Chapter 328: A Hand.

Chapter 328: Chapter 328: A Hand.

The mess hall is abuzz when they arrive, because if it wasn’t enough that the rumours about Montrel and the Crown Princess that had been swirling around the training ground for days had just been confirmed, Gandy is busy giving a play by play of the afternoon’s shenanigans to anyone who will listen.

Which is everyone.

​The servants had done a decent job in cleaning up the mess, but not before enough soldiers had seen to wonder what exactly had gone down.

​"You gotta hear this," he’s busy crowing, and slaps Loac on the back so hard he almost drops his dinner.

He looks so confused that Khobi wants to laugh, but Gandy continues like he’s done nothing unusual, "Captain here fuckin’ saved Montrel’s life ."

From the look that gets passed around the table, there’s an overarching sense of disbelief.

But Gandy is persistent and animated, and the fact that Montrel is there to corroborate lends credibility to the story.

​"Ah shit, you should’ve seen it," Gandy grins maniacally, and Loac spills some of his stew as he gets jostled again.

This time Khobi does laugh. " Smacked a knife out of midair. Never seen anything like it."

​All eyes shift to look over at their prince; rumpled and bloodstained.

​"...Ah," Loac says awkwardly when he notices them staring, "...Was nothin’."

​" Nothing , he says," Gandy snorts, "It was so fucking cool."

​...

​" Ugh ," Loac declares, throwing himself down on the bed and letting out a long groan. It pains him to admit it, but Khobi’s never related to him more.

Hissing in discomfort, he limps on in after him and sinks down onto the chest at the end of the bed to take some of the strain off his aching knee.

He hurts , and while he’s pretty used to that sort of thing, there’s a real difference between sparring, and going up against someone who actually wants to hurt you.

​It’s been a while.

​(Khobi knows which one he prefers.)

​"...Blow out the candles," Loac demands childishly, voice muffled from having stuffed his face into his pillow.

​"-- Hey , what are you doing? At least have a bath first," Khobi complains as Loac starts peeling back the blankets of the bed; clearly about to just climb on in, bloodied clothes and all.

It’s unbelievable really; he spent years going to sleep grimy and now he cares about getting dirt on his sheets?

​(Come to think of it, maybe all those years are why he loves sleeping in fresh sheets.)

​"I just got bandaged up," Loac drawls, "If I have a bath it’ll just need to be done again."

He’s not wrong. The infirmary matrons are sticklers about things like that, and gods help the men who dare to not only undo their fresh handiwork, but also ask them to redo it.

Even worse if you wind up back there because you disobeyed their orders and something got infected.

They’ll treat it all right, but it won’t be gentle, and you won’t feel good about yourself. Regardless, Khobi’s going to wash up.

The infirmary’s cleared enough of the blood and dirt away that the open wounds won’t get infected, but there’s still plenty stuck on his skin that he’d seriously like gone.

​Or he would wash up, if he knew how the bath worked.

​Which he doesn’t .

​Predictably, just staring at the empty tub does nothing to help, and in the end Khobi has to begrudgingly settle for the next best thing; a bucket of cold water and a cloth.

Which is seriously miserable .

The water is as fucking bitter as the evening air outside, and Khobi curses himself through gritted teeth as he starts wiping down his arms.

Binny’s been running baths for him for months ; would it have killed him to pay attention once ?

​A bath would’ve been fucking amazing right now, and not just because he loves a long soak.

Just getting his shirt off over his head with how stiff his arms and abdomen feel had been a trial, and now the cold water’s making him feel like his muscles are made of stone. Which would be a blessing, in a way.

Stone wouldn’t feel the cold.

​" Ugggggghhh ," Khobi groans, gritting his teeth and letting out another hiss as he makes another pass over his right arm.

Too slow and stiff to catch them, trickles of icy water escape down his side; so cold they sting and make him shiver, and catching on the bandages he’d been trying his best to avoid getting wet.

"Ah, fuck ." It has little impact on the grimy feeling to his skin.

​A third attempt yields much the same results, without making much of a dent in the dirt.

​"What are you doing?" Loac’s voice inquires flatly, and Khobi looks up from the ominous and obviously damp bandages wrapped around his midriff to find him.

​"What does it look like?" he heaves crossly, shoving his cloth back in the bucket and setting his jaw as his hand plunges right back into the icy water.

​"...Making a mess," he states, gaze dropping to the pool of water dripping its way off Khobi to the floor.

He’s got a point there; it really feels like there’s more water on the floor than on him at this point.

Not that he’s gonna admit that.

Khobi just huffs and grimaces as he gives up on his arms and tries for his neck instead.

​Water spills everywhere, and Khobi swallows another curse as it’s sharp bite sinks into him; coursing down along his collarbones and dripping off his shoulders.

​In the doorway, Loac sighs.

​"Gimme that," he growls, striding forwards. Instinctively, Khobi steps back, right into the edge of the bath.

"What?" Loac demands, thrusting a hand out towards him, only for Khobi to stare at it like he’s never seen one in his life –for so long in fact, that Loac starts to look annoyed. "...You want a hand or not?"

​A hand ?

​Bewildered, Khobi’s gaze shifts to the sopping wet cloth clenched in his hand.

Because surely he’s not suggesting what Khobi thinks he’s suggesting?

​But from the more insistent, slightly more irritated way he proffers his hand, he really is.

​And the correct answer is or not .