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His hands were shaking, teeth grinding as he attempted to steel himself. Already Meta had pricked the skin of his thigh thrice now, but never fully stuck the needle into the muscle as required. He quietly cursed himself, setting the syringe back down on his bathroom counter.
Countless times he had been sliced open, skewered, impaled by every kind of blade imaginable. Meta lived for the thrill of battle, drank in adrenaline like it was flavor of the day. Why was this any different? A tiny needle, of all things? How long had he sat here trying to give himself this injection and failed? He bit his lip, stood up and paced his quarters.
Perhaps adrenaline is what he needed now; He was far too tense. Lose the nerve… Loosen up…
“Loosen up, now, you’re making things difficult for both of us.”
The secretary’s voice echoed in Meta’s mind, and the hairs on his neck stood on end. He remembered the desperate exertion of his muscles as he fought back against the restraints.
“The process will be painful without a dose of anesthesia, you know. You natives are so stubborn…”
He felt sick, hand flying to his mouth.
“I’m going to make you stronger. That’s what you want, right? I can help you achieve this! These modifications to your body will make you an unstoppable force.”
Meta could feel his teeth gnawing against one of his knuckles.
“You of all people should understand the need for innovation.”
Skin broke against a fang and he tasted copper.
“You will be the pride and joy of this company. With your help, President Haltmann’s work shall reach new heights!”
Bile rose and burned against his throat. He was hyperventilating through dry heaves. He needed to calm down… take deep breaths. The steadier he respired, the angrier he felt. She’d lied to him, told him that his crew would be left alone so long as he complied. Yet she laughed as she watched the Halberd explode, laughed at how easily the stoic knight had given in to protect those he cared for. True, the meta-knights were all safe in the end, but his grudge had never subsided.
Technology has always fascinated Meta Knight, he relentlessly strived for ways to improve. But that… that was violation. After the events of Haltmann’s abrupt and dramatic invasion, the Halberd needed repairs, but Meta found every excuse under the sun and moon to not touch any of the materials. He had tried, of course, but quickly the sounds of scraping steel had him retching. While Susie had successfully managed to subdue and modify his body, his crew had to perform a makeshift surgery of their own to get each piece of metal out of him — a bloody and gruesome endeavor for them all. He remembered the way Sailor Dee couldn’t tear their eyes away, frozen with fear as Meta Knight screamed and clawed at the helping hands trembling with a terror they all shared. In his thrashing he’d torn a small but ugly scar across Vul’s jaw. Guilt climbed its way up and over his head, a dark cloud casting him in the shade of taunting memories. He would never make his loyal crew worry like this again. Their expressions — both through face and body — were of pure distress. Panic. Horror.
He was able to see it all so clearly with his newly perfected sight, one of the modifications added to his body to improve his retinae. His eyes had a faint glow to them now, too, startling him stiff the first time he looked in the mirror to examine his new set of scars. He wondered how the crew had felt upon seeing them.
Never again.
Meta shook his head violently and gave himself a fair number of slaps to the face. He needed to focus; he needed to move on. He needed to be a symbol of strength for his crew, now more than ever.
Try again.
Sitting back at the desk, he reapplied the alcohol wipe and took the syringe. And Nova damn it all, there were already bruises from where he had tried to stick himself. This time he would follow through; He would get this done. Just one stick of the needle. It was easy. Meta carefully aimed at his thigh again… but he froze. That was fine, no big deal. Meta Knight just needed to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. He’s done this before… Perhaps he could try counting down.
Meta was shaking again. He snarled and threw the syringe against the wall as it cluttered down, leaving a soft ringing against the metallic floor. Broken glass and wasted enanthate to clean up; it was a problem for him in the near future, he decided. He could try again tomorrow. It wouldn’t kill him to “forget” an injection this one time. Meta Knight let out a sharp sigh — more of a huff than anything — and flopped face first into his bed. His wings wrapped over himself for comfort, and he reached out to where he’d propped up his beloved sword against the nightstand.
