Chapter Text
There is none more troublesome, Rouxls decides, than the court jester.
A small, impish creature with a grin that cut through his face like a canyon and the purest of hearts bent on carrying out mischief. He’d jingle as he hopped around in the castle, always smiling, like he always had some joke on the mind but didn’t want to share it with anyone else.
When Rouxls first meets him, the little devil smashes a cream pie in his face and turns to run away, laughing all the while, tail waving behind him. First impressions are important, and Rouxls finds his immediate distaste with the clown only worsening when he’s forced to clean pie out of his hair later.
Once, Rouxls found Lancer crying because the wheels on his bike had been transformed into cookies and, while delicious, there was no way for him to ride it like that. Rouxls had to take a good three hours out of his day to track the jester down and convince him to return the bike to its original state-- a conversation that ended with yet another pie in the face.
Needless to say, Rouxls is not a fan. And when he leaves his room in the morning and finds the hallway flooded with colorful plastic balls, he knows exactly who to blame.
“Jevil,” he hisses, slipping as the balls catch on his heels. “Ridiculous, good-for-nothing clown-- Jevil!”
He can hear the jester’s giggles from somewhere beyond the hallway, but of course the little imp makes no move to help him. Rouxls struggles to his feet, pushing through the bonafide flood of plastic balls on his way towards the elevator. Enough was enough, he was going to take this straight to the king.
One tedious trek later, after passing a floundering Hathy and several Rudinn buried up to their necks in balls, Rouxls spills into the elevator, several dozen of the colorful balls joining him. He quickly rights himself, regaining his posture and pressing the button for the top floor.
Luckily, it seemed not every floor had been turned into a ball pit. Rouxls drops the braced position he’d adopted when the elevator open to reveal a clean hallway.
Lancer is sitting outside the throne room doors, chess pieces littered by his feet. He seems to be playing with them, glancing up briefly as Rouxls approaches.
“Hey Rouxls,” he greets, putting down the bishop he’d been holding to wave. He’d been using Rouxls’ name more often as of late, particularly during the bike riding lessons they’d been doing regularly for the last week. Rouxls thought it may be because of that initial incident where Lancer accidentally called him “Dad,” but neither of them seemed to want to discuss it, so they didn’t.
“Greetings, young sire,” Rouxls replies as he approaches the door. He is somewhat relieved to see Lancer up here. Part of him had been worried that the brat had been stuck somewhere in the ballpit, unable to free himself.
As he touches the door, Lancer pipes up, “Dad’s talking with someone right now. I dunno if you wanna go in.”
Rouxls pauses and frowns. “Oh? And with whom isth he speaketh with?”
Lancer shrugs, flicking a pawn over. “Dunno. I heard him yelling so I didn’t go inside.” He clacks a bishop and knight together, mimicking the sound of an explosion as he raises them into the air.
Sighing, Rouxls turns back to the door. He doesn’t want to go inside. The anger he felt towards the jester begins to fade as he confronts the prospect of facing the king. But his fear is not important, he tries to remind himself. It’s his duty.
He places a careful hand on the door handle, leaning forward, and then--
“Sire, please reconsider,” he hears a soft, vaguely familiar voice. It’s sort of rough, like cotton rubbing together.
“My hands are tied, Seam. There’s nothing else to be done about it,” the king’s response rumbles out. The name lets Rouxls place the voice as the appointed court magician with the button eye that peddled wares on the floor above his. He wonders what such a docile, and most importantly, loyal , Darkener would be arguing with the king about.
Perhaps against his better judgement, he leans further against the door, listening intently. Surprisingly, the door pushes openly slightly at this, causing Rouxls to jerk back. It must have not been closed properly. Carefully, Rouxls peeks in.
He can see the back of Seam’s long cloak, his hands spread out in front of him. From this angle, Rouxls can’t quite see the king.
Seam’s voice is pleading as he speaks. “He didn’t know-- doesn’t know. You can’t punish him for what he doesn’t understand. It’s not his fault.”
“It is his fault, Seam. He should not have put his nose where it didn’t belong.”
“It’s his nature, Sire. You must understand--”
“Enough!” the king barks. On the other side of the door, Rouxls flinches. Lancer looks up from his chess pieces nervously, and Rouxls quickly waves a hand, telling him silently to go.
