Stan hated these two-hour blocks of nothingness, these routine instances where he was expected to stay away from his prince and merely stare at the wall across from outside Kyle's bedroom door. He wanted nothing more than to venture upstairs, hold the prince while he got his much-needed allotted rest. But Kyle simply wouldn't have it, always astutely aware of every touch when he was in this state. He just wanted to be left alone, nothing but his quilt and pillow making any form of contact less he be distracted from his minimal sleep.
He sighed dramatically, leaning back against the wall and tapping the toe of his heavy boot against the unfinished floor. Stan knew he was being selfish wishing he could be with Kyle, especially with the elf in such a vulnerable state. Kyle got not only snippy, but clingy when he was in these predicaments. Stan always had a feeling it was because Kyle had a deep-seated fear that he'd never shared with anyone: The fear that one of these spells may finally be enough to do him in. So, Stan had theorized, part of Kyle keeping him out of his quarters was for the sake of not losing himself in craving physicality. He needed to rest, and having himself be thrown into a dependent state with arms and legs wide open for Stan to make him forget the coming storm was the last thing he needed. When the rule had been instated a few years prior, Kyle had insisted Stan use the time to go and relax since he'd be wound up with anxiety. Stan, however, just wouldn't have that. They'd come to the annoyed consensus that he could remain outside Kyle's door, still perfectly able to hear him should trouble arise. Neither were happy with the arrangement, but that seemed to be the case for most of Stan's protective bouts.
Blue eyes flickered dully around the corridor, finding themselves landing on the sprawling reach of a vine that climbed up the stone wall and vanished into a crack in the foundation. He let out a forlorn sigh, remembering he and Kyle, along with Clyde and Token, having competitions with one another to see who could scale the highest up on any of the multitude of vines growing around the palace when they were nearly seven. The other three would always be waiting beneath with their arms outstretched, ready to catch them when they finally reached their limit. They'd done this for months, Token holding the record before the queen had caught them as Kyle had been determinedly making his way towards the top with tiny grunts and his tongue poking out, wanting more than anything to beat Token's held victory. A shrill shriek of panic from his mother had thrown him, slipping and falling into the stiffened, terrified arms of his friends. She'd told the three others to go to the kitchen and stay there until given permission to leave, Kyle watching them go with that inherent childhood fear of repercussions deep in his eyes as they sulked away.
Nearly two hours passed before Kyle somberly found his way to them and their still-tensed states. He quietly told them they weren't in any trouble, but he was. Sheila had come in after him, telling him to go on to his room since he'd calmed their fears of punishment as was intended. Silently he did as told, leaving three terrified human children alone with the elven queen, the woman who'd become their collective mother and could punish them just as if she were of their blood. She'd sat down with them and had given them a stern, but concerned look that was still etched into the back of Stan's mind as he underwent his guard duties all these years later. She'd reminded them all that yes, Kyle was their friend. But he was their sovereign to-be before all else. They couldn't allow the next-in-line to be purposely risking his life playing those kinds of games when they had plenty of safe activities to do with one another. Larnion had become home to them all, and Sheila reminded them that should they want to continue growing up and potentially prospering in elven land, they had to remember that it would hinge on Kyle's safety.
The three of them had told Kyle that when they'd finally been allowed to see him again days later as his punishment was alleviated, the young prince scoffing and rolling his eyes dramatically at the notion. She'd told him the same thing, and he hated it with every fiber of his being. Clyde had teased him, asking if that meant he was going to be like the royalty of folklore and run away from his duties and start a new life. Kyle had seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head, making up some joke about not wanting to lose the great food the chefs prepared for his family. But Stan, even in youth, could read there was more to it than Kyle had let on. There was an understanding that he was coming to grips with, probably drilled into him by hours of his mother's lectures.
Slowly, but surely, Kyle was realizing how much power he had just out of his grasp, waiting for him when he finally took the crown for his own. He knew he couldn't run from it, couldn't leave Ike in charge of Larnion should the unexpected come about. As much as Stan would catch him pouting at a vine before leading the group onwards towards something else to occupy their time, Kyle, along with Stan, finally started to understand the weight his life held in the grand scheme of the kingdom.
