Ja'far drummed the slender fingers of his left hand on the fine mahogany table he was seated at, taking care not to do it so loudly that he would disturb the conversation Sinbad and Kouen were currently engaged in. He was not finding this meeting to be of any benefit to him nor his king so far, as the two men had yet to move onto the pressing matters of a possible treaty, choosing instead to be overly polite and phatic in their topics, sizing each other up, both on guard lest they somehow offend the other and sabotage this whole expedition.
But it was not this that was causing him to sigh through his nose as loud as he dared to; nor was it the way Kouha was endlessly adding sugar to his tea, something which Ja'far would have scolded him for if he were on different sides; neither was it how Masrur, on Sinbad's left, was finding it harder and harder to stifle yawns, something which no one other than the advisor had picked up on, luckily.
No. It was prince Koumei, Kouen's younger brother of two years, who was sat directly opposite Ja'far. The man wasn't doing anything worth noting; in fact, he very much looked like he didn't want to be there and would have been better off in bed, given the fact that he had dark rings under his eyes to rival those that Ja'far acquired after long nights in his office. The prince looked distinctly dishevelled, as if he had not properly woken up, despite the speed of which he was recording the minutes of the conversation, something which he had delegated to himself rather than have a servant sit in and do (much to Ja'far's surprise and admiration). His wine-coloured hair was sticking up and out at odd angles, and Ja'far was quite sure that the prince hadn't even brushed it that morning. Given that Koumei had such long, thick hair, it was all the more obvious that he had neglected grooming today.
Ja'far tutted under his breath. Surely, as the second prince of an Empire, one would at least brush one's hair before meeting the king of another country? If he were in Koumei's place then that would be the absolute least he would do; heck, as a regular, normal person that's what he would do.
And his hair wasn't all that was wrong with his appearance, now that Ja'far began scrutinising him. Koumei was slumped in his chair with paperwork sprawled in front of him, no order to his work, no labels, no stacks – just paper, littering the table before him. Ja'far felt a nerve jump in his eye as Koumei scratched the back of his head with the nib of his pen before continuing writing.
How unbefitting for a prince.
"Something wrong, Freckles?"
Ja'far jumped at the nickname and hurriedly scanned the room for that infernal Magi, but Judal was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Kouha was grinning at him, having finished dumping sugar into his beverage. No doubt the boy had picked up the nickname from Judal, then.
All eyes were on him now, including Koumei's sleepy pair. Sinbad was looking at him questioningly, trying to pick out anything that Ja'far could have been troubled by without saying a word.
"Nothing is wrong, prince Kouha," Ja'far stated, inclining his head respectfully in his direction despite wishing he could hurl a blade at him for interrupting the meeting so rudely, "may I ask what gave you that impression?"
"You were staring at Mei like you were contemplating murdering him on the spot." Kouha grinned nastily, quite clearly revelling in the sudden, involuntary movement Koumei made as he leant away from the table and back into his chair.
"I can assure his highness that that was not my intended expression." Ja'far prayed that they all stopped watching him; otherwise he was quite sure he was going to start grinding his teeth. "I was merely so focused on the conversation that my face must have conveyed that intensity. Please forgive me."
And so he mentally made a note to never look at Kou's second prince again, lest he end up slaughtering the youngest brother.