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When Gil ended up in another reality not his, it was far from dramatic.
There was no surge of power in the form of a mysterious portal that swallowed him whole or a sudden glow or rip in the skies. One moment he was leaving a cleared labyrinth, the next he found himself in the alley of two buildings, shadow casting over him and his confusion.
How had he been sure it was a different world? He wasn’t, not really; at first he had assumed that that labyrinth was the type to drop you off at any location.
But then he started roaming around the open streets with no such destination, only looking for clues as to where he had been misplaced. The lively market atmosphere shifted upon his first step, people looked him up and down— avoiding his path like he was a plague embodied, stall owners quieted down in his vicinity, mothers dragged their children out of the way with fear in their eyes.
All were reactions Gil was used to receiving, he thought none of it and attempted to approach one of the stalls— but not even a word left his mouth when the vendor behind it burst in panic, screaming words muddled to his ears. It didn’t help that the vendor’s shouts triggered a chain reaction amongst the market crowd.
Due to Lady Fortune abandoning all hope on him, he discovers that he might have landed himself in a kingdom. As people equipped with swords and rich garments (seemingly knights) suddenly approach him in the midst of the panic, look him up and down before arresting him on the spot.
He was strong enough to resist, but taking a look at his surroundings tells him that there were no nearby exits he could excuse himself out of. And wanting no trouble upon a kingdom, he let himself be apprehended.
That’s how Gil found himself forcefully pushed to the ground on his knees, head bowed towards rich lavender carpets beneath him as the leading knight spoke to someone presumably at a fair distance in front of them.
“State your purpose.” A voice devoid of interest says, with a pause, before it hummed.
Ah, now that he was listening carefully, Gil could recognize a few words out of the muddled sounds. How strange, it was similar to the language he was familiar with yet far from it simultaneously.
“And explain to me why there is a man kneeling on my floors?”
The inquiry, partnered a tone that felt condemning, had sent the knights quivering in place, he could hear them shake in fear from where he’s positioned.
Seeing how the walls of this room were lavished with flags and furs—alongside its thousands of shelves bearing books that could kill a man (or men) with its population— the authority in front of him must be a high-ranking nobleman, what with the fancy insignia embroidered everywhere which Gil could identify as a similar style that royals often adorned.
”Your Grace, we found this suspicious man amidst the panic in the central market. Upon further interrogation it seems he holds no official documents of identification or permits of passage.”
Had Gil been given a chance to (or really, had the language comprehension to,) he’d have already explained his god-awful situation to them. But then again, who would really believe statements like “I’ve come from another world that isn’t yours” or “I was dropped into your world for no reason”?
He would have been labeled a mad man and chased off the streets without being brought to this nobleman’s porch.
(Wait, that might actually sound better?)
A minute of silence strung across the room, only the quiet ‘tik, tok, tik’ of the grand clock somewhere relieved them of total deafness. Finally, after what Gil assumed was the nobleman examining his person, he spoke.
”Truly suspicious, is he?” He says with mirth, similar to a teacher’s sarcasm.
”So he’s an illegal immigrant, why have you not approached the local magistrate first? This isn’t an urgency that I have the patience to entertain.”
The leading knight stuttered, probably caught off guard by the nobleman's swift dismissal. As the man's poor attempt of speaking filters out of his ears, something lit up Gil's thoughts. Was it fear? (Most definitely not). Was it confusion? It was a feeling he often associated with that of his adventurous tendencies, yet he could not put a name for it.
This man–- the nobleman in front of him, had a voice soft like fabric but lacked the color to make it pop, his tongue bore knives, yet his words do not put blame on any of them particularly. It was a spiel of contradiction that led him to no destination. Gil could not place this nobleman into any of his personal category; does he dislike him? Is he tolerable?
Whilst the knights continued to fluster, silently he tilted his head upward, slowly, slowly, his eyes chasing the shadow of the nobleman in front of him.
The loud 'tong!' of the great clock resounds through the room as it strikes noon.