The warm presence of Galaxia surrounded him, his mind humming with her voice. He felt like a child, being consoled by the ancient ghost of a warrior mother, forged into a legendary, sentient blade. Exactly the kind of mother that saw this scrappy, angry shell of a man and thought “yes, this one shall be mine” and took him by the scruff of the neck like a cub. How silly that concept seemed, but Galaxia practically cooed at the shared thought. Meta rolls his eyes. He’s a combatant, for Nova’s sake! This lifestyle and its hardships are all he has ever known; He has always been the epitome of bloody knuckles and the sparks which fly against colliding metal. Why was a regular task like this so difficult all of a sudden? One that should be quick, easy and painless.
What a coward he has become, to not even try. Immediately he felt the pang of disagreement from Galaxia’s hum, “but you have tried, dear heart, many times. That alone counts for something. You are learning to deal with a grievous wound that must be healed with time alone.” He scoffed, no stranger to trauma nor regrets. And he certainly wasn’t a stranger to feeling frustratingly helpless. That’s why this shouldn’t be so hard; he should be able to persevere like always. But he can admit that this was a bit different, yes.
Many times, he had no control over the situation at hand, but when Susie had altered his being and turned him into a weapon? There was no control over the circumstances or his own body. He shuddered. He wasn’t the only victim of this invasion, far from it. Meta could recall Kirby talking about their personal experience of the invasion; not just their fights with his mechanized form, but of their other friends and how it had affected them. The landscapes were reduced to paved roads and artificial trees. The charming little countryside Meta Knight had grown to love had its own new scars to recover from once more. The grass would need time to grow back, and so would the inhabitants of Dreamland.
And he knows, deep down, that it wasn’t all black and white — good versus evil. He knows that Susie herself was a victim. Meta Knight saw firsthand how her smile never quite reached her eyes. She is not a terrible person; He can accept that. However, it will never atone for what she had done to him. He will always be angry — he will always be hurt, no matter how much he doesn’t want to admit that — and he has every right to hold that grudge. This wasn’t just about himself, after all, but all of Popstar. Once again, a child had to save the day. Once again, their home was invaded and nearly destroyed. Nearly all of Dreamland was colonized against their will. Perhaps one day he’ll learn to forgive, but he frankly doubted it. He could never be like Kirby: to have an open heart, wearing it upon their sleeve. Easy to forgive others, after beating the shit out of whoever needed it. That’s just who they were. No grudges, no bad blood, but giving the ability to progress instead.
To make it look so effortless… his injections should be that easy, and yet? It seems he has even less control over his body, over his mind and his nerve. His pride would never allow him to ask for help from others, not like this; he knows Galaxia would if given the ability to. The blade attempts to soothe his mind. It’s quiet — he closes his eyes under her golden embrace, feeling it wash over him. Golden, the chiming of bells, the embrace of the sun.
“There is no shame in asking others for assistance. Remember the nights of washing away the blood from your wounds; Those hands were not your own.”
There was someone who understood more than anyone else what it felt like to be helpless. To have no control over your own body and mind. Someone who had just as much pride to hate asking for help, but swallowed it down all the same in favor of making amends. Of making things right and whole again. Yes, he remembers. Those nights became a habit of sorts after a few tense and vulnerable conversations. He needed to check on the king anyway, to see how he’s holding up after everything. But not now, and not too soon. He wants to try again, to make things right on his own. Galaxia’s warmth pulses — a heartbeat — in Meta Knight’s mind as he contemplates. There will be no rest tonight for his mind or body, but he knows that he is not alone like before.
— — —
King Dedede set down the fountain pen and stretched, his back popping refreshingly. He was up to date on the paperwork needed for castle repairs — and speaking of, that was going rather smoothly. He and his beloved Waddle Dees were making good progress, and very soon their home would be good as new. Dedede smiled to himself, carefully closing the lid for his ink. He’d need to do something special for his hardworking Dees to reward all of their unwavering service. Hopefully sooner rather than later, but there were set priorities in place.
He should stretch his legs too, while he’s at it. After neatly stacking the signed documents — and making sure nothing smeared — Dedede got up from his ornate desk and strolled over to one of the tall windows of his personal office, gently pulling the curtain back to peek outside. Ah, it had grown dark already; He should probably eat soon. Humming to himself, Dedede slipped a robe over his shoulders and began to walk down the castle halls towards the kitchen. He’d be sure to give those papers to Accountant Dee tomorrow morning… or afternoon. It depends on when he decides to wake up, really. Already the king could smell all manner of cooking, from hearty stews with a side of perfectly toasted bread to a plethora of seafood caked in spices both local and imported from their allied countries.