Stan had held onto that truth since that day. Kyle, however, had seemed to somewhat drift from it. Every political move he made was performed with the intention of benefitting his people, but those subtle hints of personal rebellion seemed to still drive the young prince forward. Slipping out of his guards' watch, sneaking outside on horseback now and again just to escape his mother's ever-watching eye. He'd learned the art of the bow, found himself practicing magics that royalty had no need to hold command over. He'd sneak extra snacks out for himself and the other boys, mocked other diplomats behind their back before straightening up and slapping on that faux dignity in an instant. He'd found himself in bed with a human time and again for years, continuing to do so as he was engaged, uncharacteristically thinking only of himself as he let himself become lost in the all-consuming spell that Stan somehow put him into when hovering over him.
Stan sighed, eyes dropping from the vine and looking down at the floor, brows furrowing in the slightest. It was the only place he could cast that spell, could hold every ounce of Kyle's attention, and he damn well knew it. Otherwise, he'd be distracted with other happenings. Whether it be an upcoming council, his studies, his next "grand" escape for a few hours. Or, now, more often than he probably even realized, he was distracted with Kendra. She'd somehow wormed her way into becoming a common conversation topic between the prince and his ranger. It'd started out slow, Kyle only making a joke with a brightly colored robe of his as he changed that if he wore it for too long, the poor girl may become both mute and blind. But steadily over the last week, Kyle had found more to interject her into when she wasn't around. But, Stan had concluded, how could he be the least bit surprised?
Not after finding them holding hands and resting against one another in the hallway. No, that'd made it more than clear to him where this was all most likely to head. Unless he could somehow talk sense into Kyle and his mother at least in regards to his safety. Stan was no fool, knew that the threat of Kyle's life was minimal, but only for now. That wouldn't last once he was placed into a union with Kupa Keep's princess. He would have bitter elves who considered him a traitor against his own kind. He would have humans who declared him filthy, their princess far too good for him. Assassination was going to be an ever-present threat, one that Stan knew would turn his hair grey and smite any ounce of youthful energy as he would become nothing more than a rock of defensive readiness, much as Kyle would loathe it.
"Sir Stanley, eez zere some'zeeng troubleeng you?" a deep voice broke through his worried visions of the future.
He glanced towards Christophe leaning against the opposite side of Kyle's door, brow cocked at Stan, who'd been lost in thought for a good five minutes before Christophe broke his train of thought. He shrugged, "These bouts aren't easy for any of the palace workers."
"I would zink only ze prince and 'is family should be so deestracted."
He rolled his eyes, "No, we all get distracted. A lot hinges on him making it through."
"Eef 'e 'as for zis many years, I would zink your, 'ow you say… opteemeesm should be 'igher, no?"
Stan shook his head and sighed. How he wished for naivety like that again. He wasn't stupid, he knew that Kyle would more than likely pull through. But those days of his spell always smashed down logic, fear overriding everyone's confidence in his ability to push through. There was a reason Kyle would always eventually wake up to his palace looking more strung-out than he felt. "You'll understand," he murmured, Christophe giving him a shrug and Stan twisting his lips. He hadn't had too many opportunities to speak with the man beside of him, opting to keep it firmly rooted in duty. But right now, Kyle was safely tucked away under his quilt, his guards almost feeling awkward with one another now that they weren't surrounding him or searching for him after he cleverly got away from them again. Stan wondered if he was going to be stuck with Christophe the remainder of his life, the two never exchanging more than tactics for finding their prince.
He wondered if he could even goddamn stand that.
"Marsh, Christophe," a dry voice approached them from down the hall. Stan stiffened, looking to see Craig, Kendra, and Butters making way towards them, all of them looking far more worried than Stan would have expected. Even Craig held the slightest crease of his brow, his sharp grey eyes cutting to Kyle's door before landing back on them both, Stan noticing a lingering gaze locked on Christophe.
The three of them stopped across the corridor, both Stan and Christophe giving polite, short bows to the princess. "Is something wrong?" Stan asked as he stood back up, nearly jerking back at a paper being thrust into his face by a slender, gloved hand.
He took it and blinked at a, 'Is he doing all right? He looked awful when I saw him this morning.'
Stan grimaced, handing the paper back to her worrying state and nodding. "He'll be fine. He's just exhausted, Your Highness." She seemed to sink at the words, reading more in his somber tone and looking at the door with concern etched into glassy eyes. Stan stared at her a bit, dumbfounded by how much he could read in such a simple expression. It relieved him. It angered him. He sighed to himself, knowing he needed to figure out how to get this all under control.
He shook out of it as another paper was passed, this time to Christophe. He took it with a frown, reading, 'So, just where is it you hail from? How did you come about to be in Larnion?'
Christophe looked up, Kendra staring at him intensely waiting for an answer. "Just why do you need to know, Your 'ighness?" he asked coolly.