There he is gifted with the sight of the nobleman seated at a study table, at the very center of the room where the light seeped through the stained glass behind him. Piles upon piles of papers stacked like towers, and the man in question, sat incredibly straight with his head looking down at his work, quill in hand and another stack of papers on the other. Silver long hair adorning this man's face, looking unreasonably dazzling under the light of the day-- that's the first thing that catches his attention. The second were his eyes, mauve-colored, downturned with a passive disinterest for his surroundings. He didn't seem to care for anything other than the work before him; as if a man kneeling on the floor of his study was just another afternoon session for him.
Now having an image to the voice, Gil can finally construct his thoughts about this man clearly-- yet he finds himself unable to make a clear impression. This nobleman, who lacks too much of... human movement, has blocked him from adventuring too far. Like an iron wall, impenetrable by spears and catapults.
He sees a movement from his side and watches the knights produce his sword and spatial pouch from somewhere, said objects were confiscated from him the moment he had been arrested. They presented it to the apathetic noble before speaking,
"This... we-- we found this on his person during the arrest. And it appears he does not understand our language, we suspect he may be..." The knight faded out, not giving Gil the allowance to know what he's being accused of.
The noble moved his eyes away from his work and towards the knight's hands, head following in suit-- yet he never puts his quill to rest. "A sword, though he's not a knight of this kingdom and indications of foreign descent. Do you suspect this man to be a spy?"
Ah, maybe Gil should have taken the first chance to dash across the nearest highway after all? Troubled is one thing, being assumed to be a spy is another-- the former could get him at least a slap or a stab but the latter would quite possibly send him a free ticket to the gallows. That's not flattering when you're in another world far from the comfort of your own bed.
(Even if that bed is just a rolled-up cushion set under a tree or inside a dungeon.)
The knights are quick to agree with his deductions, finally relieved that the noble wasn't totally disagreeing with everything they said at this point. The man hummed, a hand to his chin in contemplation-- finally displaying another expression other than indifference-- when suddenly Gil, who had been staring at this man for what had seemed to be minutes through hours (it had only been minutes, but in truth he hadn't realized he was staring) finds himself at the receiving end of mauve-colored eyes. For no reason at all, he found himself straightening his back.
"Why don't we hear from the man himself?" A series of surprised squawks were released around him before they immediately died down, there was one small squeak of "Your Grace..." as protest but the man ignored it.
"Herr in scharwz, may I have the pleasure of knowing your side of the story? I advise you not to lie." This man, whose voice was soft like fabric quipped with a fitted smile, yet there contained a threat within the way he tapped his finger on his desk. The first word he had said was not one that Gil could understand– only the word which was similar to ‘black’ makes him believe that the noble was addressing him by his appearance. Without needing any indication, he slowly stood up from the ground, knees cramped from kneeling too long, if he looked over his shoulder to watch the knights inch backward no one needed to know.
After an awkward silence he failed to fill in, the nobleman spoke again, "Ah, that's right he might not understand our tongue. Shall we fetch a translator?"
"No need." He finally said, clearing his throat. His eyes swam across the room, not knowing where to place it after being caught staring at the authority in front of him, ultimately, it landed back on the nobleman anyways– feeling it would be too disrespectful to not look when he is speaking directly to him.
"Ah," The nobleman said, "So you understand our tongue? Then are you perhaps a native of our country?" This time he had moved his hands so that the back of them were cushioning his chin– however still not letting go of his quill.
Gil contemplated his words, feeling a little miffed at how he's being looked at like a dissecting subject "Not quite, no." He started, not knowing whether he should bow or…(he had a hateful relationship with etiquette).
"I am Gil. I'm certainly not a spy of a foreign kingdom. In fact, I'm afraid I don't even know where I am." He went straight to the point, seeing no use for fancy words and lengthened spiels. Though it left out a lot of details than desired, he wanted to test the waters and observe the noble’s reactions towards his statements from thereon.
