RE: Monarch
Chapter 260: Kholis V

It was a testament to Lucius's handiwork that despite everything I'd witnessed, this sanctuary he'd spent years cultivating beckoned with an undeniable sense of wonder. The rose-hued walls, masterfully constructed from a lightly tinted wood I couldn't name, seemed almost alive beneath my fingertips—radiating a gentle warmth and yielding with the subtlest give, as though breathing. Nature's imperfections became art in Lucius's hands; swirling whorls and varied grain patterns danced across the surfaces like stories waiting to be read, each imperfection deliberately preserved and elevated into something beautiful.

Lucius exhaled a visible cloud into the still air. "Damn. Cold in here." He peeled off his gloves with practiced motions, his fingers pale and stiff as he rubbed them together. His boots fell heavy against the sturdy floorboards, echoing slightly beneath several intricately woven rugs as he crossed to what appeared to be a hearth, obscured in the dim light. With methodical precision that belied his obvious discomfort, he extracted several small logs from a wrought-iron holder, stacking them with careful deliberation in the fireplace's waiting mouth.

Maya lingered at my side, her eyes wide with genuine curiosity. A person's private spaces revealed truths their words often concealed, and this was no exception. Even in these first moments, the meticulous craftsmanship surrounding us spoke volumes—every element blending seamlessly into the next with a perfectionism I'd never suspected resided within the baron.

Lucius swore under his breath, still wrestling with the fire pit. With no torch in sight, I rummaged through my bag for flint and steel. "Light that for you?"

"Hells no." His eyes flashed toward me with unmistakable wariness.

I rolled my eyes. "Not with demon fire. Obviously."

"Appreciated." Lucius straightened, brushing invisible dust from his clothes with an affected casualness that didn't quite reach his eyes. With growing smugness, he reached for a small metal lever mounted on the wall nearby. "But unnecessary. Here in Kholis, we rely on more modern methods." The lever descended with a satisfying click, and an acrid scent tickled my nostrils just before the hearth's base glowed. Fractal patterns of cherried red spread across the darkly colored stones, each one awakening with inner fire. Within moments, the logs he'd arranged began to crackle and hiss—their resistance surrendering to heat as flames licked upward, smoke spiraling into the waiting chimney. The fire's warm glow revealed the hearth's perfect stonework: dark granite blocks meticulously arranged, surrounded by an array of additional knobs and levers that marked it unmistakably as dwarven craftsmanship.

"Lord below," Maya breathed, abandoning the hearth to explore the newly illuminated living space. Plush chaises and invitingly deep chairs surrounded a large black throw rug sporting the preserved head of what must have once been a truly massive bear, its glass eyes reflecting the dancing firelight.

Outside, the cloud cover parted momentarily, allowing streams of sunlight to pour through the generous windows.

Further within, cabinets and cupboards lined the walls, their tops crowned with the same dark granite, a simple metal basin nestled at the center. Beside it sat a small structure with a slanted top reminiscent of a roof. My mouth quirked with amusement at the tiny rectangle on its front, complete with a miniature handle. I gave it a gentle, playful knock. "Did you build a house in your house?" I turned to Lucius with a grin.

"Don't—" he began, alarm flashing across his features.

To my utter astonishment, the diminutive door swung open. A tiny figure, clad in what appeared to be leaves bound with delicate twine, finished rubbing sleep from its eyes before staring up at me in abject horror. Its obsidian eyes blinked languidly, disbelief transforming rapidly to outrage.

"Ah!" I startled back. It wasn't this particular creature's fault, exactly, but the last time I'd encountered one of its kind, it had been feasting on the fallen during my coronation.

"What—" Maya's voice caught in her throat.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" The pixie's shriek pierced the air like shattered glass as she jabbed an accusatory finger in my direction. She launched herself skyward in a blur of motion, her long white hair streaming behind her like a comet's tail. She darted in dizzying patterns, a hummingbird's flight path rendered in miniature, before seeking refuge behind Lucius. Landing on his shoulder, only her head and frantically gesturing hands visible as she cowered behind his collar, her fury was undiminished by her fear.