Butters cleared his throat, pulling a stack of paper rolled in his side pocket and scanning over, lips moving as he read along silently before finding his target. "Um, Princess Kendra believes that… that she should know your origins since y-you're to be guarding her future hus-husband," he shrugged.
Christophe's muddled eyes never broke from the long gaze with the princess, but he gave a casual shrug. "I was abandoned on ze outskirts of ze Canadeean border. Grew up een ze woods. Zen came to Larneeon to use my skeells for good."
Another paper was passed, 'Why did you come here and not protect the Canadian kings? That's an awfully far way to travel when there was no guarantee you would be accepted as a Larnion guard.'
Stan craned his neck, reading the large, purposeful inscription and straightening back up to look at Christophe himself. That was an awfully good point, one that he himself had wondered about but knew that it was not within his rights to question it. Kendra, however, held the authority to do so.
So, she had one benefit for Stan at the very least.
Christophe cleared his throat, tongue clicking. "I deed not know, zis eez true. But ze Larneeon guard eez ze most revered een all elven land, Your 'ighness. Eef I deed not make eet 'ere, I would 'ave gone back to Canada to try zere. I was very fortunate to not 'ave to do so."
Stan narrowed his eyes, "You told me you owed the king and queen. Why did you believe that if you're not from here?"
He paused, eyes slicing towards Stan in a manner that nearly made him flinch. "Zey are who make ze final call een who eez permeetted to stay een ze guard, no?"
"No," he frowned. "Murphy makes that call. If you're sworn in to protect a member of the family in particular, then yes, they must approve. Given, you would only need Prince Kyle's approval since he's of age and you're here for him."
"Ah," he shrugged. "Zen I was meestaken. 'owever, no one can deny zat ze Broflovskis are ze strongest rulers een ze land, no? Eet eez an 'onor to work een zheir court."
Kendra and Stan shared a bit of a look, both of them reading something off about his tone. Craig hummed to himself, arms crossing as he and Christophe locked stares, both sets of analytical eyes ravaging over one another for information. "Thought only those raised in Larnion could become a member of the guard," he said dryly.
"I-I thought it was Larnion-born," Butters blinked.
Stan rolled his eyes, "Do I look like I'm Larnion-born?" he pushed back his hair a bit, pointing to his humanoid ear. "Usually it's required to be raised in our culture, though, yeah," he cocked his brow. "So you don't interfere with duties in the interest of your homeland."
Christophe scoffed, "I do not 'ave a 'omeland," he reminded them. "I leeved een ze woods. I am not a ceeteezen of Canada, I merely grew up nearby. I 'ave no confleecteeng eenterests."
Craig gave him a small shrug. "Any elven land would've taken you in, they're hospitable enough. Isn't it usually only the Olath who live in the woods by choice?"
He growled under his breath, "Just what are you eenseenuating, Rogue?"
"Just saying it's odd you didn't try to become a citizen of anywhere," he shrugged. "I lived in the woods but my group was still considered residents of Greely just so no one would question our origins."
Stan rolled his eyes, "Don't all rogues say they're from Greely?"
"It's a rundown country with nothing but stealing and poverty, where the hell else would we say we're from? Only place that gives a good reason to be a rogue," he scoffed. He glanced over at Christophe and cocked his brow, "But once I became her guard," he jerked his thumb back to Kendra, "I had to become an official citizen of Kupa Keep. Have you done your paperwork to be part of Larnion?"
Christophe scowled, "Oui. Do you 'ave a problem weez me, Tucker?"
"No," he shrugged. "Just curious how someone who lives like an Olath gained the trust of the captain of the guard so easily. Let alone was permitted to protect the next-in-line for the throne."
"'ow was a feelthy rogue permeeted to protect ze preencess?" he shot back.
"Hey now, Fellers," Butters raised his hands, patting them against the air. "Let's not argue, everyone's just tense since Prince Kyle's so sick."
Stan bit his cheek, "He's not even sick yet. But Butters is right, the last thing we need is for Kyle to wake up after only two hours of sleep and come down to everyone accusing each other of whatever. He's stressed enough, he doesn't need to pile this on top of his health."
Craig and Christophe continued glaring at each other but took a step back, letting out long, frustrated breaths. Kendra looked between them before glancing at Stan, biting her lip. She snagged a paper from Butters' hand and a quill from his belt, turning him enough for her to scribble down a quick note atop his back. She handed it off to Stan, who took it with a sigh, his eyes narrowing in the slightest at an urgent, 'Never leave him alone with Kyle.' Stan glanced up at the serious, dead-set tone settled over her eyes, handing it back to her and giving a short, if not confused, nod.
