If there's one thing that Judal has done well, it's made it so he sleeps better than ever.

The aches and pains that have long become something Ja'far is accustomed to are gone, leaving him with a surprising freshness when he wakes. It would make his day brighter and better if not for the realization that it comes with a price-vulnerability that he hasn't had since he was a child, something that makes him wary no matter how Sinbad says it simply makes him human.

Sinbad, of course, it something else entirely.

The situation the man has put himself in makes Ja'far grind his teeth, and after avoiding him for a solid three days, thinking desperately about how to get him out from underneath Judal's hold, Ja'far simply lets the idea stew instead, realizing well that it's difficult to be wholly angry with his king even if he does want to firmly strangle him.

It doesn't stop him from avoiding him still, however. There's a chain of it, actually; Masrur avoiding him, refusing to look him in the eye, and Ja'far doing the same to Sinbad, to the point that he excuses himself in the evening with his work, packing up to work in his room instead with dim candles and scrolls spread about his bed, taking up most of the room upon it. This way, at least, he isn't potentially interrupted, and he can pause to think, sometimes, about his own mistakes and how Sinbad for once has cleaned them up with such a price.

Sinbad should leave Ja'far alone, he knows. It's just hard when that's something he's never done. Ja'far's always been one to stew on things, to turn them over again and again in his mind, to a point far beyond overthinking, and sometimes he needs someone to snap him out of it.

So no matter that it's obviously, certainly for the best for everyone involved, Sinbad wriggles out of bed without waking Judal, for the first time in days deliberately seeking out Ja'far's company—and this time, not taking no for an answer.

He stalks Ja'far to his office (empty) then to his other likely haunts, finally finding a soft glow coming from under the door of his bedroom, of all places. Girding his loins for a battle he doesn't want, Sinbad opens the door. "Please talk to me."

Ja'far's made a nice enough nest of his bed, sprawled out on his stomach amongst the pile of parchment and a fresh bottle of ink, and he lifts his head from his chin, eyebrows raising slowly at the sight in his doorway. "About, exactly?" Ah, from the look on Sinbad's face, he's not going away any time soon.

"In general." Ah, Ja'far has little splotches of ink on him, unaccustomed as he must be to working this way, and Sinbad frowns. "Are your hips all right like that? You usually complain after a few minutes sitting out of your chair."

"… Astonishingly," Ja'far admits, sighing as he pushes himself up slowly, expecting to have to crack his back and finding that's hardly the case. "It seems Judal fixed a few more things, in the process of everything. Stop standing there, though, you're making my knees hurt looking at you."

Sinbad kneels, thinking with a wince that he should ask Judal to give him a once-over too. "This better? I…I want you to start talking to me again."

A sigh, and Ja'far sits up entirely, pushing aside a pile of finished scrolls. "Sit on the bed. And I'm talking to you right now."

"I mean every day. And not under duress." Sinbad's brow creases, even as he does as Ja'far says. "It's like you wanted me to let you die. You should have known I'd do anything."

Ja'far sucks in a slow breath, pushing down his irritation. "It was fine for you to do everything reasonable. What you did was the pinnacle of unreasonable."

"Sindria is still here," Sinbad points out. "I'm still my own man. You're alive, and more well than you've been in ages. And the only thing Judal's requested of me so far is a peach."

"And how long is that going to last, exactly? Sin, don't be an idiot," Ja'far sighs in frustration. "He's still with Al-Sarmen. That hasn't changed, no matter how he bats his eyelashes at you."

"You're forgetting," Sinbad points out, grabbing for Ja'far's wrist and hauling him up the bed, "that he's a wild, willful, capricious boy. He'll do what pleases him. He isn't exactly a model employee, of Al-Sarmen or anyone."

"And if he decides one day that you aren't making him happy?" Ja'far presses, scowling as he's pulled up, but protesting no more than that. "A repeat of Partevia, perhaps?"

"Then this time," Sinbad says gently, "we know exactly what he's capable of, and he'd be destroying his own home as well. It would behoove us to make him love this place, don't you think?"

"Sinbad, he's insane."

Sinbad shrugs. "Are the insane incapable of love? All I'm saying is, let's not assume he's going to kill us all. Prepare for it, sure, but in the meantime, at least you can sit on the floor again, eh?"

