After breakfast, Jurao went to his office as usual. He had Alae send off a messenger to ask Feyl to join him for the midday meal - he’d suggested Braelin eat with his family to take more time to catch up.

“This is unusual,” Feyl said as he did appear for the midday meal.

Jurao hummed, taking the food trays to his friend’s preferred seats before the hearth, “I wanted to ask you about something, but you may not wish to answer.”

His valet arched his left brows, taking a seat, “That certainly sounds ominous.”

The King sat as well, “If you don’t, I won’t press the matter.”

“I know,” Feyl chuckled, shifting his weight in his seat, “So don’t keep me waiting.”

Jurao nodded, “It’s... about when you were injured.”

“Ah,” Feyl sighed, leaning back in his seat, “I see why you were apprehensive,” he waved a hand, “Go on.”

“Was there… anything more I could have done for you,” Jurao asked, then added, “Or anything more I could be doing now.”

His friend sighed again - softer, this time, “I take it Braelin’s reason for being upset yesterday is… similar in nature?”

The King nodded, “I feel… inadequate.”

“I’m sure you do,” Feyl said, then held up two hands, “Not that I think you are, just that I understand why you feel that way - believe it or not, I also struggle to comfort others.”

“Really,” Jurao asked.

His friend nodded with a noncommittal noise, “If it’s not sex or distraction someone is after, I’m hopeless - I’m not the nicest person, Jurao.”

The King considered this - then frowned, “No.”

“Are you disagreeing or asking?” Feyl asked.

“Both,” Jurao replied.

His valet sighed with a smile, “While you may consider me to be nice, most people would disagree - and I am much nicer to you than other people, Jurao.”

“If you say so,” the King conceded.

“But to answer your original question,” Feyl sighed again, “No - there is nothing more you could be doing or could have done for me.”

Jurao did not find much comfort in that answer, though he felt he should have.

“Jurao, I know that if I called upon you to champion for me, you would in a beats’ space,” his friend went on, “But when I was… injured, that wasn’t what I needed.”

Feyl sat up to better meet Jurao’s gaze, “I was perfectly capable of getting myself out of the situation that led to my injury - I did get myself out of it. What I needed was all the support you gave me after all that - letting me stay in your room at the barracks and treating me the same way you always had beyond being aware of my injury. I needed you and Min giving me dagger lessons because you saw me as capable of taking care of myself and just wanted to make me better at it.

“Nevve teaching me how to make my own dagger didn’t hurt, either,” his friend snorted, taking the weapon from its sheath at his side. It was a fae-styled dagger - with a curved blade on either end and knuckle rings in place of a hilt. Jurao knew it was a mix of fae and demon metal - giving it a faint iridescent sheen.

Feyl spun the dagger around one of his fingers as he went on, “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I didn’t need a champion - I needed my friend, and he was there.”

That answer did put Jurao’s mind at ease, and he said, “Thank you - I am sorry to bring it up. I know you prefer not to speak about it.”

“I know how you are, Jurao,” Feyl sighed, “I know you don’t have another frame of reference for this sort of thing, and you’ll torture yourself over how you could have been a better friend if I don’t tell you plainly that you…”

Jurao waited for several moments before prompting, “That I what.”

“Well, I never thought about it before, but,” his valet shrugged, “Jurao, you are my best friend, and you did everything right just by listening to what I wanted and making it happen.”

“Oh,” the King said, and considered that for a few moments before saying, “You are my best friend as well, Feyl.”

“Is that why you asked Minaz to be your Right Hand?” Feyl grinned, then held up a hand, “That was a joke. I’ve no desire for that kind of lofty position.”

Jurao nodded, “Ah.”

“You know,” his best friend snorted, “I didn’t tell you at the time, but Kloy cut off the asshole’s hand before firing him.”

“Really,” the King asked.

“I’d cut off two of his fingers because apparently ‘stay the fuck away from me’ wasn’t clear enough,” Feyl rolled his eyes, “And when Kloy heard him complaining about it and heard the full story, that was his response. I don’t think he knows it was about me, though. I never did ask him.”

“Well, I’m glad that person isn’t here anymore,” Jurao said.

“When it comes right down to it,” his valet said, grabbing the dagger’s hilt to stop its spinning, “I do believe it was an accident - but he was still an asshole and still deserved all he got, as far as I’m concerned.

“In any case,” Feyl sighed, returning his dagger to its sheath, “I’m sure Braelin isn’t looking for a champion, either. You’re his romantic partner - whatever he needs from you, I’m sure it’s in that capacity.”

Jurao nodded, “Thank you again. And, if there is more I could do for you-”

His best friend waved a hand dismissively, “I know, I know. Now, enough sentimentality - the food isn’t going to eat itself.”

For a while, they ate in relative silence - but it was a comfortable kind, born of their long friendship. Jurao knew that if Feyl was upset by his asking, his best friend would say so - it was one of the reasons he found Feyl easy to get along with.

“You can be mean,” Jurao said at length, “But I would not say you are a mean person.”

Feyl snorted, “Have you been thinking about that this whole time?”

“Part of it,” the King replied.

His best friend waved a hand, “Well, thanks, but I never said I was a mean person - just not the nicest one.”

Jurao hummed in realization, “Ah - I see, yes. The nicest person would not be known for being able to be mean.”

“Exactly,” Feyl chuckled.

“By the way,” the King asked, “What’s your surname.”

“Why?” his valet asked.

“At breakfast, it was brought up that humans usually introduce themselves with their surnames,” Jurao replied, “I thought I should know my best friend’s.”

Feyl laughed, then said, “It’s Engaegasculi. I know yours.”

The King hummed with a nod, committing the name to memory.