Will he call me for blasphemy and dismiss me? Or will he contemplate on the meaning of it?
The nobleman raised a tilted brow, a little bemused. “They claim to have spotted you amidst the panic in the market, a market located in the middle district with no nearby entrances or exits to the kingdom. Surely, a simple inquiry, a stray flyer or newspaper would have clued you in, no?”
And were Gil a lesser man, he’d have started shaking in his place from being on the pointy end of that sharp tongue. This noble speaks as if anyone before him were brain dead and in need of elementary education. In his head, there’s an image of the nobleman wavering between his category of ‘dislike’ and ‘tolerable’ which is honestly testing his patience more than ever.
Nevertheless, he stood his ground, taking a short breath for patience before speaking. “Whether you believe me or not, I was quite literally displaced. Before ending up in the alley of your kingdom, I was in a labyrinth of monsters. The moment I came in contact with the door I was already here as we know it.”
The authority raised his slight brow a tad higher, “Those terms you use and your gestures of wariness, as well as your wording, are you implying that you’ve originated from another world?”
He asks in a sarcastic tone, yet it was more of a claim in his deductions, waiting to be confirmed.
This nobleman seems to enjoy playing detective. Gil thinks with humor. “Whilst I was on my way to this abode I noticed a few things.” He started to explain everything he kept in the back of his mind, “The currency used here is different from the universal system I am familiar with. This language of yours, it seems similar but also not, isn’t a variation of dialect where I come from. And…”
Before continuing, his eyes looked at a flag hung on the wall to the side– a rich ruby cloth with golden embedding unlike the rest of the study’s lavender aesthetic– he took in every single swirl, swing, and stroke of the insignia– confirming his own suspicions then and there.
“...This kingdom wouldn’t have been excluded from our maps. I am an adventurer, and certainly I would know if there was such a large kingdom like this in our world.”
When he looks back at the nobleman he’s colored shocked by three things that suddenly changed– the nobleman’s once dispassionate eyes lit up like amethysts under the sun, filled with childish curiosity. His mouth has morphed into a somewhat genuine, crooked smile, as if he were trying to restrain himself from grinning–
And his hands were void of anything, the quill he had always held laid lightly in its ink vase.
He took one good look at the man’s face and knew one certain thing: he had somehow caught the man’s attention by saying something. A face that looked eager to discover treasure.
Wasn’t there a saying once? A tower of books and scrolls belong to those with greed for infinite knowledge.
And what is the man before him, if not a man starving for knowledge?
“You seem quite confident in yourself, Herr Gil. As it happens I too am quite familiar with my surrounding geography. So pray tell, where do you hail from?” The nobleman quipped with a musical tone, eyes never straying from him.
“A municipality named Parteda, just in close proximity to the Central Plains.” Gil answered confidently, knowing for a fact that this nobleman wouldn’t recognize the place or its name. What he thought was unique though, was the way the nobleman had attempted to pronounce his name. Their difference of tongue was revealed in the accented way the noble had said ‘Jill’ instead of the intended ‘Gil’, it was fascinating to hear.
Suddenly a laugh resounded through the room, it was light and jumpy, and Gil couldn’t hold back his look of surprise as he watched the nobleman in front of him throw his head to the side and cover his mouth, eyes crinkling into crescents as if what he had said were anything humorous.
“How interesting!” The man exclaims, with only a slight increase in volume to show his enthusiasm (is this too, a form of etiquette or just politeness? He’ll never understand, but if people wanted to shout with joy they should just do it).
“Well, let’s say I do believe your claims. A couple of observations are barely enough. You could as well be deceiving me— I’ve heard countless excuses before, and this one is certainly one a madman would make.”
Gil sighs, figuring it would have come to that point, “Unfortunately for you, all I can give you is my word. It all comes down to whether you’ll believe this madman’s lies or not.”
The nobleman hums, a majestic little thing that scratches the back of his ears.
