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Explaining just what had gone wrong with Richard a few months ago was… difficult, to say the least.
The other world leaders from Strata and Fendel got the full story. They had helped enough to deserve it, and the more people in power knew about Lambda, the safer everyone was. As for the people, however… news spread fast, and rumors even faster. Lying would be bad, but too many details would carry with them their own dangers—of speculation and conjecture, and perhaps even fear.
“I don’t wish to frighten them again.” Richard said one day, eyes fastened down onto his gloved hands. “For a brief period, I was… a monster.”
Asbel shook his head, vehement. “You never were a monster. You just acted like one.”
He was pretty sure Hubert would dismiss the distinction as semantics, but those things weren’t the same. At least not to Asbel.
And Hubert wasn’t here, anyways. It was just Asbel and Richard standing in the throne room, Asbel’s eyes on him while Richard’s cast out the window.
“Asbel-“
Asbel set his jaw, certain. “You’re a good person, Richard. Don’t let yourself forget that.”
He could see it, in all the thousands of little ways Richard atoned—in the ice-packed crablettes he sent for Sophie in the mail, the royal decrees recognizing the work of Cheria’s relief organization, the generous Windor-Strata trade agreement he negotiated with Hubert. Asbel had to refuse a mountain of funds Richard nearly pushed into his hands.
“Please, Asbel. I am the one who invaded Lhant. It’s the least I can do-“
“Richard, you’ve already given money to-“ -his soldiers, the enemy soldiers he’d imprisoned, the knights, Strata, Fendel- “-just about everyone! Does the Royal Treasury have anything LEFT?”
That made Richard wince. “Not… really.”
Asbel bowed his head in respect, because what he was about to say next wasn’t very respectful at all.
“We can rebuild just fine on our own, your majesty. Let me take care of my people, and make sure you can take care of yours.”
“Asbel, I have a budget plan-“
“No.” Asbel shook his head. “I don’t need a thing from you, Richard.”
Richard tossed his hair behind his shoulder, huffing in frustration.
“I act not as your friend, Asbel. This comes in my official capacity-“
Asbel clenched his fists, eyes still trained pointedly on the floor.
“-and in my official capacity, I’m telling you Lhant has forgiven you. They’re always happy when you visit.”
When he dared to look up again, the frown had left Richard’s face. He almost seemed… surprised.
“They… are?”
“Your people love you, Richard.” Asbel said, firm.
Sure, there were some that doubted him, and some who disagreed with his policies. But this was nothing like how things had been during that campaign on Archduke Cedric, the thick cloying air of fear and suspicion. This was peace.
Asbel only heard good things about Richard when he was out—good things, and embarrassing things.
“Omigosh, did you see the king’s HAIR?” The woman walking ahead of them squealed, tugging at her companion’s arm.
“Yes.”
“It’s so shiny-! And his eyes, those LASHES! Do you think he does them?”
“I doubt he has the time.”
“UGH! JEALOUS! How can he be so handsome?”
“Asbel?”
“Huh?” Asbel glanced down at Sophie, who blinked up at him with wide eyes.
“Your cheeks are red.” She pointed with her spare hand, the one that wasn’t looped in with Asbel’s— to prevent her from getting lost in the marketplace.
“O-oh!” Asbel ran a hand through his hair. “Must be the heat…”
That wasn’t unusual. He got flustered whenever he heard gossip about Richard’s looks—which was surprisingly often. Or not surprisingly? Richard was handsome, Asbel could admit it. He’d come to a lot of the same observations himself.
In a good way! In a supporting-his-friend way! That was why he’d mentioned it, that one time.
“Your hair looks great today, Richard.” He’d said as they strolled around the outskirts of Barona, to the absolute astonishment of everyone around—including Richard himself.
“My… hair?” He tilted his head.
Why was he acting like he didn’t know what hair was, suddenly? It was only a compliment—and a true one, too!
Hubert pushed up his glasses. “Asbel, are you feeling alright?”
“What? It does, doesn’t it?” It wasn’t that weird of an observation!
Sophie pointed. “Shiny.”
“See? Thank you, Sophie!”