“... you’re going to be ridiculous about this, aren’t you?” his best friend asked in amusement.

“About what,” Jurao replied.

“Being best friends,” Feyl replied.

“I don’t think I will,” the King replied, “It hasn’t actually changed anything.”

His best friend rolled his eyes, “No, but it has been formally said now, and you can be a bit… funny about that sort of thing. But it’s fine - it reminds me how much you care.”

“If you say so,” Jurao said, still not entirely certain what Feyl meant by that. But, if it made his valet feel that way, he didn’t think it was worth worrying about.

He considered what Feyl had told him while working through the afternoon, having decided to ask Braelin directly by the time he arrived at the regular Heads of Staff Dining Hall for the evening meal.

“So it’s working out then?” Braelin was standing by Festi as he asked.

They waved a hand, “Yeah, your sister is all set with a maned hornhound and an instructor - and she seemed happy enough when she met them.”

“That’s good,” Braelin nodded, “Thank you.”

Festi sighed, “Yeah, well, that’s what Department Heads do, yeah? Help out each other where we can.”

The sentiment made Jurao smile as he went to his seat, “Have the groundkeeper transfers been finished yet.”

“I sent them Braelin’s way this morning, but the paperwork is still getting finalized,” Jouvi replied, “But it’s not like I need them until then.”

Braelin had also come around to take his seat, adding, “They’re good listeners, and they’re already pretty experienced with the work. It shouldn’t take long for them to settle in.”

“That’s good,” Jurao nodded and waved for the meal to begin.

Once again, he watched his partner - Braelin didn’t show the same signs of distress he had from this morning, so the King could only conclude it was seeing his family members that reminded him of his injury. It made sense, all things considered, but it also felt… complicated.

After the meal, Jurao went to his office as usual - though it took an extra hour for Braelin to join him compared to usual.

“Meir’ril was in the library,” his partner explained without prompting, setting his own research materials on the table before the hearth, “He’s decided to learn to read demonae himself rather than rely on Carvve’s magic.”

“I see,” Jurao said, “Does he find study satisfying.”

“Very much,” Braelin smiled - but again, his hand went over his chest scar, “There was a window in the castle library back home that opened over the garden - he was always doing his own studies there.”

The King hummed, then got up from his desk to sit next to his partner.

Braelin made an inquisitive noise - noticing Jurao’s lack of lock in his hands.

“Braelin,” the King said, “I noticed that when you talk about your family, or are with them, sometimes you rub at the scar on your chest.”

Braelin sighed, “I noticed as well. It’s… easy to forget things, even awful things, when they aren’t… physically near you. But now that they’re here, I remember, and…”

Jurao nodded and asked, “What can I do for you when that happens.”

His partner looked up in mild surprise - then looked down as he thought. He seemed to notice the hand over his scar again - and held it out before himself, frowning.

The King waited - he knew emotions could be complicated, and he was sure whatever ones Braelin was experiencing were not an exception.

“Ah,” Braelin said, then turned to Jurao and held out his hand.

Curious, the King reached out and took it in his own.

His partner smiled, “Yes, I think that would do.”

Jurao blinked a few times, “Just this.”

Braelin nodded, “If you see me rubbing at my scar, take my hand like this. It’ll remind me that you’re here - I feel safe with you.”

The Demon King gave his gardener’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “Of course. I’m glad.”

“As for anything else,” Braelin added, not attempting to take his hand back, “I’ll let you know as it happens.”

“I’ll be ready,” Jurao replied, content to remain as they were for the time being.

Though after watching Braelin work for some time, he asked, “Have you an interest in learning demonae.”

“Mm, I was never good with languages,” his partner replied, “But I’m sure Meir’ril would enjoy learning the spoken language as well - he and Ayelma already speak Jostian, Imperial, and Nothern Frost Elven. Malson only ever learned Imperial.”

“I’ll let Hujur know,” Jurao replied.

It could be difficult to learn a new language in a realm one wasn’t native to - thanks to the Mutual Understanding Wish, anyone in a realm not their own could understand the inhabitants of that realm and vice versa through spoken or signed language. However, with that magic in play, actually learning such a language as a non-native to a realm required circumvention - either a spell, magical tool, or finding another non-native that spoke or signed the language.

Since Jurao did not anticipate Braelin going outside the Demon Realm, it didn’t seem particularly pertinent for him to know demonae - and besides that, the King didn’t foresee them having much trouble communicating for brief periods even without a common language.

Braelin shook his head with a chuckle, “Carvve had an artefact for it already - she seemed happy to have someone so studious in the library.”

“Demon scholars are few,” Jurao nodded, “Most being dedicants to Nosu.”

“Nosu?” his gardener asked.

“The demon deity of wisdom,” the King replied, “And my patron.”

“Your patron?” Braelin frowned, “I thought your patron would be Maenscul?”

Jurao considered this for a few moments before asking, “How do humans determine their patron deities.”

“We chose them,” his partner replied, brows arching as he also saw the cultural disconnect, “How do demons determine?”

“Circumstances of one’s birth,” Jurao replied, finding the idea of choosing a patron deity both odd and intriguing, “I was born outside of a settlement or camp at night - making me born under Nosu’s gaze, as they are also the deity of the smaller green moon.”

“And the large red moon?” Braelin asked.

“Vouscu, Maenscul’s sibling,” Jurao replied, “They’re the Deity of the Hearth - the patron of most demons since anyone born in the home is born under their gaze. They and Nosu are queer platonically wed.”

“Queer platonic?” his partner asked, seeming even more confused.

“Ah,” the King paused, “Yes, one of the three forms of life partnerships.”

Somehow, this did not seem to alleviate his partner’s confusion.