Just then, a short cough and a small “Your Grace…” reminded them of the knights that had been neglected off to the side. Awkwardly standing in place looking as if they weren’t meant to be there.
The nobleman sighs, visibly drooping back down into his chair (how is that even possible) and waves them a little gesture.
“Then it wouldn’t hurt your time if I were to confirm a few more things right?” He asks with a devious smile pasted on his lips.
“I mean, you don’t seem to be in much of a hurry. Nowhere to be.”
This man, who he had originally thought to be a noble indifferent to all trouble, turns out to be a bearer of absurdness who would probably chase trouble himself.
“I’ve no problem with that, Your Grace.” He answered, knowing full well that he had this man hook line and sinker already believing his claims. This facade of the nobleman is only his way of extending his borrow of a book he finds interesting.
Gil finds he doesn’t have much of a problem with that. “How impolite of me, I never introduced myself.” The nobleman said.
“My name is Lizel. Grand Duke and Prime Minister of the royal kingdom.”
Mauve-colored eyes reflected crystals within them, Lizel’s figure sat straight with the elegance of a dove, silver hair glowing under the day like a crown on his head.
Truly, first impressions are the most important.
✧
And apparently, fate had already made plans for the adventurer.
“To think our second meeting would play out like this, Sir Gil.” The strange Prime Minister named Lizel had greeted him with a playful smile as soon as he entered the giant gates of the Royal Palaces.
All in all, it was a very dazzling experience. It had been a month since his predicament of being dropped into another world, but it wasn’t long enough to make him forget about this particular noble.
Ever since that day, he had planned on ways to explore this new world with accordance to its unfortunate laws—it was as much of a coincidence as it was damning fate that the night he decided to take a stroll along the walls of the Royal Kingdom in hopes of finding the gates to the outside, a kidnapping had taken place.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, when he realized that the unfortunate victim he had saved from the kidnappers was of royal blood—more specifically the young brother of the one and only King of the lands.
And at that point Gil’s only concern was who the fuck let this kid outside unattended????
Then he was happened upon some knights, and then Lady Fortune decided to have pity on him, really, because before they could assume the worst the child noble had declared him his savior.
The next day rolls around, Gil wakes up to a bright sun and tweeting birds, and a royal-crested carriage waiting at the porch of the inn he resided in.
“Believe me, Your Grace. I had no idea the child was the Royal Majesty’s younger brother. So I am as surprised as you are.” He scratches the back of his nape in subtle irritation.
If anything, he doesn’t have a clue as to why he’s back here. You can imagine how hay-wired a person’s mind can be when they’ve only woken up bright and early.
Lizel chuckles, “Maybe I’m right all along? The timing is all too coincidental, your presence during a royal kidnapping could be suspected to be accomplice.”
This man’s tongue is a pit of snakes with jester noses. Looking at his current demeanor, it’s obvious that the prime minister was only teasing Gil with those words, but to be implying that with such a clear voice in the daylight where every living thing could be a witness is a frighteningly bold action for someone of his ranking.
“Please do not jest.” He immediately revoked, “I have no interests in being a war criminal. I don’t gain anything from it.”
Lizel laughs, a carefree thing that spurs unexpected reaction from the people surrounding them—as if hearing their prime minister laugh was like meeting an executioner at the chopping block, they all flinched and widened their eyes.
“You say such humorous words my herr.” The prime minister says with a smile, before bodily turning around. “His Majesty, requests an audience with you. Shall we go?”
And who is he not to follow? Gil watches along the corner of his eyes as the knights that had come along with the prime minister gathered at his back, making him the only one at Lizel’s side.
He slowed down only by a little, letting himself fall back to follow the man behind his shadow. After all, it was disrespectful for a commoner to walk beside that of Lizel’s rank (or so he’s heard).
The prime minister glanced minutely at his actions, as if reading his intentions and continues forward with an unreadable smile. His back looked elegant and graceful with his hands folded on top of it…
The prime minister’s back looked tall but lonely.
