Demon King's Gardener

“Yes,” Jurao stated, reaching for his partner’s hand under the table to somehow communicate his intent.

Braelin glanced up at him and nodded just a little as he kept silent.

“Figured as much,” Minaz chuckled.

Vajur huffed, “That silly story…”

Feyl did believe that weapons should be used rather than displayed - he usually found ways to sneak new weapons to people he felt needed or deserved them, but preferred to do so anonymously. To avoid questions such as ‘where did you get this’.

Well, mostly just that one question.

But that and his late-night crafting had given him a reputation as the ‘smithing spirit’ - there were even rumors that if you left a broken weapon or request in the Civil Smithy overnight, the spirit might repair or accept it. Most - like Minaz - believed it was a cover for his aunt, and none wanted to face her infamous temper to try and prove it. The Civil Smiths, of course, all knew it was Feyl - but they were loyal to their own and, despite not being an official member, counted Feyl in that number.

“It’s not a story!” Gnori replied, slamming a fist on the table, “The smithing spirit is real! I have the broadsword to prove it!”

A gift delivered secretly to the Guard Captain’s Office the night before Gnori claimed it by Jurao - as a Department Head should have a weapon befitting his station, Feyl had claimed. It was a simple demon-style two-handed broadsword made with siren metal for extra power from the added weight.

“Same here,” Minaz grinned, patting the ends of her maces.

“I’ve got one too,” Festi snorted, pulling out a fae-style stiletto dagger of demon metal.

Feyl had delivered that one to their office himself - claiming it had been sent to Jurao by mistake when it clearly had the new Quartermaster’s name on it. The valet had joked they must have a secret admirer - but they’d needed a new dagger, so kept it anyway.

“Me too!” Gavven giggled, patting the pommel of the sword at eir waist, “I left a note in the Civil Smithy because I just adored those wavy-edged fae swords, and it even has that gorgeous sheen to them!”

“Not a weapon, but,” Hujur held up his metal stylus with a smile, “This appeared on my desk one day - it’s a siren refillable ink stylus, but it’s made with fae metal, so I was able to get it enchanted to refill itself.”

Sirens had created their refillable ink stylus - a hollow metal tube with a chamber for ink - in response to the magical elven self-inking quills. They were roughly the same in cost, with different advantages and disadvantages - the stylus wrote more smoothly, but the quills did not need to be refilled. So using one or the other usually came down to personal preference - unless you had a stylus made of an enchantment-holding metal.

“I’ve a lovely set of surgical tools rendered in what Nevve identified as dragonic steel,” Kloy added, smiling mildly, “It’s my favorite.”

Vajur leaned up to glare at Jouvi.

“What?” she asked, “I don’t carry my glaive around with me, and it’s not my fault the smithing spirit hates you.”

“The smithing spirit isn’t real!” Vajur scoffed, slumping back as he held out a hand, “We all know it’s a certain smith who claims she’s given up weapon smithing despite being one of the best in the realm!”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Minaz shrugged, “But the smithing spirit is never going to give you anything if you keep denying their existence.”

In truth, Feyl just had yet to figure out a way to sneak Vajur anything without getting caught - the spy had tried to wait him out a few times at the smithy, but Feyl’s personal dagger tended to vibrate to warn him of danger. What constituted as needing a warning seemed to be up to the dagger itself, but it had yet to fail its crafter and wielder, so they had surmised ‘danger’ to mean ‘whatever Feyl wished to avoid’ - including discovery.

“I don’t want anything from a made-up ghost that doesn’t exist!” Vajur scoffed.

“In any case,” Hujur interrupted, “As a point of interest - it appears… Priest Milve has been demoted, and requested permission to tend the garden shrine. I thought to leave the approval to you, Braelin.”

“Demoted?” Braelin frowned, “Since when?”

“This morning,” Hujur hummed, “He included a letter from the Grand Priest in his request - she granted him leave to do so, should we allow. It appears he gave up his rank in exchange for making Braelin a formal member of the Iesculan faith.”

“He didn’t need to do that,” Braelin said - then sighed, “Well, since he never mentioned it, I suppose it was his choice… I’ve no issue with him taking over the shrine, especially given the circumstances.”

“My department will handle the arrangements, then,” Hujur nodded.

“Does he count as gardening staff?” Jouvi asked, “I mean, he has to, doesn’t he? Now that we have a department for it…”

“That is the most appropriate placement, I believe,” Hujur nodded again, “I wonder if there’s a precedent for religious figures within the castle…”

Breakfast came to a close without any further major revelations, and Jurao went to his office for morning work as usual. As planned, he met his partner in the gardens for the midday meal - finding the human, his family… and Milve in the Pond Garden, seated around a few blankets they had laid out for it.

“The ceremony reminded me of garden parties and picnics back home!” Ayelma explained cheerfully as the King joined them, “So I thought we could have a more private one together!”

“I see,” Jurao nodded, sitting in an open space.

There was one big blanket with large plates of food and pitchers of drink, with smaller blankets overlapping it in an arc. Milve acknowledged him with a nod - sharing a blanket with Owren and Beneford to his left. Jurao decided not to ask after the arrangement.

“G-good afternoon, your highness!” Gaele, seated between the twins, stuttered, “Aya asked me to join, so, ah…”

“Good afternoon, Gaele,” the King replied, “You do not need to explain - you are free to join a friend for a meal.”

“See!” Ayelma laughed, “Honestly, he’s not even scary, Gaele!”

The lordis chuckled nervously, glancing at another surprise attendee.