“Omigosh, Asbel!” Pascal jumped in. “Are you planning to grow your hair out? Y’know, I think you’d TOTALLY rock it!”
“GAH! No!” Asbel couldn’t imagine it. “It’d probably just get in the way when I fight. No way it’d be light and flowy like Richard’s.”
“Light, and… flowy…” Richard repeated, dumbfounded. He ran his fingers over a lock of it, examining—like he had to check Asbel’s work, or something. Jeez, was it really that hard to believe?
Hubert pinched the bridge of his nose. “Asbel, just why are you suddenly so fascinated with hair…?”
“Wh- I’m not!”
Everyone’s eyes bored into him.
Asbel rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s just… good to see Richard looking well. After everything.”
He hadn’t wanted to say that part aloud, because it only served as a reminder, one that sent everyone’s eyes tumbling down to the ground.
But that was why Asbel was constantly staring, constantly checking on him. He had to watch the color return to Richard’s face, the hazel-brown remain firm in his eyes.
“…dunno. Something’s just off about that Richard.”
Asbel’s ears pricked up. That drew him right out of the embarrassing memory.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on. You must’ve noticed how he acted only a few months ago-“
Asbel’s jaw twitched. Before he could charge forwards, Sophie grabbed his arm.
“…Asbel. Wait.”
“He’s changed!” The woman replied hotly. “He’s more than made up for everything.”
Asbel exhaled. Sophie was right. It was okay.
“Something’s still strange about him.” The man insisted. “I mean, just think about it. Have you ever seen him eat?”
“WHAT? That’s so specific!”
“I’m not kidding! Maybe he’s a vampire, or something-“
“Oooh, you think? That’d be even better! Not just a king, but a vampire king!”
Asbel let the conversation pass him by, pressing a hand to his face with a sigh. So it was just some nonsense.
Although… now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Richard eat recently. They’d attempted to share a few meals together since everything quieted down, but Richard was busy. He usually had to leave early.
“He likes apples.”
“Hmm?” Asbel looked back at Sophie. “Hey, how’d you know what I was thinking about?”
“Asbel. It’s obvious.” She huffed. “And he told me himself. He likes apples. Also, what’s a vampire?”
Better she was asking him than Captain Malik, at least, Asbel thought as he attempted to explain. That man would’ve tried to convince her they were real. Asbel was pretty sure the legend originated from Fendel, anyway, so he’d probably have all sorts of convincing details to share.
The conversation bubbled to the forefront of his mind again a week later, when he was visiting Windor for some national holiday anniversary of… something or other. Asbel was almost distracted by the glorious feast—all manner of roasted birds, and slow-simmered vegetables, and fresh cheeses—but ultimately, the sight of the spread reminded him to glance over and check on Richard.
He was standing up, talking to some ambassadors from Fendel. Not too weird… yet.
Asbel watched for a good twenty minutes, sipping from his water goblet as the crowd of dignitaries yanked Richard around. Finally, he’d had enough. He got up, slinging an arm around Richard’s.
“Sorry, everyone! I need to borrow Ri- King Richard, for a bit.”
“Asbel?” Richard whispered as Asbel led him away. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m giving you a chance to sit down.” Asbel even pulled out his chair, ushering him into it. “You haven’t eaten a thing all night!”
That made Richard laugh.
“Is that all? Asbel, I’m busy. Everyone here wants a chance to speak with the king.”
“Sure, but-“
“Your majesty.” An unfamiliar woman twirled at a lock of her hair. “I’m the representative from the guild.”
“Ah, Ms. Judith. Of course, I remember-“
And just like that, Richard was whisked away again. Asbel frowned.
Probably just busy. Probably not a vampire.
…but still a little weird, right?
Normally, Asbel left these sorts of gatherings the second he got bored, but this time he stayed for the entire thing. Hubert agreed to put Sophie to bed for him, though not without a little whining and huffing about Asbel ignoring his fatherly responsibilities to play spies.
By the time it was only him and Richard in the ballroom, the feast had been carried away long ago. Still, Richard hadn’t gone for any of the dessert, either.
