The Onyx Throne Pt. 01 Ch. 22-23

Mitchell picked up the straight razor and held it experimentally in his hand.

"I'm worried I'll cut my throat and all your hard work will be wasted."

"I can help you if you like. I used to shave my father."

"That would be great," Mitchell told her.

Allora led him over to a small alcove off to the side of the bathing pool and Mitchell found it contained a washbasin and faucet, as well as towels, combs, brushes, and a few things he didn't recognize that didn't look like they were meant for people with fleshy skin.

She directed him to a chair and he found it leaned back not unlike a barber chair back home that he had seen in old movies when guys went for a shave at the local barber shop. He had heard there were places that still did that but he had never visited one.

Allora had him sit back as she ran hot water into the basin. She laid a towel around his neck and proceeded to use the scissors to shave off his scraggly facial growth. Things became quiet and Mitchell watched her. He studied every line of her face, tried to memorize the darker flecks of violet in her irises, and catalog every swirl and line in her long, delicate ears. She caught him staring and he saw her mouth begin to curl ever so slightly at the edges but she would catch herself and force the smile away. It almost seemed like she was afraid to let herself enjoy the moment. It didn't make sense to him, but she was a mysterious and complicated woman.

With his beard as close to the skin as she could get it with the scissors, she soaked a towel in the steaming water and wrapped it around his face. It burned for a moment but then he got used to it and couldn't stifle a groan at the sensation of the heat leaching all the tension out of his face. While he luxuriated in the steam, she prepared the shaving cream and then began the slow, steady work of shaving him.

To her credit, her hands never wavered or shook. Her strokes were confident and efficient and she didn't nick him even once. For his part, once he got over the nervousness of having a razor at his throat, he found the experience rather nice. She didn't speak and he didn't want his neck moving around, so neither did he. The silence was pleasant rather than uncomfortable. They had been through a lot together and, even though they hadn't talked much beyond their mission, he felt closer to her than maybe anyone in his life. She would die for him, Mitchell knew. In that moment, he also knew that he would do the same for her. Even if she never said she loved him, never had any sort of feelings about him at all beyond the mission, he would die for her.

As she toweled off a little of the remaining shaving cream near his ear, Mitchell reached up and gently grabbed her wrist. He didn't pull at it and she didn't pull away. He held it firmly but not tightly and their eyes found one another. He looked up at her for a long time and her gaze never wavered as she looked down at him. He tried to push his thoughts into her head, to communicate all the things he felt for her and to will her to understand but if magic existed for that, he didn't yet know how to do it. There was no shy smile this time, no little quip or joke, only a long gaze into each other's souls. With a final squeeze, he released her wrist and she nodded as if there was a new understanding between them. Maybe there was.

"If you would like to join me in my room in an hour," Allora said as she prepared to leave, "I believe a tailor will come to measure us for some proper attire to complete our journey to the mountains."

"Sure," Mitchell replied.

He rubbed his hand over his face and it was as smooth as a baby's ass. "And Allora?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for the shave."

She gave him a tight but genuine smile and bowed her head slightly.

"It was my pleasure. I have not had a chance to do that in many years. It brought back fond memories of my father."

"I wish I could have met him," Mitchell told her honestly. "I am sure he was a fine man. Or, uh, elf. I guess."

Allora chuckled.

"Yes, he was. I think he would have liked you."

The elvish warrior turned to the main suite door this time rather than the one that led to Lethelin's room but she suddenly stopped and turned around.

"Mitchell," she said with a hint of hesitancy in her voice. "If you would like, you may call me Lora."

Mitchell was somewhat taken aback. She was always so formal around him that he almost couldn't imagine her having a kind of nickname. But when he thought about it, he had heard Revos call her that from time to time.

"If you would like, sure, I can do that. Lora."

Mitchell tried out the name and decided he liked it.

"Yes," she said with a smile in her voice. "I think that would be nice. It is what my friends used to call me. I will see you in an hour."

She thumbed the gemstone next to the door and took her leave.

"Lora," Mitchell said, almost as if he had to practice it to get it right. Then he started grinning.

***

Lethelin sat and poked at the remaining food on her dinner plate and sulked. The ugliest whore?!? How dare that beautiful long-legged stiff-backed fish-gut-loving spawn of a river slug tell her that she wasn't good enough to bed Mitchell! Lethelin had killed men for worse insults than that! Well, no, that wasn't true. But she could have! Besides, Mitchell certainly hadn't seemed to mind.

Just what was wrong with her wanting to get paid, anyway? She was providing a service, after all. She would steal what they told her to steal, and stab who they told her to stab. Wasn't that worth some coin? Shouldn't she be compensated for her hard work? If they were caught, she would be just as dead as them. He was going to be the monarch, after all. He could afford it! She ought to march over to--

A chime sounded throughout the room which shocked Lethelin out of her plans for glorious retribution. She looked at the door to Allora's room first, ashamed at the spike of anxiety that shot through her insides. But no, it wasn't that one. Looking with a nearly equal amount of anxiety toward Mitchell's door, she saw that it wasn't his either.

Through the process of elimination, she isolated the sound to the main suite door and got up in a huff to go answer it. Upon opening it, she was a little taken aback to see Revos's towering coppery-red form standing before her.

"Good evening, my little assassin," he said with his deep baritone voice.

"Yeah?"

She was too annoyed to notice the honey coating his words.

"Now that our clothing has been sorted out, it seems we have the rest of the evening to ourselves. I thought you might like to join me in some refreshments."

He held up a bottle of wine and, when she saw the variety, it was enough to snap her out of her sulking.

"Where did you get a bottle of Iletishian Sapphire Blue?" she asked, unable to keep the note of awe out of her voice. "That is only for the royal family!"

The large cambion shrugged as if it was inconsequential.

"Things like this have a way of falling into my hands. But if you would like to invite me in, I'd be happy to share it with you."

Lethelin reevaluated the situation and fully took in his appearance. His normal robes were gone, replaced by a loin cloth that looked unusually tight around the bulge between his legs, and he was wearing a black leather vest that was open, revealing the chiseled muscles of his chest and abdomen. His skin glistened and she realized he had oiled it. His horns were equally polished.

"Revos..." Lethelin began slowly. "Is this your attempt to seduce me?"

He gave her a devilish little smile.

"I do appreciate your directness," he said. "Yes, it is, my flame-haired temptress. Have you ever been with one of my kind? I promise you, it is an unforgettable experience."

He arched one of his eyebrows at her as his pointed tongue glided over black lips. He gave what she was sure was supposed to be a sexy look.

"Ugh!" she groaned. After everything else that had happened to her today, this was the last thing she needed. "Look, no offense or anything, but I don't bed anything with horns. Sleep well."

Revos blinked in surprise and began to speak.

"But--"

She slammed the door in his face.