She returned the movement in confidence before squeezing Craig's arm for his attention, stepping off and leading her rogue and paladin off and away, the group of them feeling the slice of aggravated hazel eyes watching them before they turned a corner out of their sight. Kendra brought them to a stop beside a table with a blooming lily resting in a glass-embedded pot, Butters reading right off it was his cue to hand her her materials.
As she wrote, the men surrounding her looked between her work and one another. "He's an awful strange one, ain't he?" Butters said quietly.
"That's putting it mildly," Craig muttered. "He's more standoffish than rogues I used to know and work with."
A paper was shoved in his face, 'So, you see it, too? You feel off about him as well?' he glanced up at the princess, her worried face nearly twisting his chest as he read weeks' worth of concern regarding the elf leaking off of her.
Craig had learned in his years by her side that it was an expression to not take lightly. Anyone she felt off about had reason for her to feel that way. They both excelled in it, reading facial cues and telltale twitches and tics that told them if someone was of virtue or not. Craig was raised in a community that could survive only by such methods, and her spending her life as the silent observer had taught her the same skills. They worked well as a unit, despite her grand standing over him in the court. She respected his opinions, just as he did her own. They had since day one, when Craig had been brought before the queen, the prince, and herself for stealing a hefty sum of their gold and losing his footing before he could escape.
Craig never forgot the bite of rope around his wrists, the infuriating manner in which he was shoved onto his knees and forced to look up at his betters as nothing more than an insignificant speck from the height of their thrones. The queen had been indecisive as to what to do regarding the situation as the prince had shouted from beside her that Craig was a thief, and thieves needed to be made examples of in public executions. Craig was only fourteen at the time, but held himself up tall as a man as he'd been taught by his band of rogues. Their code for this situation was more than simplistic: Don't cry, don't give away your brethren, do nothing but let what was going to happen happen.
While mother and son were talking amongst one another, torn on the subject as to his fate, Craig had locked eyes with the muted princess. She had been gangly and almost awkward as she was stepping into puberty at the time and fighting leg pains from a rapid growth spurt. She was fidgeting and staring at him with a cocked head, their caught gazes reading that there was more to one another than was on the surface. Craig couldn't tell what, in fact still wasn't quite sure, but he knew it was something big. Something that kept the princess awake at night from the way her posture was constantly stiffened and wisteria swept under her eyes, by how she hid her face and neck so drastically. She was a mystery, one that was intriguing and frustrating all the same.
And Kendra? Kendra only saw Craig for what he was: A young boy who hadn't chosen the life he was given, but remained true to his people nonetheless. It resonated with her on a level that, even to this day, Craig didn't know of. She'd silently passed the queen a note as she continued reprimanding her son for such rash, violent decisions. Queen Liane had taken her letter, reading it with a small smile steadily growing over her face. Craig still didn't know exactly what was said in the note, but before he knew it, the queen was hushing her glutton of a son and getting to her feet. She'd brought Kendra up as well, the both of them diligently sliding down the steps of their thrones to be on the same ground-level as Craig, the rogue kept in his place on his knees as they approached him.
Liane had smiled at him in a way that was bewildering to one who'd just broken into her treasury. "The princess has had a wonderful idea," she'd cooed. "We are giving you a choice. We will not ask you where you are from or about any of your group, we know that would get us nowhere." Craig had nodded at that. "However, the princess is in need of a personal guard, and she believes that you would be best suited to use your skills for the benefit of Kupa Keep. Should you accept, there will be no charges, only training to eventually protect the princess. It's either that or imprisonment. Which do you prefer, young man?"
Craig couldn't remember how he'd accepted the offer, or the exact way that Cartman had stomped his feet like the spoiled child he was. He could only recall the pure joy and hope that Kendra had exuded at his agreement. She'd saved his life that afternoon, and he was paying off the debt one day at a time. The last four years, he never left her side. He wasn't nearly as clingy and worried for her as Stan was for his protected, but he remained vigilant, no matter how flawlessly he pulled off the air of nonchalance.
After all, if he seemed relax, that would encourage the dangers to come out of hiding easier, which meant that he could catch them off guard by being always on his toes, always ready to defend the crown. He was finding Stan and himself were the opposite ends of the spectrum in how they handled their related positions. Stan was always fearing what was around every corner, and Craig was just unconcernedly waiting.
However, that observation made Christophe just seem all the more concerning.