“…Asbel?” Richard came over with a hand threading through his hair. “What are you still doing here?”
“Waiting for my chance to speak with the king.”
Richard’s mouth quirked up. “If I remember correctly, you had your chance—interrupting quite an important envoy from Strata, no less-“
“Yeah, well… I don’t feel like my point was heard.”
“Very well.” Richard held a fist to his chest. “I shall endeavor to listen, as I would for any citizen of the crown. Speak, Lord of Lhant.”
At least he was in a good mood. Asbel was glad to see it, even if he’d been teased for noticing that last time.
“…you must be exhausted.” Asbel finally said. “And starving.”
Richard’s head tilted.
“Oh, Asbel. You shouldn’t worry yourself on my account.”
“It’s like I told you. I’m right here for you.” Asbel tapped at his chest. “That means I’ll worry.”
“Events like this are always… hectic.” Richard’s gaze flicked off to the side, smile wan. “I prepare in advance. I ate a large lunch, and slept well… and I imagine I’ll sleep quite well tonight.”
“Hmm.” Asbel studied him.
Richard had always been a skinny guy. Asbel remembered being struck by it when they reunited in those dusty catacombs, but that had been war. Richard was stressed. Then he was possessed by Lambda… but what was it now? What was still troubling him? Why was he as bony as ever?
Maybe he was just forgetting to eat. The castle staff muttered sometimes about Richard working himself ragged. Dark circles clung to his eyes.
“You seem dissatisfied, Lord Lhant.” Richard pressed a hand to his chest again. “Pray tell, is there something more I could do for you…?”
“…yeah. I’d like to book a meeting for tomorrow.”
Richard’s hand brushed against his chin.
“Tomorrow is rather busy…”
“Perfect. Let’s meet for lunch, then. I can make it quick.”
“…ah.”
“What?” Asbel leaned in. “You were planning on having lunch tomorrow, weren’t you? Especially since you didn’t eat tonight…”
Richard sighed.
“I can make time for you, Asbel. I always do.” He smiled again. “Now, shouldn’t you be off to sleep…?”
He didn’t answer the question, but Asbel didn’t feel like pointing it out right then.
“Alright. Goodnight, Richard. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Asbel.”
Asbel could barely concentrate on sparring with Sophie the next morning, or listening to Hubert’s boring story about… something to do with the President. His eyes kept glancing over at every clock they could find, making sure he wouldn’t be late.
Asbel came ten minutes early. Richard was late.
Asbel sat alone in the too-cold dining room of Barona Castle, hands working over themselves as he waited. And waited.
When should he just go and drag Richard out of his office? He was king, sure, but he still had to eat! Surely the dignitaries and advisors would understand…?
Richard finally arrived around twenty minutes after they were supposed to meet, combing a haze of wayward hairs behind his ear.
“My apologies, Asbel. I didn’t mean to neglect you.”
He took a seat, and smiled, and didn’t move for any of the finger sandwiches or cakes—or his teacup, for that matter.
“You go first.” Asbel gestured towards the platter.
Richard held up a gloved hand.
“Nonsense. You are a guest, Asbel.”
“You’re king.”
“I insist.”
“So do I.”
Asbel met Richard’s eyes with a steely stare and a set jaw. He wasn’t backing down.
Richard’s eyes, meanwhile, flitted between him and the offerings.
“I’m not particularly-“
“-hungry?” Asbel finished for him. “After skipping dinner yesterday?”
Richard’s head tilted. “You don’t believe me?”
“I want to know why you aren’t eating anything!” Asbel finally snapped.
Richard flinched. Asbel hadn’t meant to get upset, but it was just so frustrating. Now that Asbel was really looking, he saw how Richard’s clothes hung off him. He’d always been skinny, but now he looked gaunt.
“I told you.” Richard faced the window. “I’m not hungry, Asbel.”
“Are you sick?” Asbel’s hands clenched at the tablecloth. “Or- is it some side effect after Lambda-“
It didn’t seem likely, but he needed an explanation. Something, anything-
Asbel looked up at the groan of chair legs scraping over the floor. Richard stood.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time. There’s much to be done-“
“Are you really going to try and leave now?” Asbel stood as well, as Richard strode towards the door. “Richard!”
