@faithwounded wanted ~ 'i told you not to go in alone!'
He could have laughed, not that it mattered as Irial would have sensed his fleeting amusement anyway. Niall glares at the other through his reflection in the mirror. They’d talked about this. No more rushing in doing something foolishly dangerous for each other-though he considers himself exempt to that deal given which one of them is now far more easily harmed. Maybe a verbal promise was necessary, with a million different minute details to prevent working around it like multiple steps not technically being a step.
The water dripping off his face is dark, swirling smoke and an ugly pink tone he’d never liked in his entire life. Thankfully the second main bedroom had been fully stocked upon moving in, soap and toiletries already available. Niall had wondered just how long Irial had been planning this when he hadn’t needed to buy toothpaste then immediately chastised himself. He knew exactly how long. Twelve hundred and three years, give or take.
A bruise already mottles his jaw but he would be surprised if it was still there in the morning. More cluster under his ribs, spine, uncomfortable yet near nothing compared to his brawling with the hunt. Niall forces himself to focus on scrubbing the red stuck in his hair instead of anything else. Instead of thinking feeling breathing. Rage renews in his blood, hotter than summer. Had it been a stupid decision? Yes but he excelled at those so much it might as well have been his trademark. Taking Gabriel with him to face a doubtful sneering court was one thing. Bringing Irial wouldn’t have done anything than confirm their continued weakness together.
If he was incapable of beating a few fey into submission because they didn’t respect him then they would have every right not to. Gabriel had, somewhat awkwardly and unintentionally, served as emotional support. The hound was practically oath bound to back Niall regardless of past grievances. Evidently not everyone had gotten that message at the change in power. Some, too many, still thought his actions over a handful of mortals was ill befitting a regent. Too much of a bleeding heart, chosen for love not fit, it was too much to ask of them to think of him as king and not coin.
Four dead bodies had been left behind. The ones Niall already had a sense wouldn’t change, weren’t worth it to keep. He’d shown them as much civility as they had him in return. Despite his many rinses he can still taste the iron in their blood. It clings between his teeth that he bares in the mirror.
Dozens of responses circle on his tongue and none are true. What jabs he wants to make at Irial aren’t his opinion or genuine sarcasm. Niall slaps the wet cloth into sink and shoves a towel over his face. “If you had followed, I would be deposed in a matter of days.” He remains facing away, as if by not looking Irial in the eye he will just go away. If only that had ever been the case. “I don’t recall letting you in here.”