"… I suppose," Ja'far begrudgingly allows, his head dropping forward a bit with a long, defeated sigh. "I'm still angry with you."

"But you're alive to be angry with me." Sinbad takes Ja'far's head in his hands, tilting it up to brush a soft kiss over his lips. "You cannot fathom how infinitely I prefer this to the alternative."

There's another argument on the tip of his tongue-at least a hundred of them, if he's counting more precisely, but Sinbad is good at making him forget them. The warmth of his lips against his own, even the gentle splay of the man's fingers against the back of his head… Ja'far can only sigh again, his eyes lidding as he tips his head forward, nose brushing against Sinbad's. "I'm glad I can still stay with you."

Sinbad smiles, and kisses Ja'far again, hands threading into his moonlight hair, sucking softly on his lip before letting them part. "You have your senses back," he notes, breathing slightly heavy. "Does that make any difference?"

"I hadn't lost so many, you know," Ja'far mumbles, but he shivers nonetheless, sliding just a bit closer. Whether he wants to admit it or not, Sinbad's touch does make his skin that much hotter, makes his breath that much faster-or maybe it's just because it's been some time, and there is the sort of giddy realization that he isn't going to die any time soon on his mind, an indulgence of thought that he hasn't quite allowed himself to accept yet.

"Mmm, no?" Sinbad teases, brushing a thumb over Ja'far's cheek, feeling the warmth there, brushing over his freckles, and the thought that he'd almost lost that forever makes him appreciate everything all the more. "Tell me, then," he murmurs, tugging Ja'far closer, "how do I taste now?"

"Wine," is the immediate, rumbling murmur, and Ja'far's next exhale is a little shakier as the warmth of Sinbad's body seems to sink into him. He reaches a hand out, slowly spreading his fingers as they slide over Sinbad's side before curling against his back. "You drink too much, I shouldn't be able to taste it that easily."

"I had a glass before coming to see you, to steel my nerves," Sinbad protests, leaving out the fact that the glass was bottle-shaped and full before he started, empty once he'd left. It was still made of glass, after all. "Besides…that's only my mouth." He slides his hand forward, thumb brushing over Ja'far's lips before slipping inside.

Ja'far sucks in a breath through his nose, his brow a worried little furrow as his tongue flicks, sliding over the tip of Sinbad's thumb as it slides between his lips, just enough for his teeth to gently catch. "You're being obscene," he mutters underneath his breath, looking up through his lashes.

Sinbad's laugh is a rumble, breath hitching at the soft scrape of Ja'far's teeth. "Your tolerance is low. That's about the least obscene thing I've wanted to slide between your lips."

He flushes hot at that, his head inclining away from Sinbad's hand. "You aren't missing out. I'm hardly any good at that, you know."

"You say that as if I cared whether you were any good at it." Sinbad leans down, trailing his lips over Ja'far's neck, pushing him back onto the bed. "Let me show you why it's good to be alive."

"You should care." Ja'far flops back nonetheless, tongue flicking out over his parted lips as his hands lift, tangling themselves carefully through Sinbad's hair. "I know why it's good to be alive already. I get to stay with you."

"You seemed resigned enough to leaving me," Sinbad says quietly. Despite that, he crawls over Ja'far, laying down on him, letting his weight bear down as he litters kisses all over that pale skin. "Tell me what you would have of me. I'm yours to command."

"… Resigned doesn't mean I wanted to." Ja'far sinks down underneath Sinbad's weight, dragging his hands down the man's spine, fingers curling with each slide of Sinbad's mouth against his skin. "I've never been very good at commanding you, why should I start now?"

Sinbad urges Ja'far's legs apart, sliding between them with a sigh, feeling the warmth and softness of them around his hips. "So lewd," he murmurs, sliding a hand up one leg. "And so rude, to think of leaving me without any legs like this to touch for the rest of my life."

"There are plenty of people with legs like this," he protests, no matter if he never particularly looks or touches to know himself. Ja'far huffs, wriggling all the same, his legs hesitantly spreading a bit wider to better cradle Sinbad's hips. Odd, how Sinbad's touch leaves him jumping a bit beneath it, everything almost too-sensitive. Maybe all of the poisons he had taken over the years had more of an effect than he thought.