He reached out, fingers clasping around Richard’s wrist, anchoring him in place. Richard made no attempt to wrest his hand free.
“Asbel-“
“I promised I’d be your sword, Richard, remember? I swore to bear your worries and your burdens for you.” Asbel’s fingers squeezed around Richard’s wrist.
This was probably improper. He was probably supposed to let go. He just didn’t want to.
“I can’t just stand and watch when something is clearly wrong. I’m worried. Let me protect you, please.”
Richard didn’t move. His eyes wouldn’t meet Asbel’s.
“You’ve done enough on my account.”
“I’m sticking by your side, Richard, no matter what. Just like I said I would.”
Yeah, this was definitely improper, but Asbel was feeling bold. He tugged Richard’s wrist towards him. Richard came with it.
“I care about you. Talk to me, Richard.”
Richard took a deep breath. His lips pursed.
“It makes me… nervous.”
“What does? Eating?”
Richard nodded. His eyes misted, suddenly far away, and his hands came up to hold his arms.
“My father died of poisoning.”
Asbel winced. How could he have been so stupid? Of course that was it.
“It nearly killed me… twice. If it hadn’t been for Lambda…” Richard’s voice trailed off. “It hardly mattered how careful I was, how many precautions I took. Everyone has to eat. That’s the brilliance of it.”
“Richard… you have no enemies here anymore.” Asbel reached out again, rounding his hand over Richard’s shoulder in a way he hoped was reassuring. “Cedric is dead. The knights are sworn to you. Your people love you.”
“I know that. But I can’t stop. The fear…” Richard flinched. “Every time I try to eat, my thoughts run rampant. I can’t help but wonder if each meal will be my last. I think of my father, of how suddenly he passed… and suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Richard…”
Asbel wanted nothing more than to pull Richard into his arms, to hold him near and show him everything was alright. But Richard was king, now. It wouldn’t be good etiquette.
They couldn’t be close like that, anymore.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I am king of Windor. It’s rather silly of me to be frightened of ghosts.” Richard’s smile was pained. “I hope you don’t think too lowly of me, now.”
“Richard. Never.” Propriety be damned, Asbel took Richard’s other shoulder with his spare hand, shaking him slightly, forcing their eyes to meet. “You’re strong, and brave, and this doesn’t change any of that. I just want to help you. There’s got to be a way.”
“It’s… alright.” Richard blinked, a little taken-aback. “I have uncooked foods, sometimes. Fresh fruit, or vegetables… those are harder to tamper with.”
“Sophie mentioned you like apples.” The reminder made Asbel smile. “But, Richard, that’s not enough. You should be having way more than that… for your health, and your happiness.”
“What do you propose?”
“Come with me to Lhant. We’ll figure this out together.”
Richard ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose I could spare… a day or two…”
“You can’t let him win, Richard.” Asbel squeezed his shoulders. “You can’t let him take this from you.”
Richard nodded to that.
He arrived at Lhant a week later without incident, much to Asbel’s relief. Richard had travelled lightly in order to conceal his visit, and it seemed like it’d worked. Even Sophie was surprised to see him tracking steps through the snow on the lawn, as she flung herself at him with a crushing hug.
He wouldn’t have to worry about assassination attempts here. No one had ever tried to kill Asbel or his father, and if no one knew Richard was here, nothing could possibly change.
Not that anyone was trying to kill Richard. Asbel had even checked with Duke Dalen before leaving Barona. No assassination attempts. Everything was quiet now.
Everything save for Richard’s mind.
“I always forget how much I love visiting Lhant.” Richard brushed the snow from his shoulders before he shrugged off his travelling cloak. “It’s so… peaceful.”
“I used to hate that about it.” Asbel said.
Richard’s mouth quirked up. “Oh, I remember.”
“It wasn’t even that boring back then. Now it is, though. We don’t even have Fendel making trouble at the border anymore.” Asbel scratched at his head. “But I suppose that’s a good thing right now. You’re perfectly safe here.”