✧
Everyday he stayed in the palaces was a day he learned something new. In hindsight, it was like reading a story book and discovering all the things that were different from fiction and reality. But Gil got to experience it as his real life.
For example, he learned that this world does not have adventure guilds. The vast unknown lands were too dangerous for human exploration and thus it was illegal for citizens to trudge through them.
The only people who were allowed to explore those territories were knights of a kingdom by the order of their monarchs. That, or mercenaries who get paid to do so.
He learned this from the prime minister, ever so eager to exchange information.
“It is stated in the Republic Act of Herme: ‘citizens are discouraged from having ownership of war tools such as blades, firearms, and the like.’ Only knights or those who have undergone military training have the privilege of showing their weapons in public.” Lizel said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his chamomile tea.
From that statement, it seems that things such as a dagger or a bow and arrow aren’t acknowledged to be ‘war weapons’. The middle and lower classes of the kingdom find ways to get meat and animal hide into their sales, this implies that they are allowed to gather and hunt for the sake of their needs. So long as their movements are easily monitored by the magistrate they have no problems with this law.
For Gil, it’s kind of a strange law. What of blacksmiths? They themselves are civilians, or would they have to affiliate themselves to the royal kingdom in order to continue their jobs?
Then, he had a thought. “Is this why I was arrested?” He asked, not at all ashamed. At first it really was strange for him, a normal (to a certain extent) man to have been immediately arrested on sight with no charges.
“The knights patrolling that day had been alarmed by the market panic.” The prime minister mused, blowing at the petal in his teacup. “When they saw you and your sword out in daylight, they had immediately assumed you were a mercenary looking for trouble.”
Lizel chuckled, “You’ll have to forgive them, it is only their duty to keep the majority safe.”
Then he also discovers that in there was no such thing as labyrinths here that appear and disappear as it pleases. In its place are what they called the vastlands, filled with unknown magic and equally dangerous creatures to be yet explored.
It appears that the strength gauge of these creatures were an average of ten armoured knights, hence why civilians were forbidden from adventuring out into those plains to prevent an increase of mortality rate.
While Gil was not a knight, he not technically not a citizen of this world either. Sometimes he wonders in front of the prime minister of the kingdom, whether he has to abide to these laws or just run wild.
But then sometimes he would also wonder, will he ever get to go back to his world?
Gil was a man carried by the wind. He went wherever and whenever, he had no home to call his own, no family or friends or loved ones waiting for him back in that world. All he had was his strength, and with it the desire to find an equal to it. Nothing truly anchored him to that world.
So, he finds somehow, that he doesn’t really have an urgency to go back to it.
And in that case, if he’ll be staying here for an unverified amount of time, he’ll have to adapt to the principles and laws of this world—lest he carries with him the displeasure of several kingdoms in this land.
Before he could dive into a deep thought, Lizel digs him out with his light and jovial voice.
“Why don’t you become a knight?” The prime minister says.
Every cell in Gil’s body wants to pull a lever, already ready to reject. But he gives the noble one benefit of the doubt. “Pardon?”
Lizel rests his chin on top of his palm, wherein he leans his body against the table they settled on.
(They were at a gazebo overlooking a small pond, the prime minister had asked him to accompany him during an afternoon snack. Gil wasn’t one to decline.)
“From the stories you tell me, it seems you are an adventurous spirit Sir Gil.” He starts, “I’m even willing to bet that you were planning on exploring that night you apprehended the young prince’s kidnappers.”
Having been completely seen, Gil huffs and nods, not looking at the grin the man sported. “Your point?”
“Unfortunately, civilians cannot travel without legal documents. And even if you did have carry those with you, civilians are also not allowed to enter the vastlands.”
Lizel stirs his cup with a silver spoon, he eyes the sugar cubes with disinterest as they dissolve within the tea—he doesn’t elaborate on his words, letting Gil find the conclusion on his own.