"So young, and yet, so wrong." Sinbad slides his way down, face brushing against the inside of one warm, soft, supple thigh, blinking in slight confusion. "These…used to be a lot worse, didn't they?" he asks, placing a kiss over the thin line of one familiar scar.

Ja'far feels his skin twitch, and he sucks in a sharp breath, toes curling as he tries to keep from kicking. "Y-yes. Can you not… do that?"

Sinbad raises an eyebrow. "You've never minded before. You…you're trembling, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine!" It comes out a bit too snappishly, and Ja'far lets his head fall back, helplessly staring up at the ceiling. "Everything… it's all too sensitive." God, and he was sort of ticklish before. This is the worst.

Sinbad abandons the area between Ja'far's legs, sliding up to kiss him firmly, resting atop him again. "Then we'll do whatever doesn't make you thrash around like an eel. At least, what only makes you do that in a good way. Just tell me when it's a problem for you."

"It wasn't bad, just…" Ja'far's skin heats again, and his eyes briefly fall shut as he sags back, soothed, at least, underneath Sinbad's solid weight. "Too much," he adds in a mutter. "You're always that way."

"And yet you agree to share my bed, and have before." Sinbad kisses him again, then pulls back, brushing the hair from Ja'far's face, winding a strand of it around his finger. "Unless you'd like to tell me to leave. Maybe I should have you be on top, so you can control just how I touch you."

"But you feel good like this." The admission makes him huff, and Ja'far's head turns to the side as he bites his lower lip briefly. "It's fine. Really, just… as long as you don't mind me accidentally kicking you or something ridiculous like that."

Sinbad laughs, letting his hands drag down Ja'far's sides to squeeze his thighs. "You kick me a lot," he points out, "and hit me, and bite me, and that one time you even spat on me. I haven't minded yet, have I?"

"I was talking involuntary kicks, you like the other kind," Ja'far protests, squirming at the squeeze and glowering up at him. "It's because I'm ticklish. That's not an invitation to tickle me more, just so you know."

Sinbad makes sure his hands are firm, and nods seriously. "I will try. And if I make you kick me on accident, I accept that it is my own fault, and none of yours. Now will you please let me make love to you?"

Ah. He always has to say it, doesn't he? Ja'far sinks down, his skin flushing anew, but he nods all the same. "If you're going to ask so nicely…"

Sinbad doesn't have much more patience than that, and his hands slide up-ah, it should be cheating, how well he knows Ja'far's body by now, but all he can be is grateful he can strip the other man so quickly, letting his clothing pool on the floor before his own joins it. "If your body's been purged," he murmurs with a wicked grin, sliding up to grab a little pot of aloe, "does that mean you're a virgin again for me?"

Coincidentally, his foot finds its way to Sinbad's face rather quickly. "Don't be disgusting," Ja'far growls, grinding his heel lightly into Sinbad's cheek, though there's less irritation, more wry amusement in his voice. "You'd like that far too much."

Sinbad likes this far too much, pressing his face against Ja'far's foot, remembering more than one occasion when he'd thought about shoving his cock between them, and….ah.

Not to mention having Ja'far's leg up like that gives him a great opportunity to slide between those legs, dipping slick fingers against his hole, sliding one inside. "You-sure? You're so tight-"

Ja'far's lips part, a sound that isn't unlike a squeak choked into his throat as his toes curl, his leg quivering as it slides from Sinbad's face, propping itself more appropriately atop his shoulder. "That's… because it's been awhile," he manages on a groan, fisting a hand into the sheets as he squirms, body twitching tighter still just around that one finger.