“…thank you, Asbel. You always think of me.”
The corners of his eyes creased. When was the last time his smile had reached his eyes? Asbel couldn’t remember. It was a sight that made his heart feel light, for once.
“Come on. I cleared out the kitchen.” Asbel waved his friend over.
“…oh? We’re to eat already?”
A nervous tremor snuck into Richard’s voice. Asbel shook his head.
“Not exactly. See, I thought we could make something ourselves. That way you know it’s safe to eat.”
“You would send the king to the kitchens?”
“That’s right. Roll up your sleeves, your majesty.”
Richard laughed. Asbel searched out two aprons, putting one on and tossing the other to Richard, who was busy tying his hair into a ponytail. The sight made Asbel’s mouth go a little dry, so he occupied himself poking at the oven fire.
“The cooks said it goes out sometimes when it’s snowing like this.” He explained to Richard. Powder still pelted at the kitchen window, thick and pristine white.
“I see.” Richard leaned over the counter, head resting on his hands. “What’s on the menu today, Chef Asbel?”
“The very finest bread Lhant has to offer.” Asbel paired his words with a sweeping bow. “…I didn’t want to risk getting you sick with raw meat or something, so… bread it is.”
“Have you… cooked before, Asbel?”
“Nope!” Asbel beamed. “I figured we could learn together! So nobody feels bad.”
Richard sighed. “The blind leading the blind…”
“What were you saying?”
“Oh, nothing at all.”
Asbel squinted at the recipe. This cookbook was old, tucked away in a corner of his father’s old study, but bread couldn’t have changed that much, right? It was bread.
“Okay, first thing… flour.”
It took him and Richard together to lug over the giant sack. They pitched it over the counter, spilling a pile of it over.
“…that looks like enough.”
“Aren’t you supposed to measure it?”
“I think it’s more of an… instinct thing.”
“Mhm.”
Asbel elected to ignore Richard’s doubting hum in favor of looking up the next ingredient. When he looked up again, however, he could barely hold back his laughter.
The cloud of flour that had puffed up when they set down the sack had concentrated entirely on Richard’s face and head. He’d turned a pale, dusty shade of white, and the sight of Richard so uncomposed tugged at something in Asbel’s heart.
Richard shifted over, hand on his hip. “…something funny?”
“Just you.”
Asbel leaned in, brushing flour off the bridge of Richard’s nose. Richard’s hand copied the motion.
“Ah. Flour?”
“All over your head.” Asbel nodded. “You look like a snowman.”
Richard shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Well, at least we match.”
DAMMIT! Asbel hurriedly swiped at his own hair and face. That made Richard nearly double over laughing.
He didn’t want to look stupid in front of Richard! He was important, and dignified, and smart—
“Oh, Asbel, you missed a spot.”
“Where?”
“Here.” Richard’s eyes glimmered, and his mouth twitched as he flung a pinch of flour at Asbel.
“GAH! RICHARD!”
The king of Windor laughed and laughed as Asbel scrubbed at his face again. It was a good thing Asbel had gotten them both aprons, or he’d be stuck trying to figure out how to launder flour out of Richard’s royal dress shirt.
“…salt.” Asbel finally grumbled. “We need salt.”
Just a pinch or two, which Richard measured out dutifully, brown eyes narrowed in concentration. He also poured in a dash of oil, and a spoonful of yeast as Asbel gathered a bowl of water from the pump.
“Okay. Now we have to make a well in the center to pour the water into.”
“A well?” Richard’s brow furrowed. “Like this?”
His fingers traced a circle around the center of the pile of flour.
“No, more like this.”
Asbel’s hands dove in, digging a hole in the center of the pile. Richard caught on quickly, shifting the flour over with his own hands.
In such a small space, their fingers were bound to brush together. When they did, a warm jolt of electricity ran down Asbel’s arm. He yelped, hands flying back.
“Sorry!”
“Is… something wrong?” Richard frowned down at his hands.
He was probably thinking of Sophie, and Lambda, but Asbel was pretty sure it wasn’t that complicated. He racked his mind for an excuse.
