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Eret’s day has gone from shitty to shittier.
First Foolish has been stuck in a discussion all day with his advisors. Which was fine, Eret isn’t incapable of being alone. They prowl the castle, reading and writing, continuing their slow ease into archiving the country’s oldest historical novels.
However the slow monotonous work had entranced them so much that they’d completely missed Leonarda’s departure to sea for her solo trip across the ocean. She’d been buzzing about it for days and, equal parts nervous and excited, had invited Eret to watch her cast off with a motley crew to see her distant family.
And when Eret looked out over the window, they noticed with a dropped stomach, that it was way past midday.
Double shit.
They’d quickly packed up their things, rushing past the librarian with a hurried gratitude mumbled under their breath. Maybe, just maybe, they could catch sight of the boat from higher up along the town’s ridge, where the elite walked from time to time to admire the view of the costal kingdom.
And of course, not only had Eret ran all the way there to see Leonarda’s boat be nothing but a speck on the horizon, but–
Presently, the sun now coasting towards sunset, they wince, pulling their hand from their cheek and seeing a smear of blood across their fingers.
Well. They’d found unpleasant company too. The kind that remembered L’manburg. The kind that remembered them. Remembered their reign, though Eret finds it detestable to call it that. They were more of a puppet than a king.
Their lip throbs. Not that the begrudging man had cared.
Eret sighs, ducking back beneath an awning. They had to wash this off and soon. Before they were found by anyone, especially Foolish. Though it wouldn’t matter much when that man went to the royal guard and complained, forcing Foolish to exile her or throw them in jail or–
“Eret?”
They stop in their tracks, boots scuffing on the white stone. Eret withholds a long, pained, sigh. Of course, they hadn’t considered the worst option. Running into Vegetta.
“Your Excellency.” They say, voice tight, turning to him.
Vegetta is dressed for sparring, befit with padded armor and long wolf-skin cloak that drips from his shoulders like oil paint, spilling into a deep, rich, purple fabric. He’s still a bit red-faced, having just walked out of the sand pit in the courtyard, evidently.
Black hair slanted to his slick forehead, however, doesn’t take away from the golden banded crown that dons his head. Though Eret doesn’t need this reminder to remember how intimidating it is to be in his presence.
Foolish had known Eret for ages. When their kingdom fell and Eret crawled out of the ashes, puppet strings cut free from their vile advisor, it’d been almost his second nature to take Eret in. By sheer fondness or out of respect for their past– The choice still puzzled them, but it was more solid foundations to build off of than Foolish’s husband.
Vegetta, very clearly, wasn’t happy with their staying in the Brown-De Luque castle from the beginning. Jealous, quiet, his gaze often sharp when it looked at Eret– It wasn’t hard to catch onto.
While time had dulled them into a quiet… reprieve of sorts, there was still an uneasy air between the two. To put it in short; Eret would never let themselves stay alone in a room with Vegetta and his ire for long.
And now he’s here. With the key to Eret’s exile branded on their skin in bright red.
Before, maybe, they could’ve lied and said they’d never met the man. Well, now that plan falls through. Now they have a witness.
They try and tilt their head to a better side, though their chin is bruised from a cutting blow to their jaw, “Good afternoon.” Eret says, feeling their knees grow weak.
His eyes lock onto the wounds in rapid succession. Of course, he’s a king who’s fought many wars. He’s trained to find injuries. Weaknesses.
Maybe that’s why he disliked Eret.
“Eret,” Vegetta says, sweetly, the sardonic nature behind it thinly veiled, “What is this?” His smile is not genuine, all teeth that point a little too sharply for their liking.
“The awning, your Excellency?” Eret croaks, jaw tense. They know exactly what he means, of course they do, but drawing out the agonizing moment feels better than admitting fault. To bend to some stranger trying to bide a fight out of them… How childish!
Vegetta, for all his grins, does not seem even slightly amused.
Something in Eret cracks. “If you can find it in your heart to look away this one time, your Excellency, please, I would be forever grateful. This was entirely my fault and…and…”
Eret’s babbles come to a slow halt once they realize, chest tight, that Vegetta isn’t listening to any of them. His eyes, maroon in the light as opposed to their usual violet hue, are trained on the left of Eret’s nose, along their cheek, where blood still spilt down their skin.
