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“Hilmes-denka, please allow me.”
The dark-haired youth rushes over to where his lord is sitting on the soft floor cushion. Before him, a few platters of food are set tidily on the lushly carpeted floor. The tantalizing aromas of roasted meat and freshly baked bread fill the dimly-lit chamber, but the black-haired prince, who has taken off the silver mask that has made him equally famous and despised and has replaced it with a simple white cloth covering the scarred half of his face, has not touched any food even once.
He’s been sitting there silently for a few minutes, injured arm wrapped tightly in bandages and placed in a sling to keep it from being jostled. He hasn’t complained or mentioned any discomfort, but it’s obvious that the injury is causing him some inconvenience, even when it’s something as simple as taking a bath or, in this case, having his meals.
Zandeh has seen his attempt at using his left hand to fork a piece of meat onto his plate, but that’s as far as he’s gotten. The piece of charred beef is obviously too big and chunky for the prince to place the whole portion into his mouth, and at Hilmes’ slight hesitation, Zandeh has decided to abandon all strict etiquettes and volunteers to help Hilmes cut up his food.
“There’s no need, Zandeh,” Hilmes tells him, his sigh barely audible as his icy teal gaze flickers across the knight’s enthusiastic expression before he returns his attention to the abandoned utensil beside his plate. “Summon one of the servants and have them do it instead.”
On any other day, Zandeh would have left it at that; he’d obey Hilmes’ order and call in one of the maids waiting outside, and that would have been the end of it. But something in the manner with which Hilmes persistently refuse to ask for help even for insignificant matters as this makes the grey-eyed knight’s heart constrict terribly, and he tells himself to stop – to get a hold of himself already before he embarrasses himself before the prince even further.
Despite his best effort, his mouth runs with the sentiment ringing loud and strong in his mind before he’s aware of what he’s saying.
“Please let me, denka, it’s no trouble at all!”
Was that too much? Was his intention too obvious? His cheeks flush dark, but Hilmes says nothing.
It’s the second time that his tongue has slipped into calling Hilmes “denka” but somehow, the man himself neither seems perturbed nor irritated as is the usual case. Providence may be on his side yet, Zandeh thinks, a little bewildered but glad just the same.
“Then, by all means,” Hilmes appears to have given up on changing the young man’s mind before he’s even started, and he pushes his plate towards the other man with his uninjured arm, the gesture a bit awkward because of the direction of his movement.
As the young knight begins to cut up the meat into bite-size pieces, his dark brows drawn together in concentration, Hilmes glances over, the usual cold, iron edge in his eyes dissipating a little and a trace of fondness seeping through. Zandeh is slicing the beef with meticulous care and efficiency despite his seemingly bulky and ungainly hands.
Soon, he finds himself facing a forkful of beef – the center still pink and steaming – held a few inches before him by the knight, who’s looking up at him with those overly bright and eager eyes that Hilmes always has trouble maintaining a steady gaze with.
Hilmes replies with a quirk of his eyebrow when he murmurs, “I’m fully capable of at least eating with my one good hand.”
“Ah! My sincerest apologies, Hilmes-denka,” the knight almost drops his fork in the process of his hurried speech but succeeds in tightening his grasp around the fork at the last second, and he continues in a softer register, head lowered as if to hide in shame, “I-I didn’t mean any disrespect… I just forgot myself and ––”
The teal-eyed prince has leaned forward, takes the piece of meat delicately into his mouth, and starts to chew as he settles on the cushion once more.
“Hilmes-denka?” Zandeh’s blinking owlishly, and he knows it’s rude to stare, but at the moment, he’s simply half engrossed by the prince’s reaction and half amazed that he’s somehow still alive having once again accidentally offended his liege.
“You were talking too much and I was getting hungry,” Hilmes explains in a deadpan tone, but it’s not rooted from real ire or annoyance, and so the knight decides to tease his fate once more.
He forks up another piece of beef and carefully, with an unwavering hand and bold, determined grey eyes meeting the prince’s deadly calm teal ones, Zandeh holds out the fork towards the prince, this time even closer so that Hilmes doesn’t need to bend too far out to take the bite.
Hilmes eats the mouthful without any hesitation.
They continue this in a comfortable silence, and later that same night, Hilmes will need to thank his ever loyal and thoughtful knight for his services.