“No, it’s just that—” What could he say about Richard’s hands? Other than that they were soft, and still warm despite the blanket of snow outside—“I’ve- never seen you without your gloves before.”
“Well, I could hardly wear them in the kitchen.”
“Yeah. Obviously.” Asbel’s cheeks were heating up. “A-anyways, I think we can pour in the water now!”
The mountain of flour formed an effective dam, holding the influx of water back from spilling over onto the counter.
“Now we scoop in the flour to form a dough.” Asbel read from the recipe book.
“Like this?”
Richard cupped a handful of flour and dropped it into the well of water. It hit the puddle with a pathetic little splash, and he frowned.
“That didn’t seem right.”
“No, I think it’s supposed to come from the sides.”
Experimentally, Richard brushed flour from the top of the pile down into the well. It floated like the first scoop.
“Yeah, a bit like that. And then you mix it in. Like this.”
Clearly, Richard needed more guidance. Asbel grasped at his hands, helping him shift the wall of flour into the pool, stirring in a circle until the wet and dry ingredients formed a dough.
“Amazing.” Richard said.
“Hubert and I used to play in the kitchens, sometimes. I’d watch them bake bread when I was hiding, so I know some of the steps.”
“Not the bread, Asbel. I’m impressed that you could bear to touch me.” Richard’s smirk turned smug.
“Oh!” Asbel hadn’t even realized. He was pretty sure he was bright red now. “Well- that’s-“
Richard’s eyes cast down, face suddenly serious again.
“I understand. Much about my behavior lately has been… repulsive.”
“No! It’s not that!” Actually, it was much the opposite. Asbel was starting to fear that he liked holding Richard’s hand… a little too much. “It’s not. You’ve got nice hands, Richard.”
“…oh? You think so?”
Not good. A mischievous edge snuck into in his smile. Asbel held up his own hand, to head Richard’s teasing off.
“See? I’ve got this scar, here.” Asbel pointed, where his palm met his thumb. “But your hands are all smooth… probably thanks to the gloves.”
“Hmm. That is troubling.” Richard stroked at his chin as he came over, taking Asbel’s hand and examining the injury in question. “You know, some say the touch of the king carries with it divine healing powers.”
“They… do?”
Was it that far-fetched? Cheria had those powers thanks to Sophie. Maybe Richard had picked something up, too.
All of Asbel’s thoughts and theories were swiftly forgotten as Richard leaned in, pressing his lips to Asbel’s hand. Asbel was fairly certain he’d never have another thought again, except for whoa and is this really happening and his lips are so soft.
Richard’s eyes flicked back up through his lashes. “Feel any better?”
Asbel’s throat was really, really dry. He swallowed. He couldn’t let Richard get him all flustered like this!
“Do you actually believe that?” He finally croaked.
“Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to kiss your hand.” Richard drew back with a wink.
Did he just like getting Asbel flustered? Did he know he was handsome? He must, with all the merchandise he sold, but still…! Asbel ground his teeth.
“Knead.” He said.
“What do you need?” Richard’s ponytail shifted as his head turned.
“KNEAD. With a K. The dough.” Asbel pointed to it, and Richard nodded.
“Right away!”
Asbel shouldn’t have been surprised that Richard’s kneading technique was awful. He was a king, after all—not a baker.
“I think you’re supposed to push in with the heels of your hands.” Asbel said. “Like this.”
He mimed the motion, but that didn’t help. Richard still pulled clumsily at the dough, more like he was stirring it.
“I fear it’s no use.” He sighed. “You really ought to come here and show me.”
Asbel did, but as he reached out for Richard’s hands, suspicion washed over him.
“Hey. Are you faking not knowing how to knead?”
“Me?” Richard batted his eyelashes. “Asbel, would you dare accuse the king of telling untruths?”
Asbel scratched at his head. “Well…”
“…you’d be right if you did.”
“I KNEW IT!”
Asbel ducked down to the sack of flour, rising up to throw a pinch at Richard. He just kept laughing.
“I thought you said we could learn together! Teach me, Asbel.”
“Well, now that you’re being honest.” Asbel huffed.