The king salivated and wondered if any desserts were being planned for preparation too… ah, but there were bigger priorities! He needed to remind himself that. He can’t have his Dees overworking themselves over selfish desires. But when was dessert never a priority? Decisions, decisions… one after another. And soon enough he’ll need to decide what to eat, too!
“Great King! Hello! Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“What can we get for you, Great King?”
“Ah, Your Majesty! It’s good to see you, we have a wonderful selection for you to choose from!”
The dining hall was filled with a handful of litters of Waddle Dees — both on and off the clock — and every one of them seemed raring to go. Some of the Dees would get up from their own seats to usher him to a chair, urging their king to sit with them. Others would give recommendations on what tasted best tonight. It was almost too much, and it probably would have been if Dedede didn’t find it all so endearing. He gave a hearty laugh as tiny hands guided him.
★ . . . ⁂ . . ✫彡 . . . 🜚 . . . ꥟
Time passed by, and with both his stomach and heart full, Dedede laid comfortably on his bed cluttered with lavish pillows and even softer covers. Yet unfortunately, he couldn’t rest; His mind was racing, as if he were expecting something to happen despite the sheer quiet of the night. Perhaps that was just it, it was too quiet for his liking. He pinched between his eyebrows and could almost feel a headache coming on. It had been a good, productive day all around. Why did he suddenly feel this way? Maybe everything was just finally catching up to him, the fatigue of recently being invaded once again. Feeling powerless… No, no, he wasn’t powerless anymore — He was making progress, slowly but surely!
But everyone was depending on him. He needed to be strong for his people, including Kirby; he couldn’t let that little bugger worry about him. The kid had enough on their plate. And now his mind was louder than ever, practically buzzing with white noise. Thoughts tumbling over themselves trying to be heard. Conflicted feelings, pushed down, cradled and treasured. Everything was suddenly too much in the silence of midnight and it drove Dedede crazy. His head felt like it would split! He needed to sleep, or else he’d be too tired to be useful come tomorrow. He needed to be better, he needed to be strong. He couldn’t go back to being that hoggish, uncaring king. No, he needed to be perfect, he needed to—
All thoughts screeched to a halt at the sound of tapping glass. Oh, that was… familiar. Sure enough, when Dedede looked out the balcony doors, he could easily identify his visitor. It would be a challenge to not notice the way Meta’s eyes gleamed. Dedede got up from his king-sized (ha!) bed to unlock the doors and let his knight inside. The cold chill of the night swept through the room as Meta Knight stepped forward.
“Thank you. Good evening, sire.”
“Good evenin’, yourself. Couldn’t sleep? Need a hand to hold?”
The knight gave him a light chuckle. Good to know his humor didn’t go over his head anymore. Did it ever? Maybe he just learned to loosen up. It seems both of them did.
“I could say the same for you, y’know… The King of Dreamland, up at this hour of the night? What ever could be troubling you? Did no one offer to rub your feet today?” Okay, scratch that. He was smug as ever, this bastard. Dedede gave a mean smirk, the same kind he could hear in the other’s voice.
“I dunno, guess I had a feeling you’d swing by. That filled me with dread.”
“Well then, I hope I don’t overstay my welcome.”
“What, like the past two decades or so?” Dedede was gifted a genuine laugh for that one, and he ignored the way it made the tips of his ears flush. But just as quickly as Meta’s breathless laughter came to light, so too was it replaced with a silence he could only describe as cumbersome. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck, watching the knight fidget with his gloves.
It was evident he wanted to say — or admit — something but was having some difficulty. Better to ease him into it.
“It’s been a good while since you’ve visited me so personally. You don’t look like you’re bleeding out, but’re you alright? Have any wounds that need some fixing?”
Meta Knight had expressed before of his distaste for seeing the doctor. He didn’t like being vulnerable, didn’t want to be examined so closely (unless it was within his own terms, on the battlefield). He valued his privacy. It was something that wasn’t hard for Dedede to understand considering the times dark matter had used him, possessed his body and treated him like a puppet. He would never grow used to it, no matter how much he fought back. And he still had the nasty scars across his belly from that once instance… Kirby was far too young to see someone’s body transform in such a horrid way.
“Actually… in a way, yes. It’s not unlike that.”
Dedede was snapped out of his thoughts and raised a brow.