"Ah, but you're always like this," Sinbad teases, sliding another finger in, stroking and curling to get Ja'far to make those sweet, panicky noises of pleasure again. "Tight and sweet and hot around me...god, the things you make me want to do to you…"

"So do them," Ja'far groans, his thighs twitching open on their own accord as his back arches, a sharp, high huff of breath escaping through his nose. This is always a dozen times more overwhelming than Sinbad just… using him. It's slow, and careful, and doesn't let him have a chance to simply turn his mind off. Instead, he can feel every slick inch of Sinbad's fingers inside of him, the way they curl and press too-perfectly, and Ja'far bites down on his lip as his hips rut down unthinkingly, another noise escaping his throat no matter how he tries to strangle it. "Please…"

It's beyond obscene, to watch Ja'far twitch and squirm and shove down for more, and Sinbad takes his time, wanting to hear every last urgent noise he can wring from Ja'far's body before simply taking him. "So good," he murmurs, spreading his fingers wide, then adding a third, knowing how it makes Ja'far whine. "You're right, it's been a while-have to make sure you're nice and ready for me, right? I don't want to hurt you, not when you've been so ill." Ah, he's so hard it's going to be a struggle not to come before he can even get inside.

Ja'far swallows hard, his eyes rolling back at the stretch of those fingers inside of him. Sinbad's fingers are far from small, with three of them bordering on too-much already, and the muscles in his thighs bunch and twitch, toes curling from where his foot rests against Sinbad's shoulder. "Not… not going to hurt me," he rasps, eyes shutting as he shifts to squirm his way down, biting harder onto his lower lip when the roll of his hips against Sinbad's hand makes his cock throb from the slick, tight slide of it all. "S-Sin, you're not being fair, just-"

That's probably enough teasing, and Sinbad pulls his fingers gently free, slicking up his cock before sliding up between Ja'far's legs. He hooks his elbows under Ja'far's knees, bending him almost in half, and breathes, "I hope you're right."

The first push in is slick and sweet and tight enough to feel good, not so much that it hurts as it has sometimes before. Ja'far feels like he's made for this, made for Sinbad to squeeze and touch and bite and slide into, and he groans low in his throat, burying his face in Ja'far's neck.

Ja'far takes it back-Sinbad's fingers aren't even close to this.

Bent double like this, Sinbad feels even bigger, sliding deep inside of him and making him groan and thrash and desperately reach up, grabbing handfuls of Sinbad's hair to cling to as his body shudders hard. The stretch and ache of him inside makes Ja'far whine, chest heaving slightly from the effort, and ah, just letting himself shift and wriggle in the slightest is enough to make his breath hiccup all the more. "Really… too much," he pants out into Sinbad's ear, eyes squeezing firmly shut, fingers trembling as they hold tighter still.

It's hard to remember, sometimes, how long it had taken to get Ja'far to want Sinbad inside him. That seems like another life when he's trembling like this, shifting around to catch his breath and trying to get more, and Sinbad has to remind himself to be gentle, gentle. "You feel so good," he whispers, rolling his hips and taking Ja'far a little deeper each time, quick, easy thrusts to take the edge off, and he already feels like he'll pass out if he doesn't move.

The brief thought crosses his mind that this might never have happened again, and he shuts that out firmly, nipping, sucking hard at Ja'far's neck, feeling the warmth and pulse of his blood, feeling the life in him.

Ja'far simply lets his head fall back, the will to hold it up and bury it into Sinbad's neck gone with the pulse of Sinbad inside of him, the slick, hot stretch of him that leaves his breath caught in his throat and embarrassingly helpless noises escape. "S… so do you," he manages, voice little more than a husk, and his legs twitch and quiver, toes curling when he wriggles and slides them forward, thighs wanting to cling to Sinbad's sides with every thrust that goes deeper. "Just… just go on, it's fine, I want…" I want to feel all of you, I'm not going to break for once.

There's something hypnotic about the way Ja'far sounds in the throes of pleasure, deep and throaty and somehow more masculine than usual, and it really shouldn't make Sinbad's cock as hard as it does. He bites, and slides in deep, groaning against Ja'far's skin when his hips slap against the other man's, long, deep thrusts, slower than before, but so much harder, more thorough. "So tight," he mutters, only half paying attention to his own words. "You're so-just want to make you scream-"

His breath leaves him in a rush, his body unable to do anything but give a shuddering clench when Sinbad sinks so far inside of him. It makes his back arch, the cramping twinge of it bringing his eyes to glaze and unfocus, the drag of his cock against Sinbad's stomach making him groan, and Ja'far's fingers squeeze against Sinbad's shoulders, pawing their way uselessly along his back, nails scraping into taut, tanned flesh. "Can't scream," he gasps, legs squeezing tight about Sinbad's hips. "C..can't breathe-"

Sinbad considers for a moment, then nods. "Good enough."