He placed his hands on top of Richard’s to guide them, but Asbel wasn’t any good at kneading, either, and especially not while he was scared of pressing too hard on Richard’s hands. He shifted off of them, moving aside to really work at the dough.
Richard just leaned back, content to watch. When Asbel was satisfied, he grabbed a towel and flung it over top of their dough ball.
“Now we wait.”
“…not your strongest suit.”
“I’m patient now!” Asbel protested. “…and it’s only about an hour. Besides, it’s different when I’m with you.”
“Oh?” Richard’s head tilted. “What do you mean by that, Asbel?”
“You’re my best friend. Being around you is always nice.” Asbel’s cheeks were red again, hot to the touch when he pressed his hand against them.
What had him so flustered today? He had to change the subject.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Who, me?”
“Who else is here?”
That made Richard chuckle.
“I’m alright, Asbel. So much has improved, now… it would be foolish for me to complain.”
“It wouldn’t.” Asbel shook his head. “Everything that happened… it’s still affecting you. You can’t help that.”
“It was my fault to begin with.” The smile didn’t leave Richard’s face, but it faded slightly, reserved and polite. “I don’t deserve your pity.”
“It’s not pity!” Asbel snapped. “I care about you, and you need help right now. Let me help, Richard.”
Richard’s face tilted down, eyes falling to the floor.
“…yes. I know. Thank you, Asbel.”
A faraway look came over him again, as if his mind had gone all the way to Fodra. Asbel hated to see him look so lost. Even though Asbel was right here, right by his side, Richard still looked like he was all alone.
The flour Asbel had flung at him earlier clumped up in his bangs. Now it looked like the snow outside, like Richard frozen solid.
Asbel reached out to brush it away. He combed his fingers through Richard’s hair, but gently, slowly, so not to startle his friend.
It didn’t help much. The flour fell down to dust at his nose.
“Sorry.” Asbel brushed his fingers across Richard’s face, dancing over his cheeks. “I got flour on your face again.”
Richard didn’t jolt away like he was expecting. He leaned further in, actually, until their noses nearly touched. All Asbel could see were his eyes—a familiar brown once more, a tawny shade like tree bark in springtime.
“No need to apologize, Asbel.”
“Oh.”
Asbel’s hands hovered, not quite drawing away from Richard’s cheeks just yet. But he leaned closer, close enough for Asbel’s nose to flood with the scent of sage and cloves, close enough for him to feel the warmth of Richard’s breath—
“Asbel?” The word hung off Richard’s tongue, in that warm way he said it sometimes—
“Yeah?” Asbel was suddenly breathless, and his mouth had gone totally dry—
“Your majesty?”
Asbel leapt back as the door swung open, leg slamming painfully against the countertop. He hissed in pain, and Richard ran a hand through his hair as though nothing had happened at all.
“Yes?”
“I’ve come with an urgent message from Duke Dalen. He needs you to approve this application at your earliest convenience.”
“Of course.”
Asbel was pretty sure his face was the same color as his hair by now. But still, he had to say something.
“You have to work even while you’re here?” He asked. His voice scratched against his throat.
Richard’s smile was wan. “I am king, after all. Would you come fetch me once our bread is ready?”
“Alright, sure.” Asbel’s mouth still felt intolerably dry, no matter how many times he swallowed.
Richard’s smile brightened as he reached the door, as he paused to look back at Asbel.
“I trust you.”
They were the very words Asbel had been longing to hear, but he very nearly missed them entirely. His head was still spinning as the door clicked shut behind Richard.
He wanted Richard back, because he always did—treasured every moment spent with him—but something felt different about it all now. Something warm cushioned around Asbel’s heart, shielding him from the cold outside.
Asbel tried to get some work done as well, but the Lhant budget just kept fading out of his mind, replaced with Richard, Richard, and more Richard. He was all Asbel could think of, replaying that moment where he had come close enough to touch, warm and solid and real.
Asbel pressed his face into his hands. Just what was going on between them?
The budget ended up unreviewed by the time the bread had risen, and Asbel slotted it into the oven. He wasn’t good enough to put a fancy design on it, but maybe he’d learn one day. For Richard, he would learn.