He seemed to be neither in regards to Kyle's safety. While he seemed just purely casual as Craig appeared, he didn't hold the same air of readiness. He didn't constantly have his hand right by one of his weapons as Craig did. His eye didn't scan each room they made way into, looking for potential threats before turning back forward. Craig could pick up on patterns of people with ease, and he'd noticed more than once how Larnion guards practiced their vigilance. There was a hand always stretched forward in the slightest in case they needed to grab the royalty and throw them back behind them for protection. Their eyes had a certain pattern whenever they entered a new room: Forward, door, window, ceiling, sweeping line across the foreground, then back forward. They were taught to always be on the lookout, to never stop being ready for what was around the bend, just as Kupa Keep's soldiers. And these soldiers actually liked their monarchy, any one of them would be proud to lay down their lives if it meant the Broflovskis made it safely away from the threat.
Christophe, however, did none of these things. That only spoke one truth considering how deeply engrained it seemed to be in all his fellow guards: Christophe didn't go through his training. Somehow, he'd slipped right on through and secured himself the highest, the most revered guarding position in the kingdom. Kyle and Kendra both were the new commodities of Larnion, protecting either of them held more weight than even standing in front of the king and queen with the path that they were setting for their respective kinds. How an untrained, uninterested foreigner like Christophe had managed to sneak in through the rankings and come out on the prince's side, Craig couldn't even begin to figure out.
And, so it seemed, neither could Kendra.
He clutched her note a little tighter in his hand, watching her waiting with that concerned brow and he nodded. "Yeah. I don't trust the guy. I don't think he gives a single fucking shit about the prince's safety… I don't know what he's here for. But it's not to keep him protected." Kendra's face fell into devastation, an agreement of her own views clenching her heart enough for it to pain her chest and send her chin quaking with fear.
Butters pouted, "Now, now how can we be sure of that?" he looked up as they both glanced at him. "We don't know Christophe one bit, maybe he's just… not so good with people," he winced. "After all, he was raised in the woods."
"So was I," Craig reminded him, getting a shamed cringe out of the paladin. "If he was just a fucking baker or something I wouldn't care, but he's a guard. He doesn't seem to act like it." Kendra sighed, beginning to write again as the men continued staring at one another. "Prince Kyle is probably safer with just the ranger than he is with Christophe nearby."
"Maybe his methods are just different," he shrugged.
"None of the other royal guards have different methods," he quirked his brow. "The king, queen, and younger prince's guards all have the same pattern as Marsh. Why does Christophe get to do things differently? A conflict of methods puts the prince in more danger should trouble arise. I'm sure whoever they're training to work with me will have the same way of working."
Butters nodded softly, knuckles rubbing against one another and eyes falling to the ground. "Yeah… Yeah, I don't like 'im either," he admitted in a murmur. "Ya ever see the way he looks at Kyle? It don't seem right."
"Exactly," Craig agreed. "He looks like there's a grudge. Or he's waiting for something."
Butters gulped, "Do ya… do ya think he's gonna kill 'im?" he whispered.
He shook his head, "No. No he's had opportunities to do so. Get both him and Marsh down, but he hasn't taken 'em. I just don't know what he wants," he shrugged. He glanced down at another piece of paper flying under his nose, taking it with a quiet sigh.
'Promise me something. If you see him making a move towards Kyle, if it looks like he's in the slightest bit of danger, stop Christophe. If you have to kill him, do it. I'll take the blame on it and tell them I ordered it from you. Just don't let him hurt him.'
Craig slowly raised his brow, looking back up at Kendra's glossed eyes and her jaw tremoring in the slightest under her scarf. "You really think he'll hurt him, don't you?"
She reached forward and snagged the paper, turning it over and shoving a pre-written note back into his hands. 'Kyle is far too trusting. He told me he'll go with both mine and Stan's opinions on Christophe after two weeks. But with him being so sick, it's going to be the last thing on his mind. And apparently, he's going to be beyond vulnerable when this bout hits. If Christophe wanted to hurt him, he'd do it while he's laid up, right?'
Craig couldn't exactly poke holes in that logic, but he also knew Kyle was going to be surrounded by the healer, his parents, and Marsh more often than not. But, she was right. One moment that Christophe had alone with Kyle would be more than enough if the rumors were true. He took a deep breath, nodding slowly and looking back at her. "We won't leave him alone, there won't be any time the prince is by himself with the foreigner," he promised. He paused, biting his tongue a bit, grey eyes shimmering with an opportunity he'd been waiting to seize. "At least… if you can help me with something, Your Highness."