The scratch of Ja'far's fingernails is enough to drive him faster, ignoring his usual caution (not that he usually has much at this point), slamming in to the root with every urgent, tight thrust into Ja'far's unresisting body. Sweat beads on his back, and he braces his weight on his hands, shuddering at the clench of Ja'far around him, forcing his own eyes open so he can watch Ja'far squirm and pant and gasp for breath, twitching and trembling like any maiden Sinbad's ever seen.

He usually doesn't like spilling before his partner, but there's no helping it, not when everything Ja'far does, everything Ja'far is makes him shudder, thrusting deep inside as he spills, coming hard and hot inside the smaller man, hips jerking in a ragged, uneven rhythm.

There's something about the way that Sinbad loses himself, usually before Ja'far can even begin to think of it, that makes it all better.

Feeling his cock twitch and throb inside is one thing, how hot he is, how much harder he is just before he comes, but to actually feel him spill, slick and hot and messy within him… Ja'far chokes on a whine, his own cock jumping at the way it feels, the way it makes his mind effectively click off, that added mess and ease from it encouragement to rut down, to arch his back and let his own cock slide against Sinbad's stomach again, hard and dripping as he bites his lip to muffle a few particularly incriminating squeaks and mewls.

He comes with a hard shudder, thighs bunching and clinging about Sinbad's sides, his fingernails a mindless scratch against Sinbad's back before he sags bonelessly into the bed, lingering little quivers making his breath catch anew.

It takes Sinbad a long time to come back to himself, and when he does, it's just to press sweet, clumsy kisses all over a mess of sweat-damp hair, some his, some Ja'far's (mostly his). He knows vaguely that he should apologize for losing himself so soon, but everything is sort of settled, reduced to heavy breathing and salty skin and the sound of the waves outside.

"Down," is the weary husk of a mumble to follow, Ja'far's hands splaying against Sinbad's back to gently tug him down, no matter the stickiness or heat or the general mess of Sinbad's hair threatening to suffocate him. Just feeling Sinbad's heart beat hard and a little too fast against him is nice right then.

Sinbad settles gladly on top of Ja'far, curling his arms around the smaller man. It's a good thing Ja'far isn't as fragile or breakable as he looks, and Sinbad exhales gladly, nuzzling down for a proper kiss.

"… Can't decide if I'm still mad at you or not," Ja'far murmurs after another moment, lazily catching Sinbad's lower lip between his teeth before letting his head drop back.

"I honestly don't care if you are," Sinbad says with a little shrug. "You're well within your rights to be. I knew you would be. I'm the first one to say that it was a selfish choice, because I don't…" He takes a deep breath, moving down to lay his head on Ja'far's chest, and his voice is a little shaky when he says, "I don't want this to stop beating."

"Don't start that again." Ja'far's hands slide up through Sinbad's hair, giving it a gentle tug. "When you look or sound like you're about to cry, it makes me wonder what sort of king I'm serving."

"A foolish one." Sinbad submits to the tug, giving Ja'far a little smile. "A king who loves you dearly." Loathe as you are to hear it, you squeamish little thing.

"Dramatics aren't flattering," he huffs, though that's the extent of his protests, no matter his tugging hands. "Show, don't tell."

"I think," Sinbad says quietly, looking down into those odd, black eyes that he knows so well, "I've shown plenty. Telling is another kind of showing, after all."

"… then if you must." Ja'far sighs up at him, eyes lidding with a wry smile on his lips. "I just already know. Hearing it is redundant."

"I need to say it sometimes. Not often," Sinbad assures him, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of his face (again, his own). "I don't burden you with it more than once every year or two, do I? Except when I'm terribly drunk?"

"That makes up for every other day in the year," Ja'far dryly agrees, leaning up to nudge his nose gently against Sinbad's cheek. "You have a lot to say."

Sinbad finally rolls over to the side, curling up with his arms firmly around Ja'far's waist. "Then just ignore me. You usually do."

