Eli let out a long breath.
“That’s good,” Rey said. He sank to his knees at Eli’s feet and moved Eli’s hands to his hair. “Keep breathing.”
Eli wove his fingers through Rey’s long hair. It did steady him, somehow, to have someone kneeling for him. He kneaded Rey’s hair gently, as though he were petting him in fox form, and Rey gently pressed his cheek against Eli’s stomach.
“You really are tall for a spirit,” Eli said.
“You’re brave for a mortal.” Rey’s voice seemed to come from far away. Eli stood there for a few more minutes, until his breathing evened out and he could focus clearly, and stepped back.
“Thank you. You didn’t?—”
“Have to do that,” Rey finished for him. “I know.” He stood and jerked his head toward the rest of the house. “Let’s get you moved in.”
It had beenover eighty years since Rey had presented himself to the palace in a noble disguise. The former king Emile’s mother had just been born, and Rey, who had been pretending to be a member of the de Sartre’s extended family at the time, had needed to walk up to the cradle and give his respects. The whole business had ended with him slipping away with the new princess’ illegitimate half-sister, who had become a pirate queen in Diabolos.
But he knew the basic rules of court—roughly.
“Do you know how to press a shirt?” he asked Eli, standing in front of his bed that morning with his clothes laid out before him. He was blushing to his chest in just his underthings, while Eli was unashamedly naked in the bathroom. He’d been bathing for what felt like hours, and the bathroom was so full of steam that he could only see a general impression of a human anyway.
“I had servants for that,” Eli said. “I think they used hot water and a little metal thing they pressed down on it, or something. I don’t know. I was always wrinkling my gowns on purpose.”
“I can’t imagine you in a gown unless you were setting something on fire in retribution,” Rey said, and was rewarded with a raspy chuckle from the bathroom. “So neither of us know. That’s fine.”
“Can’t you use magic of some kind?” Eli asked.
“My magic is my charm, darling.” Eli snorted. “Hey! It is.”
“Of course, my lord, whatever you say, my lord.” Eli stepped out of the bathroom with just his trousers on, tying up the laces.His skin was finally clean of the dirt and grime of the road, making the mass of freckles over his arms more noticeable, and the scars around his neck stood out as he dug in his bag. His chest was a little bigger without his usual stays and loose shirts to hide it, and Rey wondered what it would feel like to run his hands down Eli’s chest and toned stomach, feeling the lean muscles there. He shook off the thought and turned back to his clothes.
“Wear the purplish vest,” Eli said as he shoved on a wrinkled shirt. “It won’t wash out your face, and you can hide the wrinkles in your undershirt.”
“See? This is what a manservant does. You’re getting into character already.”
“Oh, yes,” Eli said, with his head still stuffed in his shirt. “We’re the real thing, Rey.”
“Have a little confidence.”
No amount of confidence would convince Eli to set foot in the palace, however. Eli was adamant that he wouldn’t risk sending the palace tumbling down over hundreds of servants, nobles, and the king, no matter how many loopholes Rey suggested.
“This fine place just isn’t meant for common folk like me,” Eli said loudly, as they approached the palace doors. “I’ll stand outside, my lord, if it’s the same to you.”
Rey sighed. Now that other people had heard, it would be rude of him to force a servant into an uncomfortable situation. “All right,Artie,”he said, making a pointed dig at Eli’s new fake name. “Stay here and I’ll be right back.”
“It’s not as intimidating as you think when you’ve been here a few times,” he heard a guard whisper as he stepped inside, and he turned to see Eli ducking his head and smiling to himself.
Well, he couldn’t expect any similar class solidarity inside. Country nobles, particularly poor relations, were at the bottom of any social ladders in Duciel, and since Rey wasn’t a dominant,people would automatically label him as a submissive and shunt him aside. Still, the new king was a submissive now, so perhaps Rey wouldn’t have to claw his way up through charm entirely.
The throne room was about as ostentatious as he remembered—even the decor hadn’t changed. There were the same paintings and statues along the wall, the same old furniture polished to a shine, even the same rugs. Wealth meant longevity in Staria. It was a little comforting, particularly to a spirit who sometimes had trouble keeping up with new trends, that not everything changed at the same pace.
The one difference was that the king wasn’t sitting on his throne. A clerk with tidy black hair and a blue silk dress sat in a comfortable chair at the foot of the dais instead, holding a book in their lap. They spotted Rey and waved him over.
“Is the king called away to business?” Rey asked.
“Oh, always,” the clerk said. They flipped through the book. “Are you requesting a formal audience, or an informal one?”
“What’s an informal one?”
The clerk gave Rey a sympathetic look. “Country noble, huh?”
