Councilor's First Day
Eoin fidgeted in his bed. As a person who’d been living most of his nights on stone-hard mattresses, comfortable bed like this made him a little nervous. He’d had his share of good beds, sure—his girlfriend was vastly wealthy, for one; and his best friend always welcomed him in his grand manor. But the realization that this bed was all his, permanently, was a little overwhelming.
For as long as he could remember, he’d always been slightly underprivileged. His mother was lucky to be able to sell a few fish, back in his childhood days in the City of Bays. His father barely sailed; and when he did, it wasn’t for money, but for completion of whichever nautical map he was working on back then.
Not like he could remember everything. His war-torn country wouldn’t let him have better memories to recall, and both of them passed much too early.
Eoin blinked, for the thousandth time since he put his head on the pillow—the softest pillow he’d ever touched. He couldn’t believe a boy from small ocean-locked country would wind up in a bedroom of a castle. Him—a fishmonger’s son.
It was luck. And hard work. And a little bit of blind obsession.
He sat up and stayed still for some moments, before finally moving himself away from the heap of blankets. He needed a walk. Or something, to get him exhausted.
“Might as well get some works done,” he murmured to himself, quietly, as he made his way to the archival. He’d been officially working for only one day, but he’d handled the office for years. The king trusted no one better than him—that’s what he’d like to believe, and it seemed true.
Eoin had been familiar with the castle, although the route from bedroom was still a little strange for him. He tightened his robe. Alectone Castle stood too near the wide river of Hellebore. It’s refreshing at noon, but it made it chilly at night.
For someone who was born by the sea, Eoin had too much dislike towards waterscapes. Perhaps it had something to do with his past, being a boy who couldn’t swim in seaside neighbourhood. Being left behind in the shore while all other boys had fun racing on the water was never the greatest thing in the world.
“Hey.”
The king didn’t look up, but he waved his hand. Eoin frowned and wished that he’d opened the door more quietly. “You’re not asleep.”
“I’m not?” He laughed a little at the parchment on the desk. The king made a pointing gesture downwards. “I dropped a scroll. Can you fetch it?”
Eoin looked under the desk and reached up to the scroll in question. The purple seal with flaming flower let him know that it was a letter from Visca—not many countries had that many riches to blow on the most expensive colour dye. Eoin placed it carefully behind an unopened ink bottle. “Vernal?”
Rins clicked his tongue impatiently. “King Ixanthus, idiot. That’s official seal. Read your book.”
“Right…” Eoin sat two chairs away, staring blankly on the mess on the writing desk. Rins had his own chamber, but he loved the heart of this archival. He spent most of his reclusive childhood reading these books. Now, after he officially took over the throne, it became his unofficial office.
“Hey.” Eoin raised his eyebrow. “How did you know I’d come here?”
There was a nervous tapping, filling the empty room. Rins, finally, looked up. Eoin was making that noise, his giddy fingers cradling a little goblet. It was the second one on that desk, the other was emptied by the king’s side.
Rins smiled. “Because this is your first day as my councilor.” He reached up for his goblet, then shoving it towards Eoin. Eoin quickly picked up the warm pitcher and poured some of its content to the king’s cup. “And because there are people outside this room.” Rins looked at Eoin sharply and nodded a little. “Drink.”
With a little reluctance, Eoin gulped a little of the brown-ish liquid. His eyebrows jumped in surprise. “This is not alcohol.”
Rins laughed. “Of course it’s not. I prepared that for you, stupid.” He drained the goblet in one gulp, realizing how thirsty he actually was. Rins put down his quill, staring briefly at his ink-stained fingers. He wiped some stain on his rings. “So,” he said, “how bothered are you?”
Eoin looked down at his shoes. “I’m not bothered. I don’t care what they think of me.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not asking about that,” said Rins. He tapped the goblet with his amethyst ring, making twinkling sound. It echoed softly in the archival. “But you care about what they think of me.”
He waited until Eoin looked up, and smiled. “I know it’s not consolation, but I don’t care what they say. I know you. I’ll trust you with my life.”
“Did they object?” Eoin interrupted. He clenched his goblet, drowning his emotion. “When you appointed an Albanian to be your councilor. What did they say?”
Rins laughed. He shook his head and stood up to pat Eoin on the head. He did that a lot. Most of the times, it made Eoin felt like a dog. “Don’t be silly. Will YOU dare to reason with me?”
Eoin pouted. “I won’t. But some people might be stupid enough to try.”
“Ah, well. You’re right. Amateurs. They did object, a little.” Rins paused, then shrugged. “Well. A lot.”
“And what did you say?” asked Eoin.
“I said it’s stupid to fixate on ancient, backwards, stupid stigma. I know many good Albanians, and I’m sure they do, too. Besides,” he smiled and patted Eoin on the cheek, “I didn’t appoint an Albanian. I appointed a Cappelonian.”
Eoin smiled. He took Rins’s hand off his cheek and held it in his clasps. “You did, My King.”
Rins let Eoin leaned in on his chest, and he patted the man’s head softly. “Go to bed, Councilor. Lots of tasks to handle in the morning.”
Eoin nodded and stood up, tidying up the desk as he passed. He stopped by a file cabinet and looked back. “My King?” he called. Rins looked up. “I’m still not sure how you knew I was coming here.”
Rins smiled. “You’ve known me for 15 years, you still don’t know how?”
Eoin frowned. “No.”
“I’ve known you for 15 years, stupid.”