"I listen to all of it." Ja'far curls himself close, his head resting against Sinbad's chest. "That's why I don't need to hear it very often. I remember all of it."

"Stop it," Sinbad mutters, squeezing tight. "I'm going to sell my soul for you again if you don't stop it."

Ja'far groans at that. "Please refrain. I can only save it once, I think."

This is a job for a man.

But the men were too busy, or too stern, or warned her that if they went, she wouldn't like the outcome as they dragged what was left of Judal back to Kou in a bag, and Hakuei (who is almost as good as a man, everyone agrees) is busy, off trying to integrate some tribe of barbarians peaceably into the Empire.

So if it's going to be done, it'll have to be her.

Kougyoku considers a dozen different ways to go. Finally, just because it makes her heart race, she dons a dun cloak over her dress, pulling the hood up so she looks like nothing so much as an itinerant wanderer (and what it does to her hair she simply can't consider, lest she go insane).

He'll be kept in the palace, of course. It would be easier to march up with her titles all ruffled, demanding to know where the Magi is, but she hasn't got any official sanction to be here, and Kouen would be furious if she used that power without his blessing. (Everyone else would be furious too, but he'd be angry, maybe even disappointed, and even the thought of that makes her want to throw up.)

It scrapes her hands and bruises her knees, but in the dark of night, Kougyoku manages to scramble in through a third-story window, wincing at a tear in her dress, and hiding in the shadows until she sees a servant complaining and carrying a bushel of fruits. That's it.

She waits until the servant leaves the room, then sneaks up, heart pounding a rhythm of what if he hates me, what if he's forgotten me, what if he's mean to me in her chest, and opens the door.

Judal, sprawled all-too-contently over the bed and barely dressed, one hand in the fruit basket and the other already turning one about in his palm, barely even glances up at first. "You didn't have to bring more right now," he sighs out with a dismissive wave. "I was just saying later, because I know this isn't going to last me…"

He actually does look up then, and he blinks at the sight, letting the peach roll from his grasp. "… Kougyoku?" he manages, blinking again and sitting up, the long, loose spill of his hair tumbling back with the motion. Huh. Probably, he should get dressed, if there's going to be a girl here. Or not. Judal at least bothers pulling the tie of his robe a bit tighter. "Uh… what're you doing here? Hey, you look like a mess."

Kougyoku squeaks when he looks at her, then balls her fists at her sides, cheeks flushing red. "What do you think I'm doing here?" she demands, and oh no, she can already feel tears starting to burn her eyes. That doesn't mean I'm going to let them fall! Not for him! "I came to bring you home!"

Oh. That's a problem. Judal finishes swallowing the mouthful of fruit that he'd tucked away into his cheek. "Did Kouen send you?" he cautiously asks. "And shut the door, will you? Stop yelling."

Kougyoku kicks the door shut, a frown on her face now. "He didn't send me. He said to let you go because you'll be back, but everyone from Al-Sarmen is really really mad! And-" She cuts off, biting her lip.

"Yeah, they do that," Judal grumbles, scowling as he hauls his robe properly back onto his shoulders and flops over onto his back. "And what? I'm not coming back."

She scowls, folding her arms across her chest. "Why not? You're going to be in trouble, and I think a lot worse than before! And Kouen's mad too, even if he's busy right now!"

"They can't doooo anything," he groans, rolling over with a solid thump. "Not this time. I'm staying. Sinbad's my king now, I chose him."

Kougyoku's eyes go so wide she forgets to breathe for a second, and she jumps onto the bed, grabbing Judal by the shoulders. "You can't! You didn't! Judal, that means you can't come home anymore!"

"I'm a Magi, I can do whatever I want," Judal huffs, scowling up at her and reaching up to poke at her forehead. "Geez, you old hag, calm down. I wanted Sinbad to say 'yes' a long time ago, and it's not like Kouen ever paid any attention to me, anyway."

Kougyoku brings a knee up into Judal's belly, furious. "You're treating this like a joke! Kouen's not the only one you left-I skinned my knees climbing up that wall for you!"

Judal wheezes, flopping back down. "Why didn't you just walk in the front door?"

"Because En would be mad at me!"