“Vague… but okay, shoot. What’s troubling you?”
Meta Knight reached into — what Dedede liked to call — his “designated purse friend” cape and handed him a small vial, about the width of the king’s pinky finger. Maybe smaller, now that he had a better look at it. He scanned the text as Meta grabbed more things to show.
“So… what, you expect me to drink this or something?” He joked.
“No, cabrón, it’s to be injected… and it’s not for you.”
“Nothing’s written in Standard on these labels, so I didn’t know, smartass. I’m assuming you want my help injecting this into you?”
Meta Knight gave him a curt nod, then seemed to grow anxious.
“It’s something I’ve been able to do on my own for many years but… now it’s not so simple.” He started to fidget again, hardly noticeable unless you’ve spent years knowing Meta Knight.
“I tried… multiple times to give myself this injection like usual… but I found myself skipping my regular ‘injecting day’, up until I realized I hadn’t done it in a little over two weeks.” He couldn’t meet the king’s gaze, just took a deep and frustrated breath. “I feel like I’ve been set back in all of my progress. Ever since the Haltmann invasion…”
Even under that mask, Dedede could see the way his knight’s brow furrowed. It made sense now — he remembered Kirby had told him that Meta Knight was mechanized. He didn’t want to imagine the process.
“Now, hey, don’t worry your pretty blue head about it. You’re plenty strong, always have been… for better or worse,” he mused. “Everyone needs a break from that responsibility, including you… and now that I think about it, I don’t actually think I’ve ever seen you take a break.” Meta scoffed, but it was more half-hearted than anything.
“What I’m saying, Meta, is to just let go and guide me through this process so I can effectively help you. Okay? It’s no biggie, I swear. Now come sit and hand me the needle.” And with that, Dedede promptly marched to his bed, teeny vial between thick fingers, and patted at the spot he intended for his knight to sit.
— — —
Well.
Meta Knight had always expected the worst outcome to the best of his abilities. In a way, it was a defense mechanism, so that he didn’t get disappointed or caught off guard. If he entered a room nowadays he was ready to meet with an ambush; his mirror counterpart wouldn’t catch him in surprise ever again. Other times, Meta Knight made sure to try communicating better with Kirby to avoid any misunderstanding, yet even then there was no telling whether an incident like Dark Nebula’s escape would transpire or not. And so it was best to remain cautious. But now he was caught off guard in a way he hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t a bad thing, of course, and it lifted a certain weight off of his shoulders… but it was a surprise nonetheless.
He expected more teasing, perhaps. Or the need to persuade the king more, because while there is an unguarded history between the two and licking each other’s wounds in the dead of night, this was admittedly different than bandaging a large gash. His painful and mighty hindrance this time was but a frail needle. He wasn’t carelessly ripped to shreds or had his side cut open and spilling blood on Dedede’s carpet (again), just… shit, he was scared. He would never be able to comfortably admit it but he was scared. Had all the adrenaline in his life been fueled by fear? Is that all it ever was?
But there was no denying Galaxia’s words — he was still trying, even if he couldn’t bring himself to do this alone for now.
So he sat on the king’s bed as instructed — him, following orders? How queer — and watched Dedede examine the items he’d presented to him moments ago. He’d asked Meta to guide him through the process, and so he shall. But there were specific instructions to follow; would the king be able to keep up? Pushing all pretentious thoughts aside, Meta Knight began to point out each item. Even if Dedede managed to mess up the injection somehow, he’s still be doing better than Meta himself, in his current state.
“This is the needle. Take off the cap and attach it to the syringe here.”
Ah, the king looked focused, actually… and following his instructions, no less. Of course he was, though — he genuinely wanted to help. Meta Knight was just being cynical again. He ripped open one of the alcohol prep pads and took the vial from Dedede’s hand.
“Before drawing, the vial needs to be cleaned here to keep everything sanitized… And now it can be drawn up. I fill it up to around here.”
He pointed at one of the lines across the syringe and Dedede nodded, carefully pulling back.
“Nova, this stuff is thick. This is going to take forever to draw up…” The king complained. Meta Knight simply nodded in response.
“I forgot to mention you should draw up a bit more than where I showed. There’s usually air bubbles that need to be tapped out.”
“You’re saying I gotta do this for even longer? It’s like watching paint dry, darlin’, and my fingers are starting to cramp.”
