Chapter: Thy Rents
Rating: K in this chapter.
Pairings: None here.
What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?
Jon sighed, staring morosely at the cloak in his hands. It was of rich blue velvet, worked in silver thread and studded with small, glittering sapphires. A piece of art, incomparably fine. And yet the king held it like he expected the fabric to bite.
"If you don't blink for long enough, perhaps it will put itself on," Zahir deadpanned. He stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed in an attitude that let the king know he had drifted in his reverie for more time than he had intended.
"Do you know how much things like this cost the kingdom?" the monarch muttered.
The squire raised an indolent eyebrow. "I try not to think on the myriad ways you progressives waste my taxes," he drawled.
Jon ignored him with the ease of long practice. "And yet it's necessary, to maintain my status as a symbol," he remarked, mostly to himself. "The nation, personified. Because apparently Tortall would wear expensive cloaks."
Zahir couldn't help but laugh.