Asbel kept a watchful eye on the loaf as it baked, because there was no way he could let it burn after they’d done all this. That only meant more time for Asbel’s eyes to wander to the snowfall outside, and his mind to wander to King Richard.
How was he so poised and graceful? Even when he was joking around, he carried himself with an air of regality. Asbel supposed he was the king, but still. It forced Asbel’s mind to lock onto him, consumed by the thrill of being near him.
The world just felt brighter when Richard was around. Asbel was glad to be able to help him, to stand solid and be his rock. Asbel had chased Richard around the world to save him. What was one loaf of bread?
At long last, around an hour or so later, he finally knocked on the door to the guest bedroom with a fresh slice in hand. Richard’s voice came through muffled.
“Come in!”
Richard got up to sit at the tea-table with his usual grace, but this time Asbel caught the twitch in his smile as he looked down at the plate of food.
“You’ll be okay, Richard.” Asbel leaned across the table, encouraging. “I won’t let you die.”
Richard’s eyes flickered again, suddenly distant.
“Richard? Uh, hello? Talk to me.”
The chill from outside must’ve been seeping into the room. That was the only explanation for the frosty sensation pricking at Asbel’s skin as Richard’s eyes flicked downwards.
“…I was meant to die that day in the catacombs, when I was eleven.”
“What? Richard, no-“
“It’s the truth. It’s only thanks to Lambda that I breathe now. If he hadn’t happened to be there, and chosen to intervene… my life would have ended that day.” Richard’s gloved fingers brushed against his lips.
“That’s not the right way to think about that at all!” Asbel argued hotly. “You weren’t supposed to die. That wasn’t fate, or destiny, or anything like that. It was Cedric. He made a decision to kill you. But he’s not in charge of that. He didn’t even get to be king. So he doesn’t get to define your life. You do.”
Asbel pushed the plate towards Richard. Richard’s head tilted, hair shifting with it. He’d never taken it down from the ponytail.
It looked nice.
“I wonder about that.” He said, but it wasn’t melancholy in his eyes—it was something softer, something like admiration.
“Eat.”
Richard stared down at the slice of bread. He exhaled, long and shuddering, and closed his eyes. Even without his sight, he was able to take the slice in his hand and lift it to his lips.
Richard chewed slowly.
“…how is it?” Asbel asked.
Richard’s eyes opened again, and an apologetic smile tugged at his mouth.
“…terrible.”
“What?!”
“It’s awfully dry, and very… compact. Did it rise at all?” Richard peered down at it, amused.
“That’s not very nice. Let me-“
Asbel broke off a piece, but he almost spat it out. It was dry enough to crumble in his mouth, and a little charred on the bottom.
“Okay, yeah, it’s terrible.”
His expression must’ve been good, because Richard laughed again. Asbel savored the sound.
“Maybe it was too cold, and the yeast died…” Asbel scratched at his head. “Ugh. I should’ve practiced.”
“It’s alright, Asbel.”
Richard was brave enough to keep eating. Asbel was pretty sure he’d personally have assumed the awful taste was from at least three different kinds of poison. Or maybe Richard figured no one would bother poisoning bread so terrible?
“It’s not alright. I’m supposed to be protecting you.” Asbel sighed. “But it will be alright. I’ll make sure it is. I’ll bake a thousand loaves if it means you’ll feel better.”
The next thing Asbel knew, something tugged violently at his jacket collar. They were Richard’s hands, he realized a little too late, as Richard’s mouth collided with his.
Asbel yelped a little, startled by the sudden kiss. Still, it was nice. Richard smelled as fresh and fragrant as ever, and he radiated warmth, unlike the chill seeping into the room.
But…
“What’s wrong?” Richard breathed as he pulled back a little, forehead resting against Asbel’s.
“…you taste like bad bread now.”
Richard laughed so hard his forehead collided with Asbel’s. Asbel couldn’t possibly care. His brains were already scrambled by the kiss.
“Want to try again?”
Asbel wasn’t sure if he was talking about the kiss or the bread. It didn’t matter. His answer was the same either way.
“Absolutely.”