They swallow around their tongue, trying to chase the paper dry anxiety from their mouth, “Your Excellency–”
Vegetta tuts, stopping them in their tracks. “No. No, no, Eret, what–” He reaches out to cup their face, thumb pressing down hard under their cheekbone. The pressure stings and Eret hisses as Vegetta rubs up against that bone, irritating an already weeping injury; “--is this, hm? Dime, Eret, tell me.”
His thick leather glove pulls back and on it rests a smear of blood, gleaming off the polished black. He inspects it with a glare, like it’d personally accosted him.
“A mistake,” Eret blurts, hands curling into the fronds of their dress, “I’m sorry, your Excellency. Please, don’t tell Foolish. He’ll worry and–”
“Ah!” Vegetta chirps, head tilted, “You want me to lie to my husband?”
Eret can feel the blood leaving their face, paling, “No! No, no, sir, I didn’t mean to… to say…” They ball their hands into the fabric, dipping their head, “Forgive me, sir.”
Vegetta hums, thoughtful. A finger taps twice under their chin, “No. Don’t do that.” He says, voice thick with bemusement, “It’s just jokes, only jokes, my little friend.”
Eret doesn’t… think it was. But they raise their gaze, unsteadily meeting Vegetta’s eyes. Low and behold, his eyes are twinkling like he’d told a very amusing joke.
If Eret were a less learned individual, they’d believe that too. But as kind as Vegetta seems, there’s a darkness that drips from his long shadow, a quality of depth to his expression that leaves them feeling unsteady.
“Ven para acá. Sigueme , yes? Follow,” He says, gesturing with a nod. Vegetta sets a pace, his long cloak billowing behind him as he walks. Eret hurries to keep up behind him, head bowed as they’re led to the grand hall, now empty without any of the castle’s visitors.
As they pass the threshold, Vegetta murmurs orders to servants in quick, tight, spanish, betraying more of that sharpness hidden behind the wolfish grin he shows.
He gestures with a sweeping palm to a chair and Eret, lost without another direction, sits. And to their surprise, Vegetta pulls out the chair next to them, angling it towards Eret.
“Foolish will be upset, no? That you’re hurt.” He says, resting his elbow on the glossy wood top. Vegetta points to the cut on their face, then waggles that same finger to point at their bruised arm. The torn knuckles that bead with blood.
Almost unconsciously, Eret tucks that same limb close to their chest, “He will.” They say, unable to hold eye contact with Vegetta for long before flittering their gaze away, “I don’t want him to worry about me.”
“ Ah, and that is why you asked.” Vegetta says, tracing a servant’s approach with his eyes. They drop off a tin basin of hot water, as well as washing cloths that rest on the side. He waits until the servant leaves to continue; “You don’t worry about this anymore, okay? Foolish wants to worry, so he will worry.”
“He’s already done too much.” Eret shakes their head, lip twisted, “You all have. I… I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. And now I’m…” They scowl, the sound pittering off into silence as they clutch at their arms. It was stupid. Eret shouldn’t have risen to the bait, but all the stress had gotten to them.
“Yes?” Vegetta encourages, head tilted.
Eret runs a hand through their hair, pushing away their frizzing curls, “You told me not to make you regret letting me stay. To not make Foolish regret it. And I’m… I’m doing exactly that. It’s ridiculous! I’m… I’m sorry, I keep letting everyone down like this. It’s an old habit of mine.” They murmur, voice wobbling unsteadily.
Vegetta regards them carefully, brows pinched, “ Ayeaye… ah,” He sighs, running a hand down his face, “Eret, you haven’t given me regrets. I don’t regret any of this. You fit well here. You are kind to my daughter. Good to my husband. You treat them both well. And even though I am difficult, you treat me well too, no?” He gives her a small smile.
“It’s different, though. You didn’t ask for this.” Eret mumbles, “I wouldn’t sleep well at night knowing I made you resent me.” Vegetta sighs again, pushing off his knees into a stand. Eret straightens their back; “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
His hand is outstretched, the other clutching a cloth, “Dame la mano.” Vegetta says, making a small nod towards them, “Give.”
Eret stretches their palm out, watching, muted, as Vegetta draws it over the steaming water. He dips the cloth past the surface and wets it, squeezing out any stray droplets when he retracts.
