Requiem for a King [MxM]

To Avaly

Quintus awoke to thunder pounding through his head and someone prodding his cheek. He groaned, rolled over, and hit the ground with a smack that knocked the wind from him. Gods, what unholy concoction had he shoved down his gullet this time?

He opened his eyes and found a pair of boots staring back at him, shiny and black and smelling of polished leather.

"Come on, buddy. I have to get started on Lady Ansel's breakfast and you're blocking the flour."

He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, and the swirls in the wood started spinning. His stomach churned, and he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing until the bout passed. Little by little, he worked his way up onto his feet, and held onto the kitchen's island for stability.

The chef—a portly man with greying black hair and deep-set dark eyes—gave him a pitying look. "Go on and sit on that stool over there. I'll whip ya up something for that hangover."

"Thanks." Quintus dumped himself on the stool. It was set up in front of a cutting board flanked by wicker baskets and a block of knives. While the chef bustled around the kitchen, he did his best to keep the contents of his stomach in check.

Some moments later, the chef dropped a hunk of bread and a cup of steaming liquid in front of him. "That should calm your stomach."

Quintus nibbled his way through the bread, then held his nose and gulped down the concoction. The roiling in his stomach calmed, and his headache lightened a touch. Much of the previous night was a blur. He remembered storming out of the south loft after Gavrael's revelation—well, Jaredeth's revelation. Betrayal still twisted his gut, even a full night later.

He'd trudged all the way to the west gate of Ewell with full intentions of leaving him behind. And yet he couldn't. It didn't feel right walking alone, not having Gav at his side. Gods fucking damn it all. He'd done the one thing he promised himself he would do. He'd gotten attached, and of course it came back to bite him.

What did he expect for Gavrael to turn out to be someone he could take to his bed and not feel shame about it in the morning?

Who was he kidding? That was exactly what he'd expected. Fate, you ruthless whore.

Quintus looked at the dregs of tea in his mug. He'd wandered the village for hours after, before returning to the manor. And since he could bear to be in the same room as Gavrael, he'd come down to the kitchen and asked for something that would put him in a stupor.

And by the gods, they'd delivered, because he remembered nothing beyond taking his first pull from the bottle. If only it had erased the whole day. He felt as though he'd lost a friend, like Gavrael had died and his evil twin Jaredeth had come to take his place.

It felt strange not waking up next to him, or with him in close proximity at least. Or shaking him awake so they could pack up and be on their way. It had been years since he'd kept company with anyone who wasn't Octavia and Celesta, and while he loved his friends, they weren't his brand of eye candy.

Quintus stood and grabbed his cross from the back door, and headed out into the first light of day. The sun's rays pierced his eyes like daggers, harkening what was sure to be a miserable day. The stench of horse shit led him to the stables, where Lady Ansel had asked to meet him at first light.

He met her boosting her son up onto the enclosure's fence so he could feed a carrot to a red mare. "Good morrow," he greeted before dumping himself on a hay bale.

"You look terrible," she said as she reached over to stroke the mare's mane. "Where's your beaux?"

Quintus coughed. "Beaux? I'm afraid you're mistaken."

"Oh, I don't think I am." She helped Kalix down and he went running off towards the stables. "I see the way you two steal glances at one another. You're not fooling anyone."

His stomach turned. Under different circumstances—maybe Gavrael still being ignorant to his own history—he may have entertained the notion. But knowing what he knew now, he wanted to retch and not because of the alcohol.

"Well, I'm sure he'll be down soon enough." She nodded to the stable boy who walked down the dirt path leading two horses—a honey coloured stallion and a jet black mare. "I thought you could use some help on your journey, wherever it may take you."

Quintus' eyebrows shot up. He was expecting some dumb trinket, not something actually useful. "This is... a very big help."

"'Tis the least I can do. My village still stands and my son lives because of you and your friend. Two horses pale in comparison." She pulled off her riding gloves. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a breakfast meeting to prepare for. Godspeed Quintus."

"Thank you, milady." He tipped his head in a bow. When Lady Ansel disappeared in his wake, he took the reins of the mare and stroked her neck. "My, you are a beauty."

"She is."

Quintus' shoulders tensed as Gavrael stood alongside him. He was hoping he'd still be asleep, to slip away unnoticed.

Gavrael took the reins of the stallion. "Hey. I know you're angry, and your anger is warranted, but..."

Quintus pretended not to pay attention and continued checking over his horse. Angry wasn't how he'd describe his emotions. Hurt and betrayed fit the bill a little better. On the one hand, Gavrael could help who he was, on the other, why did he have to be king of the forbidden city?

"Could you, perhaps, suggest somewhere else for me to go that's not Avaly?" he asked.

Quintus paused combing through the mare's mane with his fingers.

"I don't think it would be wise for me to return there, king or not, considering they tried to kill me."

"Who exactly are 'they?'" Quintus asked before he could think better of it.

"The Divine City, or the High priest rather, as an extension of their power. He sent one of his priests with me on my trip to Tandridge, said he needed to meet with the High Priest there. It's a uh..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a long story, and you probably just want me to shut up so you can be on your way, so." He sighed. "As you were."

Quintus finally looked at Gavrael. This man was supposed to be a king, and yet he looked even more lost and tired than when he woke up in the abandoned city all those days ago. And if he was telling the truth, if the Divine City tried to kill him, it meant they were trying to assert their authority in this region—it wouldn't be the first time they resorted to a full on coup to do it.

Which would be in direct opposition to the council he'd given to King Rakki. Which would in turn mean there could be a struggle for power in this region between the Divine City and the Archives, a prime opportunity for the Calamity to swoop in and blindside them all. Unless he did something about it. But he'd have to act fast and alone. Damn it. He should at least assess the situation first, then decide where to go from there. Maybe catch a boat to Tandridge and meet with Octavia.

Quintus mounted his horse. "Long story, huh? Well, it's a good thing we have a long way to go."

Gavrael looked up at him, brows knitted. "To go where?"

"To Avaly."