Oly wondered if he should mentally refer to the king as LonDwuat, or the literal translation: The Conqueror.

“I was expecting a gift, but I didn’t expect him to have the audacity to give me a confidant. Honestly.” LonDwuat shook his head as he spoke to his advisor, keeping up a fast stride. His considerably shorter attendant was keeping an admirable pace, but it was clear that his power-walk wouldn’t be tenable for long. Oly willfully kept his distance, being only a few centimeters shorter than the king and possessing oddly longer legs. He knew he should be trying to endear himself as soon as possible, but he was curious where he stood in the king’s eyes. Listening to this rant seemed to be the best way to find out. It took him a moment to remember why Hesiat might be irritated with the gift of a slave at all, especially when the king's own country was engaged with the trade as well. Oly's home wasn't, so the nuances of turning people into objects were lost on him. Then it hit him.

Sundenta had a ritual every 20 years to offer slaves a path to freedom, and giving a slave trained to forge long-term intimacy and keep secrets flew in the face of that sentiment. The rallying point for the war, in fact, was this difference in a slave’s rights, so Vendon’s gesture bordered on insult.

“If I use you, then I would be in danger if you decided to go-" Oly looked up from his ponderings with surprise, “If I don’t, then I insult Kishalon and do you a disservice.” LonDwuat looked over his shoulder to gauge Oly’s reaction to the conundrum, so he sent the king a playful, knowing smile.

“It’s not a disservice to sit with you, my king. Surely you won’t reveal ancient secrets by talking about the weather. Or shall I read to you?” He teased, not missing a beat. LonDwuat smirked, and Oly could feel a moment of tension—either he reeled the man in, or the line would snap, so Oly picked up the pace to be closer to his owner’s side.

“You can read?” LonDwuat chuckled. Oly grinned.

“I have more history than most know, literacy lies among it.”

“What kind of education have you had?”

Oly winked at him. “Perhaps we can maintain a balance of ancient secrets, my king. It only matters insofar as I can entertain you.”

“Entertain me?” LonDwuat raised a brow. Oly drew in as close as he could without disturbing his advisor. “What, can you juggle?”

Oly sighed dramatically. “Oh, if only I hadn’t skipped that class.”

“Sing?”

“That one too! The birds tried to teach me, but I was only in attendance for the ravens.”

“Dance.” LonDwuat’s voice was flat with impatience.

“I have been in the habit of practicing that one, at least.” He was mostly experienced with ballroom dances, both leading and being led, so he had a good sense of rhythm in his bones. His natural desire to be seen and heard meant he easily picked up the style meant for slaves to entertain guests with. Slow, sensual, hypnotic. Killer on the abs and thighs.

“Can you do anything other than read and practice dancing?”

“My king, you wound me.” He gave an imploring look to the attendant, who gratefully lagged behind so Oly could take his place on LonDwuat’s left. His voice deepened to a sultry purr, “I can keep a bed warm.”

LonDwuat looked away. “I have no interest in sleeping with a stranger.”

Oly held a hand to his chest, indignant. “I only think of your warmth, my king! Surely you understand an Aosan’s concern.”

“At this time of year? I have no use for warmth.”

“Under crueler suns, by raging fires, still, frost bites without your company.” Oly recited, taking in the other’s surprise. If Vendon would be so neglectful as to never give Oly a lowborn, unassuming identity, then he would use his classical education as he damn well pleased.

“Lionel, correct?” The king guessed.

“Correct! We all need warmth, my king. I’m happy to give you my company.”

LonDwuat snorted, though his eyes softened. “You can certainly recite poetry at me.”

“Exactly!” Oly met cynicism with earnestness. “Please, give my services a chance.” He reached out to touch LonDwuat’s arm, who moved it away with a pointed look. Ah, maybe too soon for Sir No-Strangers-In-Bed. Oly’s smile never wavered, only growing gentler from the gesture, as he bowed his head. “Apologies, my king. I only think of your satisfaction.” With that, he fell back and let the conversation lie.

The attendant took his place again with a nod to Oly as he passed.

Oly wasn’t addressed again for the rest of the walk. Although he paid mind to the conversations between LonDwuat and the other two, it didn’t seem to be anything of importance to him, so he only had a half a brain on them. The other half was on looking at the rose bushes standing guard by the path, vibrantly blue and iridescent to show off the organic magic Vendon could afford. He admired the ivy growing on artfully carved trellises, curled over the cobblestone walkway so its vines could give temporary shelter from the sun, though now the moonlight played on leaves like hammered gold. When they grew closer to the gate and the garden paths fell away, hedges lined the way out instead. They started low and got higher as they walked, trimmed to look like the currents of a brook with all its waves and eddies. The palace was tainted, but all this effort was probably the gardener’s pride and joy, not the work of the monsters within. He wanted to admire the veneer of “the evil he knew” before he was whisked away to yet another evil he didn’t.

LonDwuat spoke directly to Oly again when they reached the carriages, which really should have stopped catching him off-guard. “I don’t know why I asked you if you could dance.” The king remarked thoughtfully. Oly tilted his head to the side as the man hoisted himself up into the carriage car, a playful look in his eye. “From what I’ve seen, you move just fine.” He winked at Oly, then left him staring at the closed door. He felt more than a little lost as the attendant escorted Oly to his own car at the back of the caravan.