The prince complies, but not before sticking his tongue out at Rouxls. He gathers the scattered pieces and trots out of the hallway.
The King of Spades’ towering form rises over Seam, not much more than a dark shape in Rouxls’ vision. He can feel himself shaking. He doesn’t want to know what the king will do in the face of this defiance. Seam stands his ground, and Rouxls envies his bravery.
“You are not to tell me what I do or do not understand. This is my final decree, Seam. As your King,” the king begins. “Jevil will be imprisoned. He cannot be trusted to be around any other Darkeners. He has broken.”
Seam tries to interject, “S-Sire--”
The king holds up a hand and the magician falls silent. “I was not. Done. Talking.”
The poison in his voice clogs the air, and even Rouxls feels his mouth dry and throat close up in response. He can’t believe Seam is still standing. His own legs feel on the verge of collapsing. This was the power of the King of Spades.
“Heed this, Seam,” the king speaks. His voice is no longer booming, but it is so much more dangerous than before. Rouxls hangs off the door, not daring to even breath “Jevil will be imprisoned. In fact, you will be the one to lead him to his cell.”
Seam takes a step back. “You’re not serious.”
There is a very distinct cackle then, spilling out of the mouth splitting the king’s belly. The king’s own rumbling, dry laughter accompanies it. “Of course I’m serious, Seam. You’ve shown disobedience. This is the only way to repent for it.”
Seam seems in disbelief. He sputters for a moment, staring at the king’s expectant expression at a complete loss for words. Rouxls watches him shake his head after a moment, having found some kind of resolve.
“I will do it,” Seam says stiffly. “For Jevil’s sake. Not for you. In fact,” he tears the Spade King’s seal from his cloak, throwing it to the ground. “I’m leaving Card Castle.”
Seam storms out the door, only taking a moment to glance at Rouxls before taking his leave. His fur is bristled, paws curled into fists as he retreats down the hall.
“Such a shame with that one,” the king says, suddenly very close. Rouxls hadn’t even noticed him coming up to the door before the king’s heavy hand is on his shoulder, pulling him closer.
Rouxls swallows nervously. “Y-Yes, Sire.” He tries very hard to avoid touching the king’s second mouth, which has begun chattering excitedly.
He notices the king watching Seam’s retreating form, expression contemplative as the elevator doors opened then closed around the former court magician. “He was not truly loyal. Not like you, Kaard.”
The king gives Rouxls an imploring look, and quickly Roulxs’ responds, “Yes, of course, Sire. I am eternally loyal.”
He doesn’t feel loyal. In fact, he sort of feels like throwing up. The king lifts the hand from his shoulder and rubs it along his back and the feeling only exemplifies. “I know just how loyal you are, Kaard,” the king murmurs, fingers braced at Rouxls’ nape.
Rouxls can’t speak. His entire body is racked with fear. It’s so palpable, he’s sure even the king can feel it.
“The kingdom has no use for a worthless plush toy, isn’t that right, Kaard?” The king continues, breath against Rouxls’ cheek.
Puppetlike, Rouxls nods.
“And you’ll take over that ridiculous shop he was keeping, of course.”
Somehow, Rouxls manages a shaky smile. “Y-Yes, Sire.”
The spider in Rouxls’ room has been busy.
The web now encompasses the entire ceiling corner, the intricate threads wound with clear intent. It sits in the center of its web, mandibles pressed together, a smudge of dark against the silver-grey silk. Rouxls watches it, unable to sleep.
His thoughts spin endlessly. He thinks about the shop, and what he is to do with it. He thinks about the state of the kingdom, wonders who it was that drove the jester mad.
He thinks about Lancer, reluctantly, and hopes that the child is sleeping better than he is.
He wonders how many responsibilities the king will be able to put on him before he breaks.
The spider’s pitch black eyes catch the torchlight. Uncaring, pitiless voids that gleam ever so slightly. For the briefest of moments, Rouxls thinks it might be mocking him, before his brain scolds him on how nonsensical he’s being.
The spider does not move. Rouxls rolls over, facing the other wall, and resigns himself to sleeplessness.