Meta Knight refused to acknowledge the pet name or the rising heat in his face, and instead went to take the syringe from Dedede, but his efforts were futile. Despite the king’s diligent attention to drawing up the medicine, he managed to outmaneuver the knight and stood with his hands high over his head.
“Nuh-uh, you asked for my help and that’s exactly what you’ll get!” He snickered at their sheer difference in height.
“Even though you’ve been whining about it?” Meta huffed. That earned a laugh from the king.
“Of course, it’s my duty to make sure each and every one of my subjects is happy. Even if this one here is a brat sometimes.” Dedede teased as he lightly kicked at his leg.
In response, Meta Knight pinched the king’s side, making him jump with a near-yelp.
“Hey, hey, watch it! Tryin’ to concentrate here… Okay, got it. I think. What’s your verdict?”
The king lowered the vial and syringe to let Meta Knight inspect, to which he earned a nod.
“That’s plenty enough, thank you. I can take care of getting rid o—“
Dedede swiped his hands back up. “Now what did I just say? Let me take care of it, Knighty. If you’re so insistent on doing this yourself then why did you come here for my help?”
“Because everything up to this point is the easy part.”
“So the part giving you trouble is what, sticking yourself with the needle?”
“Yes.” Meta grumbled. “I know, it’s not… It shouldn’t be…”
Damn it, he kept losing his words. To think he had been holding up so well until this point… what was the deal? But Dedede didn’t seem phased by it.
“Alright, then. How about we do that part together, yeah? Just keep telling me what to do and then we’ll both do the last part.”
Meta Knight couldn’t help but gawk at him, and Dedede turned his head a notch, as if he were trying to read his expression through the mask. His coiled hair escaped from behind his shoulder at the movement, natural and unbraided, draped perfectly over his silk kimono as if to frame his thick neck. Meta had been so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn’t consider the king’s attire, his chest exposed — Nova save him. He blinked hard, attempting to correct his line of thinking.
“That sound okay with you?” Dedede asked. “I won’t take over the whole thing like I have been, so long as you don’t want me to. Just wanna help.”
“Yes, that. Yeah. It’s worth a try.”
And the king beamed at him.
— — —
Meta Knight showed him how to tap the bubbles away, flicking the syringe until the bigger ones separated and floated back to the top. Overall it was very similar to the drawing process: it took a lot of patience and it would make your fingers cramp.
“What’s the reason the bubbles need to be taken care of? Do they hurt or something?”
“Yes, any bubbles that get in the bloodstream will go to my heart and thus have a chance of killing me.”
Dedede felt his own blood run cold at the thought, but Meta Knight seemed unphased. Like he was either used to the risk, or…
Meta was laughing now, and though it was light, it still successfully made the king’s skin singe again. Twice in one night Dedede had gotten his knight to laugh freely, as if it came easy. He was on a roll. Meta looked at him, and it wasn’t sharp. If anything, he seemed comfortable, and especially amused.
“I jest; the needle goes into the muscle — not the veins. The air bubbles will just leave me sore for a few days.”
“Then how do I know we’ve stuck it in the right spot?”
“That's easy. You draw the syringe back. If it’s empty, that means it’s in the muscle. Otherwise, you’ll just draw up blood and we’d have to start all over again.”
“Yeah, no pressure.” The king grumbled, then grinned. “So… where do you want me to stick it in?”
“Right, sorry. I typically do it in my thighs and differentiate each week.”
“Gotcha, just holler at me when you’re ready.”
There was a rustling — almost a whisper — of fabric as Meta Knight exposed his skin and tore open the second prep pad. Dedede watched as he gently applied it in a circular motion, then promptly discarded the wipe and pinched at the muscle, indicating where the needle must go in. The knight raised his eyes to him with a nod, “I’m ready.”
King Dedede leaned closer, syringe in hand as Meta carefully placed his own on top. The needle hovered mere inches over his flesh.
“You wanna countdown?”
The knight pondered for only a moment before shaking his head. “It’ll just make me tense.”
