to know since when , and almost more than anything, they want to know who knew and had been keeping it to themselves.

​Ah, so quick to turn on each other, noblemen are.

​Beside him, Xena flushes. Montrel on the other hand, turns a delightful, sickly pale. It goes just terribly with his hair. They should have both known this was coming, and sooner rather than later.

She’s the Crown Princess, and one who has been steadfastedly refusing matches since she was old enough to be propositioned for one. The notion that she would get to enjoy a courtship out of the public eye is preposterous.

When he’d begun courting his late wife hardly a day had gone by before the entire castle knew about it, so the fact that it’s not already common knowledge is somewhat astounding.

​"Xena, if you would."

Caught off guard by the suddenness of his announcement but ever unwavering in her composure, Xena obligingly rises.

Her cheeks are positively flaming, but she looks an absolute picture of grace, and as she approaches the dais, a hush descends.

​And in the agonising silence –the crowd waiting on baited breath –she glances back over her shoulder, and extends a hand to Montrel.

​The gasp is even louder this time.

​Swallowing audibly, Montrel takes a small step forwards.

And before Gurdet can even begin to doubt him, he lets out a short breath, lifts his chin, and with the stern air of a soldier, strides forwards to offer Xena his arm.

And without hesitation, she takes it, smiling so wide and bright as she looks up at him that it makes Gurdet feel somewhat physically ill.

​Gods, she looks so happy .

​And while the lopsided grin Montrel sends back is meant to reassure her, somehow Gurdet finds himself feeling oddly reassured, too.

...

"This is unbelievable ."

​Rogard is honestly surprised that his father managed to hold his tongue until they were alone.

The moment Xena had stepped forward, his father’s expression had turned wrathful in the way he usually reserved for when they were alone. It’s a miracle no one else saw.

​" Did you know about this ?" he had hissed, gripping Rogard’s elbow so tight it had taken everything he had to keep his expression even.

His father hated it when he flinched. And Rogard must be a better actor than his friends give him credit for because whatever excuse he had come up with in that moment of panic had been just enough to make his grasp loosen.