Goyl lounged with Malson, who was using the demon’s thigh as a cushion. Goyl offered the nervous assistant a wink.

Gaele chuckled and looked away again, looking like they very much wanted to leave. But Petal had apparently decided the lordis’s lap was where it wanted to sit at the moment, Ayelma idly playing tug of war over a stick with the Crushfern.

“Good afternoon, your highness,” Exkla, seated between Meir’ril and Malson, said with a chuckle of her own. More bemused than nervous, though only just.

Braelin finished speaking with one of his other staff members nearby before joining the rest of them, sitting next to his partner. As the large serving plates were passed around, he asked, “Malson, how old is your half-demon child?”

“Twelve!” his brother replied.

“You have a kid!?” Ayelma demanded, “Since when?”

“Since twelve years ago!” Malson snorted, then added, “Also, I have two - Henes, the older one, and Amancia - she’s seven!”

“Then,” Braelin snorted, holding out his cloth-wrapped bundle, “This is for Henes.”

Malson sat up to unwrap it and whistled as he looked over the blade, “Jaevve did say she was sad there was no demon family nearby to get them a first-decade gift! They’ll love it!”

“It is fine work,” Goyl agreed, looking over the blade as his… partner… did.

“I thought we could go into the city to look for a sheath,” Braelin suggested, “Since you’d know your child’s preferences better than I would.”

“Good idea!” Malson nodded, wrapping the blade again.

“Also,” Braelin asked, “Are you married to Jaevve?”

“Huh!?” Malson asked - then coughed, “Oh! Yeah, actually, we are! I was the only person besides Abbay she was romantic with in the group, so!”

“The… group?” Meir’ril asked, looking a bit lost.

“Of Abbay’s spouses!” Malson replied, “I mean, I courted most of them on and off, and Abbay and I were never romantic, but I was included most of the time! But Jaevve was only romantic with Abbay and me, so after ten years, she said we should get hitched officially, and I didn’t see why not!”

“We’ll have to let Hujur know, then,” Jurao said.

Braelin hummed in agreement, then chuckled, “Jaevve is a Greater noble. As her husband, you share her rank. Which I believe makes you the highest-ranking person here besides Jurao.”

“It does,” the King confirmed.

There was a moment of silence from everyone, then:

“You left your wife and children!?” Ayelma demanded, at the same time as:

“Of course she is,” Beneford sighed, while:

“Why are you always like this?” from Meir’ril, and:

“Well, this is unexpected,” Goyl chuckled.

Malson scoffed and held up a finger, “One - all the kids of Abbay’s spouses and related parties stay at her estate in Asalban because it’s safest there! Two, any spouses that aren’t pirates or just need a break from sailing also stay on the estate! Three, I wasn’t about to get my kids before confirming Braelin was actually here and it was safe! Four, if one of Abbay’s spouses - or related parties - decides to leave, the kids get to choose if they want to stay on the estate or go with the leaving party, provided it’s safe to do so!

“So while technically I left my wife and children in Asalban,” Malson said, “That was a pre-agreed arrangement! Once I get Abbay’s reply to my missive, I’ll know if any of the three have decided to join me here!”

“... fair enough,” his sister sighed, “I guess it was pretty odd that Braelin ended up here…”

“Sayin’ that like you didn’ believe it right away,” Owren rolled his eyes, “Convincin’ me we just had to come here and check…”

Ayelma gasped, “That makes me an aunt!”

“... oh, I’m an uncle,” Meir’ril said.

After a moment, they both frowned and said, “That’s weird.”

Braelin laughed, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Malson is a dad,” Ayelma scrunched up her nose - then started laughing.

“Why is that funny!?” Malson demanded.

“He’s actually really good at it,” Beneford threw in, “His kids adore him - they’ll probably choose to come out here.”

“What do you mean ‘actually’ good!?” Malson’s face was starting to go red.

“So what’s your wife like?” Ayelma asked, popping a grape into her mouth and ignoring the question, “You didn’t mention her the other day!”

Malson made a noise of frustration before sighing, “You wanted the fun stories, and Jaevve and I got together in a sweet way! She’s got a wicked sense of humor and loves teasing people! She’s in the Human Realm to broaden her healing knowledge of Inspired Triad herblore and practices, and she also went to the Arcane Triad for it! But she fell for Abby on her way back, so she decided to stay in Asalban longer!”

“That sounds accurate for a member of Lajaonar’s ruling family,” Jurao said.

Goyl chuckled, “A petty princess? I didn’t expect to be that thoroughly outranked…”

“Petty princess?” Ayelma asked.

“Ah,” Gaele cleared their throat - then cleared it again, “The rulers of the cities are ‘petty kings’ - so their kids are petty princelins. It’s… more of a station, than a rank?”

“Like how whoever’s in charge of a ship is the captain, even if they’re not captain-ranked!” Malson nodded, “Not that Jaevve mentioned it; it just makes sense!”

“The petty king of Engapoylao is only a Middling Noble,” Jurao agreed, “But they hold the same rank as Greater noble families in the same station.”

“And his highness is only a Major noble,” Goyl added, snake tail curling around Malson’s middle to pull the human back against his side, “But naturally, he outranks us all as King.”

Malson rolled his eyes at the gesture but didn’t seem to mind it, only resettling himself, “But it’s not like most of that really matters!”

“Other than it makes you a prince again, apparently,” Ayelma snorted, then stuck out her tongue, “The petty part we already knew.”

“Ha, ha!” Malson replied flatly.

Braelin leaned into Jurao and softly said, “I missed this.”

The King chuckled, wrapping an arm around his partner’s waist, “I can see why.”