That’s all he needed to know, then. Just when Dedede was about to push forward, Meta Knight jerked back, his hand leaving the other’s. The king quickly moved the syringe away, cursing himself.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I thought it would have been easier to go ahead and do it quickly…” Dedede tried to laugh; He needed to steer the mood back to something more comfortable. Trusting. What a buffoon, to jump the gun when the other was vulnerable. Try as he may, Dedede hadn’t changed — he was as reckless as ever. But even so…
When he looked at Meta Knight, there was no sign of tension directed at him. Relief flooded over the king when he noticed that Meta hadn’t even moved from where he sat on the bed, and nor did his wings sprout in alarm. He looked ashamed of himself, his hand was shaking ever so slightly.
“No, I’m sorry,” the knight said. His voice sounded tight. “I thought that I could do this.”
“Hey, this isn’t your fault. We’ll go at your own pace, alright? Whatever’s comfiest.”
Meta Knight looked at him for a moment, pondering. He took a breath.
“Actually… Maybe we could do a countdown.”
King Dedede smiled, nodded. He held out the syringe again, allowing his knight to place a hand on top of his own once more.
“Three…”
Together they aimed.
“Two…”
As their hands descended, so too did the force behind Dedede’s endeavor. His hand remained tight around the syringe, but he was no longer doing any of the work. He watched as Meta Knight did what he’d struggled to do before, all on his own.
“One!”
His hand was simply being pulled along as the needle breached skin.
— — —
There was no danger here.
His body was his own.
He could move freely.
He was in control.
As the king counted down, Meta Knight closed his eyes to steal another breath. His surroundings were warm — soft, even — unlike the table he had previously been strapped to. It was peacefully quiet, and comforting to be here. The room smelled of sandalwood and lavender.
He opened his eyes as he readied himself.
“One!”
Meta forced the syringe down and allowed the needle to puncture his thigh. It was all the way in. To think it was this easy, this fast… he almost laughed. His eyes were stinging with the birth of tears, wet against his lashes. He refused to blink, didn’t want to let them escape. It all felt so ridiculous.
Neither of their hands had moved; Meta Knight looked up at the king, who was already smiling at him again. He could feel a lump in his throat and swiftly averted his gaze.
“We did it,” Meta said. “Thank you.”
He heard the king laugh, felt his hand brush against his own as the plunger of the syringe was pulled back to check for blood.
“Not ‘we’. That was all you, knighty.”
What? Nonsense, he had helped him greatly. Meta turned back to look at Dedede, who looked rather sheepish as the knight stared.
“I, uh… I should apologize again. I wanted to let you do it on your own.”
He pushed the plunger down, watching as the medicine ever so slowly left the barrel.
“I just… I figured you would have preferred to do that yourself, but you would’ve had a hard time if you knew that I wasn’t doin’ my part.”
Meta Knight gaped at him as he pulled the needle back out, satisfied to see the syringe emptied.
“So, yeah, that was all you.” The king looked him in the eye, “I knew you could. Just… needed some proper encouragement, I guess.”
Damn it. Meta Knight tried to rapidly blink as he allowed his head to bow. He hoped that the king wouldn’t see his eyes; He’d been wide open in his defenses enough as of late.
Meta wanted to be angry for being misled. And yet. He felt a heavy clap on his back, nearly making him jump out of his skin.
“So what’s the next step, huh? Need a bandaid? A get-well-kiss?”
The knight snickered. “You’ve been saying all kinds of silly things like that tonight. Did the sight of my bare skin bolden you that much?”
He savored the sight of Dedede’s face reddening, the way his fingers twitched as though he wanted to prevent himself from openly fidgeting. The king stammered, “S’no big deal, I mean I’ve seen your— your skin several times and counting…”
“‘And counting’, sire?”
“Geez! Goodnight, Meta Knight! Givin’ me a heart attack…” he muttered.
The smaller man breathlessly laughed as he made himself more decent again. “You’re quite alright, I believe.”
— — —
The knight gathered his belongings and spared him one last glance of amber eyes before taking off into the night. The curtains of Dedede’s balcony door fluttered alongside Meta Knight’s cape before it morphed into his natural wings. He stepped over the edge and took flight as the king watched his figure shrink into the darkness. He’d wanted to offer that he stay the night. He wished that he had, but unlike the other times before, Meta was fully capable of flying back to the Halberd.
Next time, he told himself. Surely next time. And the king slept well that night, much to his own surprise when the sun crept along his face the next morning, spurring him from dreams of Orange Ocean.
He squinted against the light from his balcony window, imagining the silhouette of him waiting there.