Hallowed

6

The slave was watching his prince mingle with the king so intently that he barely noticed when the general drew nearer, his arm linking Carmen to his side. Though he fought it, morbid curiosity won, and Baptiste peaked over, watching her interact with her master. She tousled his hair, fed him foods that left her fingers sticky, pecked at his shoulder and neck. Even if she was betrothed to him, this display of affection would be considered gratuitous in Simonese courts, and this sort of behavior to a bed slave was reserved for behind closed doors. And the claim was, she was neither.

He barely had enough time to correct his grimace before the general looked in his direction. He bowed his head slightly when the contact was made.

"General Adesso."

"Baptiste." The man had a genuinely warm smile that both comforted the slave and set him on edge. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"Yes," he lied. "In Simo, we have a similar sport – with clothes and without oil."

"Is that so?"

Baptiste watched as Carmen leaned into him and pressed a grape to his lips.

"My love," she purred when her master received the gift.

What a bold greeting, Baptiste thought. Not even the prince's family greeted him with such affection, let alone someone not of his blood. They would surely be punished severely for the transgression. The only person Baptiste had ever seen Prince Heiko without repercussions was the captain of his guard, Rudolf, and even that was only once.

"You're the little Simonese slave." The witchy woman used the same warbling tone she used with the general. It did not have the same effect on him.

"I am not little." He bit at her, scowling despite running the risk of looking childish. But it seemed his sharpness overpowered his petty opposition to her - one of the few times his quick temper served him well. "I'm nearly as tall as you are."

And only her. The general towered over him. The king towered over him. His master certainly did. And perhaps Carmen was short comparatively, but that need not've been said - in his estimation, anyway.

Her rebuttal was a smirk and Baptiste was annoyed that it had him fuming. He simply did not like her. He did not like her boldness, he did not like her airs and proclivities. He did not like her closeness with her master.

"You will be tall, I'm sure." The general's comment was gentle and reassuring - patronizing if it had not come from him. "And a handsome face withal. Many will despise you for it."

"Just as my master." Baptiste knew it sounded boastful the moment his lips released it, and he would've flushed had the general not knitted his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"I doubt," Carmen interrupted, placing a hand on her master's chest. "That his face is the reason people despise your master, Baptiste."

She carried out the irreverent slur with unfounded assurance. Even her own master under her fingertips found no amusement in it.

It didn't quell Baptiste's vexation.

"Such dislike is spoken from a woman who is clearly less fair than my master. Thus, my point is proven."

Carmen balked, sputtering, "I...that is not why..."

"I do not like to keep company with people who speak ill of people they scarcely know." Baptiste continued with equal passion, heart pounding angrily. "My master is fierce in actions and pious in thought. Ardor, set to the music of the gods, will one day command. Even if it is from the shadows."

The general's eyes focused, scouring over him scrupulously.

"Those are not the words of a slave."

Baptiste exhaled a sharp breath.

"Excuse me."

Returning to the side of his master drained his annoyance, and returning to the rooms, alone with his master, set him at ease. He didn't relay Carmen's insult because he knew it would have no effect on the prince. Thoughts from a slave didn't bother him. Thoughts from nobility didn't bother him. But they bothered Baptiste. They bothered him because the slave knew of his master's habits, and more, he knew of his master's secrets. He knew of his tenderheartedness. And in that, the slave struggled. He wanted the accusers to know they were inordinately erroneous, but more so, he wanted to be the only one who shared the secrets.

"You're quiet."

Baptiste looked over to the prince, who was once again nose deep in a tome.

"You dislike Carmen." He continued, scanning over a page.

"She is disagreeable."

The boy didn't even bother to bite his tongue.

"I concur," his master hummed. And then, "Tonight we negotiate with the king."

"We?" Baptiste asked.

"Do not speak unless I say so. This is going to be a delicate game. I do not need distractions."

"Understood," replied Baptiste without hesitation.

"Good." Said Heiko, before lifting his gaze to the slave. "Once this negotiation begins, things will move quickly. I expect you to keep up, Baptiste. This will spark the flame."

"What flame?" Baptiste asked.

Heiko grimaced, looking back down to his book.

"The flame of war."