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Warning

Pelleas was not surprised when the door creaked open to reveal Sothe.

Micaiah was sick and practically chained in bed by the watchful eye of the rest of the Dawn Brigade, and Pelleas had felt uncomfortable in their company; as though he were intruding. The Dawn Brigade operated much like a family, and if anything, he was merely an adopted sibling, one that need not have been brought home in the first place. Perhaps it was an hour ago that Pelleas escaped the haunting look that he knew Sothe had been holding in.

“Pelleas.” Sothe spoke to the man’s back from the door. Izuka might’ve said that this was no way to speak to a king. But Izuka was gone; he had left Pelleas with a half-fulfilled dream, a mother who wasn’t sure, and a trapped heroine who once fought for something she actually believed in.

“I apologize for all the grief I’ve caused you,” Pelleas said with a shaky voice. He himself was shaking too, evidence that he’d been crying. “All of you.”

Sothe said nothing. There was silence save for the rhythm of dripping liquid from a desk. Some time passed before Sothe sighed and admitted casually: “I never liked you, Pelleas.”

This wasn’t something Pelleas didn’t already know; it had been obvious from their first meeting that Sothe hated Pelleas – a hatred that stemmed from Izuka more-so that the young king. Anyone could see that it irked Sothe the way that Izuka dared to look at Micaiah as a prize and how they all knew inside a truth that no one dared say: Pelleas was not fit to be a king. He was far too hesitant, but Micaiah supported him anyway, like a fool. Sothe so obviously blamed all of Micaiah’s suffering on Pelleas that if one didn’t notice they’d have to be dead.

Before Pelleas could respond, Sothe added: “But what you did today? For once”—Sothe took a few steps closer and placed a hand on the shivering king’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him (Pelleas’s muscles tensed)—“it seemed like you knew what you were doing.”

If it had been Micaiah standing behind him when Pelleas looked over his shoulder, he might have received a reassuring smile. Sothe awarded him a less friendly, more serious, questioning expression. Stony-faced indeed.

Pelleas relaxed his muscles, though Sothe’s hand remained on his shoulder. His right hand gripped something tightly against his thigh. A slight shine might’ve been caught by Sothe when the candlelight struck iron, but Sothe did not react. Instead, he let go of the king’s shoulder and brought his arm back loosely to his side.

Pelleas’s vague thoughts brought him back to earlier that day.

If… If Micaiah had allowed it, Pelleas would be dead and Daein free from the Blood Pact’s curse. If only he wasn’t so stupid this problem wouldn’t have risen in the first place. He was sure that if say, Sothe, was left in charge of the contract nothing wrong would’ve happened. (It escaped Pelleas’s mind that Sothe was, in fact, rather selfish; it was unlikely that Sothe would sacrifice himself for anyone other than a select people of value if they were in swapped positions.)

But Pelleas had been willing to sacrifice himself for his people. To potentially raise the possibility of safety for his people, Pelleas had been willing to risk everything and anything.

He had decided. He had to save his people through any possible method. Even if Micaiah disapproved.

Silence reigned between the two young men for what felt like hours but was really only minutes.

Finally, Pelleas started, “So—”

“Pelleas.” Sothe’s voice was dangerously soft, but held amazing strength when he cut the other man off.

“Sothe?”

“I was actually… sent to you,” Sothe clarified emotionlessly, “Micaiah wanted me to give you something.” Pelleas began to grow paranoid, as though Sothe was watching his right hand very closely. Sothe took Pelleas by the left hand, turning him so that they faced each other.

“G-Give me something?” Pelleas was clearly confused. Flushing, he asked, “What is it?”

Sothe did not say anything. He simply let go of Pelleas’s left hand in favor for the right, and kissed the top of it. Pelleas tried to say something, but before he could do so, the small iron dagger slid down his sleeve into Sothe’s palm, leaving rough scratches on the king’s arm. Pelleas was shocked and very still, but Sothe’s face still held no specific emotion.

The thief than shouldered Pelleas before turning and going for the exit, not stopping until he reached the doorway.

“A warning,” Sothe finally answered.

The dagger flew past Pelleas’s head with fierce speed, cutting a few strands of stray hair in the process.

“‘Don’t you dare leave your people behind.’”