Title: Fixed
Fandom: Megan Whalen Turner
Characters: Eugenides, Attolia
Word Count: 551
Rating: G
Summary: Night is still Eugenides favorite time of day; it doesn't even scare him anymore.
Author's Notes: SPOILERS! There are spoilers in this story for the unpublished King of Attolia. They are not plot spoilers, but they do give away some info about the new book. Do not read unless you are willing to be spoiled. Otherwise, please do read and review! Thanks.
Eugenides couldn't go anywhere without a veritable swarm of people following in his wake. Officially anyway.
Once the door to his rooms was shut, the bolt that he'd specifically requested slid firmly into place, and the darkness fallen like a heavy blanket across the palace, Eugenides was able to relax. He fell naturally into his nighttime routine. He wasn't tired of course; he had tutorials and court sessions in which to catch up on sleep. No, Eugenides thrived in the night, and each evening was like waking up from the trance of his daily duties.
To begin he would strip down to his underclothes, grateful for once that it never got cold in Attolia as it would in Eddis. He didn't need royal attendants underfoot, scurrying to start a fire and turn down his bed. He would stretch slowly, leisurely working muscles that yearned for something more to do than just sit. Sitting, Eugenides had learned, was one of the chief duties of a king.
Muscles warm, Eugenides would dress quickly. It was always the same thing: loose pants pulled tight about the waist with a drawstring, a light linen shirt that didn't bind in the shoulders, and his boots, ankle high with supple leather soles. Finally, after he dressed Eugenides would remove the hook and cuff from the end of his right arm. He would carefully place it on the small dressing table in his room. Gingerly, the linen that was the final layer between the outside world and his crippled arm would be unwrapped.
Only then would Eugenides leave his rooms, finally free for the first time in hours. He slid the large wardrobe out from the wall, not giving any indication that it weighed any more than his dining chair. The hinges barely even squeaked. The tunnel behind the wardrobe was dark, but Eugenides knew the way by heart, sudden bends and all. He walked slowly, savoring each step as he made his way to the end of the passage.
Finally, the smooth wall that marked the end of the passageway began to materialize within Eugenides' vision. Three short raps with his knuckles, and then a muffled kick with his foot. It was always a good idea to take precautions. He searched out the latch of the door with his fingers, roughened skin scratching on the smooth wood of the door. A pull and a twist released the door from its frame and it swung silently inward.
Eugenides grinned as he stepped into the golden chamber, flickering firelight reflected off of the many mirrors and crystal amphorae that decorated the room. His eyes trained almost immediately on her. She sat on an armchair that was turned out toward the Hephestial Mountains, the same sight that Eugenides looked toward from his own windows. Her face, though, was not turned away. Rather, she was looking at him, a glimmer of a smile painted about her delicate lips, her eyes shining with…love? Eugenides was bold enough to hope.
A month ago his stomach would have flopped over in his belly to see Attolia, a nightmare that had somehow blended into a dream with the swirl of pale fabric under the orange trees. Now, Eugenides had no fear of Attolia, of his Queen.
"Irene," he whispered, and shut the door behind himself.