Ah. Gil thinks. “Even if a knight has access to those privileges, I’m afraid I’m not interested in serving a nation.” He muses to himself, having no loyalty nor faith in anything was a benefit for him as an adventurer, who never stayed in one place too long.
“Then what about an honorary knight?” The prime minister offers once more, seemingly immovable in his self-given quest.
Gil raises a brow, laying his back against the seat’s cushion with his arms crossed against his chest. This nobleman’s intentions are absolutely above him, whatever is in this madman’s mind he only has a sliver of an idea as to what.
Lizel imitates his demeanor, abandoning his tea and straightening his posture against his chair, hands folded on his lap as he wore a negotiating mask.
“Contrary to a royal knight, an honorary knight is merely a title we give away to nobles who have contributed to the success of the kingdom.” He waves a careless hand, “It needs no solid requirements to earn, but you gain equal privilege as a knight of the kingdom would.”
This surprises him, the title of honorary knight is something he’s heard of by the passing, but to think it had such significance…
Is the prime minister allowed to just give away such a thing?
As if reading his mind, the said nobleman smiled. “Think of it as your reward for helping us save the young prince. Quite fitting, no? After all, saving the royal prince is nothing to scoff at.”
Gil looked at him with mixed emotions, what were the pros and cons? Even if it was a weightless position, will the burden that comes with it be as light? Doesn’t the relation with the kingdom through that title come with enough expectations?
He needs to think it over.
Just then, a soft laugh breaks him out of his deep train of thought. “Worry not, my herr. Only someone with a tiger’s gall would ever disturb a knight titled by His Majesty.”
His Majesty? He thinks with shock. That implies that he already brought this up with the King.
“Your thoughts?” Lizel asks once again.
When the man rested his chin on his hands once more and smiled oh-so-amused, looking like the stars had descended to personally give him a laugh, how could Gil put a word of complaint? It was like everything just made sense if the prime minister were to word it out.
He can produce no words at the moment, and every worry seemed to fade away. All Gil could do was nod.
He finds he has no problem with that line of thinking
( “What do you get out of this?
“Simple, you get to adventure and the kingdom gets information about the vastlands.”
“Ah.” “I’ll admit to a personal agenda, however.”
“Hm?”
“When you come back to me. I’d love to hear more of your stories.”)
✧
His first venture was delightful, filled with anticipation and action that leaves him wanting for more.
His second was interesting, having explored the plains far from the vastlands. He experienced a different culture, a different atmosphere, it left a unique impression on him.
His third left a mark on the people, giving him a name he didn’t care to hear, but an endearing one as he’s heard.
Gil’s adventures take him weeks through months to go through, taking his time and never hesitating to veer off his direction due to his adventurous curiosity. Always wanting to investigate, to fight, to earn.
But after all that’s finished up and he’s ready to leave, all he can think of is—
Oh, he’ll be delighted to hear about this.
And that’s what made him pause. Truly, he started seeing things in a different light. Gil knew he wasn’t always like this—back in his own world he saw things through as an adventurer no more no less. It’s a fortune to have found something on his way, it’d be a shame to have not chased after that one interesting thing, but he’ll find another opportunity.
But at present, it feels like he’s become greedier than imagined. He’ll chase after something, go out his way to investigate a mystery he can’t bear to have unsolved. His interest is easily piqued, as if he’ll devour anything given to him.
When had the change started? It was understandable to a certain extent—Gil was in an unfamiliar world, everything was new and uncharted. It was exciting, exhilarating, like a match lit up a flame in his heart.
Everything, every thought, every new object, literally everything… came down to the original source—the strange nobleman named Lizel.
The realization came with a hearty laugh, thrown back and full-bellied as he accepted his fate—how his life’s work and beliefs suddenly found itself orbiting around that man.
Every adventure was full of life—because he had found it in him to make things interesting all to go back to a man wanting a story.
Every take off was met with the determination to keep from severe danger—all to satisfy that man, smiling at his safe return.
Everything changed—or rather, everything set its course.
Suddenly, the wine in his hand had never tasted so sweet.