Then, gently, ever so gently, Vegetta wipes at the blood on their knuckles. It stings; Eret hisses as he passes over ripped and raw skin. When their hands twitch, Vegetta murmurs soothing words that Eret can’t decipher.
While Eret hates deferring down their experiences to such simplistic terms, but it’s… nice. It’s really nice .
Vegetta, for all his sharp edges and teeth and wolfish repose, is still a father. He’s still a husband. He knows to hold fast around their hand and dab at the blots of blood without dragging the wound.
It’s so unlike the way they’d come to understand all of his facets. The possessive jealous king, the man who slaughtered a hundred armies for his husband and child. Vegetta, who’d cut off someone’s hand for resting too long on his treasure.
His cutting ire had become such second-nature for Eret to understand.
The wraps are swift. Strong. Eret’s knuckles have never felt so secured in their bones as when Vegetta ties them taut.
He motions to their face, “Come.” He says.
Eret leans forward, hands tucked into their lap. Vegetta holds the cleft of their jaw, tilting it up. Being scrutinized under his gaze feels invasive, intimate, their face flushing under the violet torchlights.
“You told the truth? This person started the fight?” He asks. The wet rag dapples their cheek.
Eret nods as much as they can afford in Vegetta’s hold, “Yeah. I swear it, Vegetta. I didn’t want to cause any trouble for you or Foolish.”
Vegetta tuts, “Don’t worry about trouble. Trouble? Nah. It’s nothing, my little friend. But I need to know who started it when the guards ask.”
“I can deal with them.” Eret offers, feeling the water and blood mingle and slide down their cheek.
Vegetta hums, “You can .” with deafening finality. Yes, of course. Eret can deal with it. But they won’t be.
“He started it.” Eret says, quietly, “Pressured me with all these questions and wouldn’t just.. Leave me alone. Eventually I told him to leave me alone, but he didn't… He didn’t take it very well. Apparently he knew people in… My old city.”
Vegetta hums knowingly, “Ah. I see. I will keep a look out for them, okay?”
“... Thank you.”
“No problem, no problem,” Vegetta says, squeezing the rag over the tin. Water dribbles into the basin, echoing off the grandeur halls. The quiet patience he has, confident in what Eret would usually find to be a choking silence, is more commendable than intimidating now.
The water is cold, spilt with red, when Vegetta puts down the towelette for the last time. The blood on their cheek has been wiped clean and staunched, though Eret wouldn’t mind if it still beaded crimson if it meant a few more moments of blessed silence.
Vegetta reaches for a service bell left on the table, about to ring it when the doors clatter open on the other side of the hall. They both twist in place to watch Foolish nearly shove someone aside as he locks onto Eret’s grim impression in a usually hallowed eating space.
“Eret!” He shrieks, rushing over, “What happened? I just got out of a negotiation conflict and I got so locked into my own plans, I-I didn’t know something had gone wrong until some guy knocked on my door like five minutes ago–”
He cups Eret’s face, worrying his sharp marine teeth over his lip.
Eret’s heart warms, “I’m okay, really. It wasn’t that bad. I just… I made some bad choices.”
“ Nope!” Vegetta cuts in, leveling Eret with a look, “No. They didn’t.”
Foolish looks between the two of them with wide eyes, a sheepish grin twisting his lip, “Uh… what?”
“Foolish, my love,” Vegetta croons, trailing a hand on his shoulder, “Everything is okay. A man had bad words to exchange with Eret, no? They got into a fight.” He says, tilting his head back to them.
Eret winces, pale eyes cutting away as Foolish glances their way, “I’m sorry. Foolish, it’s- it’s unbecoming of me. Really, I’m trying to connect with your people and–”
“Did you win?” Foolish asks. They look back up at him, mouth open, then closed, then open again.
Stammering, they reply, “Does it matter? I hurt a citizen of yours.”
“You’re not gonna keep doing it, right?” Foolish asks with a raised brow, “Least not on purpose? Unless someone hurts you first?”
Vegetta grins like a content cat, lazing on Foolish’s arm with a curled smile.
“No. I wouldn’t.” Eret says. They already have a heavy history of harming citizens, innocents, others– No. Eret would never do that again.
“Well, then… whatever! If you got into a fight Eret, I think there was a good reason for it.” He says, tapping his thumb on Eret’s cheek, “So… uh… did you win?”
Eret looks to Vegetta, who nods.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”