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the line between love and hate is a thin one. amethar is both everything calroy wants to be and everything he despises. and when calroy kisses him for the first time, embarrassingly, he isn’t thinking of how much more it’ll sting when he betrays amethar once and for all. he’s only thinking that he wants to. the years and years he’s spent at amethar’s side pretending to be his right hand man is messing with his head, calroy tells himself. when the time comes, his hand will be steady and the water dagger will land squarely in amethar’s back. but for tonight, he’ll indulge his worse impulses, if only for the smugness he’ll be able to hold over caramelinda later. and when amethar kisses him back like he’s been waiting for years to do this, calroy will smile to himself at the king of candia’s foolishness. he will not waver in his resolve. he has faithfully loved this man to the point of unhealthy obsession (or maybe it’s the other way around) and it’s only right that he will be the one to destroy him.
that night, calroy does not sit on the edge of amethar’s bed as the king sleeps. his hands don’t shake as he watches amethar’s slow breathing and briefly considers ending it right now. he backs down because it has to be more of a production, a scene worthy of the many years he’s planned it, not because he doesn’t have the will. he does not reconsider everything he’s worked for. he does not silently pray to a bulb he doesn’t believe in that things could be different, that there was another path to the throne for him. he does not cry in silent mourning for the inevitable tragedy that is to befall amethar’s young daughters, reflecting on his role in raising the two of them, and he does not consider sparing them.
he does not do any of those things because calroy crueller is not a sentimental man. he is many things—a liar, a mentor, a traitor, an advisor, a con artist, a friend, a monster—but if he is to be king, he cannot be merciful. and he won’t.
—
as calroy leads him up to his death, amethar is talking to him about something he couldn’t care less about—theo and where to station his knights, knights calroy ordered his men to murder days ago—and calroy knows that now is the time. the king’s back is to him and they’re high enough that no guards are watching. not that there are any guards left that are disloyal to house cruller. all calroy has to do is slip the water dagger from the concealed holster under his shirt and drive it into amethar’s back. it’ll be so easy, after all the times that calroy has failed. he lifts the dagger—and then drops it.
at the completely obvious clatter of watersteel falling, amethar turns around. “cal?”
for once in his life, calroy is frozen in place, no witty response at the tip of tongue. amethar’s eyes travel down to the water dagger on the stone floor, then back up to calroy’s outstretched hand.
“cal?” amethar repeats, more forcefully now.
calroy still can’t move. it’s almost laughable, what an utter failure this is. he couldn’t even stab an unsuspecting man in the back.
“you know, when manta ray said you snuck him and morris brie through enemy lines, i thought something seemed off,” amethar says slowly, as if he’s still figuring it all out. a fool to the end, calroy sneers. “but i didn’t think they’d go this far. what did the church do to you? are they threatening you, cal?”
calroy can’t help it. he laughs. and then he can’t stop laughing. “you fucking idiot,” he manages to spit out between gasps.
amethar frowns. “cal—“
“you know what i’ve always hated about you, amethar?” the line that calroy rehearsed in his head for years. every time he had to deal with amethar’s selfishness and stupidity, he’d repeat this speech in his mind. only now that the time is here, he can’t actually remember what comes next.
he can see amethar’s expression shift into the one he wears in combat, focused and steely. his hand is on payment day and calroy truly doesn’t know if he’ll try to stop amethar from stabbing the sword through his chest.
“you’re so damn charming,” calroy breathes out. “i could never hate you entirely. couldn’t even kill you properly.”
amethar unsheathes payment day in all its brutal glory and calroy still doesn’t move. he can feel tears stinging his eyes. this wasn’t the way this was supposed to go. it’s hard to tell whether he’s mourning the loss of the throne or the loss of amethar’s trust more.
“you hated me, cal?” he says.
calroy braces himself for one last lie. “this whole time.”
the sword slides into his chest with a thunk. amethar is holding him steady by the shoulder, and he thinks about how nice it would be to die in amethar’s arms. on instinct, he reaches for amethar’s hand.
“i’m so sorry.” amethar sounds on the brink of tears as well.
“you shouldn’t be. i was—i am a monster.”
“but you were my best friend too,” amethar whispers.
calroy is finding it hard to breathe now, overwhelmed by the warm, wet feeling of red icing dripping down his chest. amethar’s hand is the only thing keeping him standing. “i love... loved you,” he chokes out.
amethar slides the sword back out and drops it, cradling calroy in his arms. “i know. so did i. fuck, cal, i’m sorry.”
“would you say—say it?” he asks weakly. amethar is too ridiculously sentimental to decline a request from a dying man, calroy knows that much.
and for once, amethar gets his meaning without prompting. “i love you, calroy.”
a final satisfied smirk crosses calroy’s face. he doesn’t deserve the kindness, considering what he did to amethar’s sisters and where he’s sent amethar’s daughters tonight, and the thought of tricking amethar one last time is too perfectly ironic. a good way to go, he thinks.
and then he stops thinking entirely.