(That too, was something he finds he doesn’t mind.)
✧
“Do you find yourself lonely sometimes, Sir Gil?”
Mauve-colored eyes looked down at the river of blues and purples, serenely admiring the view, even as raindrops disturbed his person—large spots of water blooming in his noble regalia and dripping from the locks of his hair.
The words were blurred out from his ears, only the figure of that nobleman remained. His solemn silhouette, at a distance, almost blended into the beds of hydrangeas. The sight was one Gil couldn’t bear to look at any longer.
He stepped forward, walking in stride as he opened the parasol in his hand, sheltering the noble from the unforgiving shower. Mauve-colored eyes meet his, half-closed with soft lashes, the owner of them smiles.
Unable to cope with the silence, Gil thought back to what Lizel had asked him.
“…No.” He answered quietly.
“Really? Not once?” Lizel asked again, and when he receives a shake of the head as an answer he huffs. “Surely, Sir Gil has someone waiting for him back in his own world?”
“No one.” Gil answers, looking at the sea of hydrangeas, a lovely little garden at the terrace of the King’s palace, apparently made for his late mother who was fond of such flowers.
When he looks back, those eyes are no longer on him. He watches in silence as the nobleman caressed a petal of the nearest bloom, something about his expression was wrong—a little out of place on his face.
Gil hesitates, but ultimately starts to ask.
“…Do you get lonely, Your Grace?”
Lizel chuckles, but it isn’t the bright and cheerful one he’s often associated him with now. “Hardly.”
Raindrops plopped onto the fabric of the parasol, the only saving grace they both had from infinite silence.
“I have my father, my relatives. His Majesty and my scribe. Everywhere I go there will always be someone dear to me there.” And apparently that was that, the conversation ended immediately as Lizel plucked a flower from its stem and left the comfort of the parasol.
Every step he took left the distance between him and Gil wider.
And Gil all but watched that elegant back take its strides.
(“Hardly.”)
Then why did that back look so lonely?
Why had he smiled, yet it hadn’t reached his eyes?
(He suddenly regretted not chasing after the noble right then and there.)
✧
The only thing unexpected these days are the very precious moments he has with Lizel.
That, and the sudden visit of the King to his room in the palace.
“He seems happier with you here.” The man had said, with a tone of declaration, leaning against the pillar of his doors.
Gil stood there, helplessly confused and a lack of words to produce.
“Do you hold him dear as much as he does to you?”
Those words made him pause, suddenly realizing what the King was spouting about.
But in the curse of this silence the royal continued to speak. “Do not betray him.”
Before he could put in a word, the man excuses himself out, leaving Gil in his own room with this deceiving thought.
(“Do you hold him dear as much as he does to you?)
He wanted to answer, damningly-
Yes.
✧
One day, he happens upon the nobleman in a strange area.
In the middle of the plains, right outside the kingdoms.
“Your Grace?” He calls out confused.
The nobleman smiles and oh—it’s that same, bright and cheerful expression, one that infects him down to his feet, leaving him a dead man walking.
He notices how the man’s clothes are different from his usual regal clothing, in which what takes place of it are trudging boots, simple outdoor clothes and a couple of leather gloves. Yet this simplicity only helped to make him glow with more radiance.
“Lizel.” The soft voice says.
“Call me Lizel, just for today.” Lizel says, hair in the wind as mauve-colored eyes shined like amethysts.
“Lizel, what are you doing out?” Gil asks, thinking of nothing yet mind full of everything.
Again, Lizel smiled, approaching the man with a skip in his step as he hums, a musical little thing that makes Gil’s heart skip a beat.
“I’m on vacation.”
The nobleman holds his hand out towards Gil. “May I have the honor of being guided by this honorary knight?”
His hand, soft in Gil’s like fabric, warm and fulfilling. It troubles him to hold it, what if he doesn’t let go?
And oh, Gil finds that he has no problem with it at all.
(He’ll find that Lizel doesn’t either.)