"En gets mad at a lot of people! Geez, what're you gonna do when you come and visit me? You can't keep climbing up walls like a… I don't know, something that isn't a prissy princess thing! Monkey, that's it!"

Kougyoku huffs, turning to sit on his chest, knees together. "He's not going to let me come visit you, dummy! I'm going to be married soon! This was my last chance to get you to come back!"

Judal huffs again, and in one, solid roll, dumps Kougyoku onto her back, looming over her. "You could just stay, too. I'll let you marry Sinbad, he apparently needs a wife or something, but if it's you, I don't mind." He snickers, leaning back. "Could you imagine En's face?"

Kougyoku's hands fly up over her mouth, and she sucks in a breath. "J-Judal, you can't say things like that! Really mean!" She kicks him in the shoulder, heart pounding from that brief second of having his weight pressing down on her.

"Whaaat? I wasn't being mean, it was a gift!" Pouting, Judal rolls off of her, rubbing at his shoulder as he sighs. "Damn, you're annoying. Look, I'm not going back. I chose Sinbad, he's my king." Even if I sort of got him to agree by striking a deal, but no one has to know that.

"Fine!" Kougyoku crosses her arms, turning her back on him. "Just stay here, then, stupid Magi!" Her eyes burn, and she scrubs at them with a scraped-up hand, smearing her makeup.

Judal opens his mouth, then scowls, thinking the better of it as he eyeballs her. "What's your problem, anyway?" he mutters, reaching out to grab a tail of her hair and gently tug. "Sindria's a lot more fun than Kou. Stay awhile, En can get over it. You don't have to get married, I'm a Magi and I say so."

Kougyoku can't quite think of the words, but it doesn't matter when she turns, burying her head in his chest when the first sob wracks her body. "E-everyone's awful right now," she cries, hands fisting in his shirt. "En's mad, Stepmother's mad, Ei's gone, everyone's m-mean to me-"

Oh. Yeah. Okay, maybe he hadn't entirely thought the whole spur-of-the-moment-get-Sinbad-to-agree-to-be-his-king thing, after all.

Judal hesitates, and slowly winds an arm around her, the first smoothing of her hair a bit awkward before he settles her more comfortably against him. "You're gonna make your makeup run even worse," he mutters. "Even Mei and Ha are being mean?"

Kougyoku climbs onto Judal's lap without a second thought, the echo of a dozen times she's taken shelter from the world there coming back in a heartbeat. She wipes a thumb under her eyes, hating how he's right about her makeup. "Mei's always mean, and Ha's been too b-busy with En, they're always having meetings and stuff, I think En wants to attack Sindria or something, they never let me in."

"We hadn't decided on war yet." Judal sighs, sagging back and wrapping both arms around her as he drags Kougyoku down with him. "War's fun and all, but not when living here is more fun. They'll calm down. Maybe Al-Sarmen will even get bored and go away." Wishful thinking, of course, but it's nice not having them breathing down his neck all day, or telling him what to do. He can only hope that lasts.

Kougyoku flops down onto Judal's lap, sniffing hard, trying to remind herself not to blow her nose on his clothes. Boys don't like that. "You could have told me you were going."

"… Weeelll," he slowly hedges, "I didn't exactly plan on it." He offers her the long sleeve of his robe. "Wipe your face off, you're looking pretty gross."

Kougyoku takes his sleeve, scrubbing it over her face, then curling up into a ball around his arm. "You should have taken me with you. That was really rude, you always promised you'd take me one day. I had to come the whole way without flying!"

"But I didn't know I'd be staying! It wasn't like I knew Freckles was dying or whatever and that I could…" Judal trails off, scowling, and he gives his arm a little shake, but doesn't really actively try and dislodge her. "I dunno what you want me to do. I'm gonna stay. He's my king now, that's how it's gonna be." So you should stay, too.

Kougyoku huffs, and curls up on his lap, looking up. "I wish I could stay. But En's mad enough, if I go missing too he probably will just kill everyone here." She tugs on Judal's shirt. "You're definitely not coming home?"

"He can't kill everyone here, no matter how he likes to think he can," Judal sniffs, and he sets his hands atop her hair, ruffling it all the more. "I'm definitely not, so stay. Just for a bit."

"But I'm not really...I'm not anyone here." She butts her head against his hand, eyes sliding shut. "I didn't come as a princess, and I'll have to hide in your room. Oh, and Ka Koubun is going to be looking for me, I lost him a week ago but I bet he's going to catch up soon."

Judal whistles a bit at that. "You really did wanna see me again, huh?" His fingers slide through the thick of her hair, kneading down to her scalp. "Sinbad's my king. He'll treat you like a princess if I say he has to, so you don't have to worry about that."

At the tug of Judal's fingers, Kougyoku smiles, stretching out like a cat. "Mmmmmm….okay. Until Ka Koubun makes me go home, I guess I'm already out, right?"

"Yep!" Judal grins, dragging her up to lay lengthwise against him, slinging an arm and a leg over her. "No more scaling walls to get to me, though that's pretty badass. Just walk through doors, then you don't get all messed up and weird looking. It's gonna give you more wrinkles to stress out like that."

Ja'far has come to one conclusion, and one conclusion only: the only way to get Sinbad out of this situation is to get rid of Judal.

The only way to get rid of Judal is to kill him.

Ja'far supposes he's grateful to the brat, to some extent. Dying wasn't a pleasant thing to think about, but putting Sinbad on a veritable leash certainly isn't either, and Ja'far has no desire to watch his king fall down an inevitably slippery slope. That's why he makes his way to Judal's room in the dead of night, slips in without a sound, and has every intention of killing him.

The sight of the Magi curled around a girl puts something of a damper on the idea.

No. Not just a girl, judging by her dress and the gleam of the metal vessel next to her on the bed.

Ja'far stares, long and hard, and soundlessly tucks his blades away before slipping back out of the room. Barging into Sinbad's own chambers in the middle of the night isn't an unheard of thing, and Ja'far doesn't do that exactly quietly.

"Did you know your Magi invited a princess of Kou to his bed? No, not just his bed," Ja'far irritably snaps out. "Your country?"

Sinbad yawns, blinking slowly in the darkness. "I believe," he murmurs, uncurling and stretching out his limbs, "I have a rule on the state of undress you're supposed to be in when you wake me up in the middle of the night."

"Will you stop joking around?!" Ja'far hisses, lighting a candle or three as he stalks further into the room. "Is sex all that you think about?"

Sinbad wakes up a little more with a resentful grumble, sitting up with a sheet barely providing modesty, making no effort to cover himself. "Judal isn't my prisoner. He's allowed to have friends and lovers. I'll greet her properly in the morning."

"That isn't the point! It's a girl from Kou, probably someone from the royal family, I can tell just by looking at her," the younger man spits out. "Do you really want the Kou Empire just waltzing into Sindria on their own time, without any announcements?"

"One girl does not an empire make," Sinbad says with a slight frown. "Who received her at this hour? Why didn't anyone wake me?"

Ja'far throws his hands up into the air. "No one, as far as I can see! She was simply in his bed, apparently making herself out to be a fine pillow."

Sinbad raises an eyebrow, waiting. "Are you going to tell me why you came to be in a position to observe this?"

"I was making sure the brat wasn't getting into any trouble." It's not really a lie.

"And you've appointed yourself his keeper? Enough that you need to make sure he's not getting into trouble in the middle of the night, in his own bedroom?"

"You're telling me I should trust him, just like that, after all that he's done?"

"I'm telling you that treating him as if he's a bomb about to explode won't help if he actually is. Think of him as a volatile, unpredictable asset instead," Sinbad suggests.

"That doesn't make any sense!" Ja'far's fingers twitch with the urge to strangle the man. "Why should I wait for him to do something when I could be preventing it?!"

"Because I'm telling you to." Sinbad's voice is still calm, but there's a note of steel in it now. "You can't undo what I've done, Ja'far. Judal is a part of Sindria now."

We'll see how long that lasts.

Ja'far's teeth grit, and he turns, angrily snuffing out a candle with a pinch of his fingers. "Fine. Just go back to sleep, then. Deal with the princess in the morning yourself."

Sinbad sighs, turning over and letting his toes wiggle out the bottom of the sheet. "Good night, Ja'far!" Maybe someday, you'll forgive him for saving your life.