What followed was an intense one-sided conversation, Lucius's measured responses repeatedly shattered by the pixie's high-pitched tirade that seemed to rise and fall like agitated music. "No, there's no need to call the guard. Everything is fine." He paused, wincing at a particularly strident burst of sound. "He only did that because he has yet to learn the rules. If you want to blame anyone for that, blame me—" Another torrent of crystalline complaints interrupted him, and Lucius's shoulders sagged slightly. "I told you this would happen one day. Circumstances did not allow me time to warn—" The admonishments crescendoed, and Lucius, recognizing defeat, fished a silver rod from his purse with resigned familiarity.

The angry tinkling ceased as if cut by a knife's edge. The pixie snatched the currency from his fingers and descended to the counter, holding the silver up to the window's light. She turned it over repeatedly with the scrutiny of a master jeweler, and seemingly satisfied with its authenticity, heaved it over her shoulder and disappeared into the tiny house, the door slamming with surprising force behind her.

A profound silence settled between the three of us, thick with unspoken questions.

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"Did I... just commit a huge cultural gaffe that you had to pay reparations for?" I finally managed, the absurdity of the situation dawning on me.

Lucius tilted his head side-to-side with diplomatic caution. "More or less."

I tossed him a silver rod, barely containing my laughter. It wasn't so much the creature itself that amused me as her fiery, indignant reaction, and how quickly her tune had changed once silver entered the equation. "That was... unexpected. It's been a long time since I've seen a pixie even in passing."

"I've only ever seen glimpses of them from a distance in the Everwood, but that was years ago," Maya agreed, her gaze still fixed on the tiny dwelling.

Lucius pointed at Maya, recognition brightening his expression. "Yes. They often played parts in the stories you told us. Fictional, I'm sure, but not easily forgotten. Years later, there was a rash of sightings, and I took it upon myself to seek them out. The rest is... a long story, one better told once we finish the tour and you've both had time to rest." He gestured toward the miniature house. "In the meantime, consider her a live-in assistant. If you have need, press here." His finger indicated a silver bell no larger than a thimble's tip mounted beside the door. He pressed the delicate striker at its center, releasing a cheery ring that seemed disproportionately loud for its size. The pixie reappeared in her doorway, eyeing the three of us with suspicious expectation. "Just demonstrating, Tia." The door slammed with decisive finality. Lucius offered an apologetic smile. "She's not usually this sour. They're just... very strict about respect and personal possessions, as those who have little often are. The home is hers, as is the door. The bell is communal."

"Ah." Realization dawned. "And I knocked."

"Exactly. Keep that small detail in mind, along with the fact that if her curtains are drawn, she is likely out foraging and socializing. If you respect their boundaries, they're fantastic housekeepers. You'll want to set aside a small portion of the food you make, and if she assists you in the process, set aside double. A pittance considering how little they eat."

"Are we... staying here?" Maya asked, barely concealing her surprise at the possibility.

Something fleeting and melancholy shadowed Lucius's eyes as he looked between us—a quiet vulnerability quickly masked. "For as long, or as briefly, as you'd like." Then it vanished entirely, replaced by the polished demeanor of the consummate host. "Come. Let's see the rest of it."

/////

There was more. Far more. Behind the house bubbled a natural hot spring, with open piping that led to several stalls where one could step inside, draw the curtain, and let the steaming water cascade over their head and shoulders. A verdant garden sprawled outward, planted with varieties of useful and valuable herbs and flowers that I recognized from a dozen different kingdoms.

As the tour continued, a simple truth crystallized with each new revelation. My suspicions grew when he introduced us to the extensive alchemy lab nestled in the cellar, its shelves stocked with ingredients I'd once mentioned in passing. By the time we reached the meticulously organized library—filled with rare volumes on nonhuman history, lore, and magic, including valuable tomes covering both life magic and the dantalion flame—it was impossible to ignore.

This wasn't some random novelty the baron had constructed in his spare time. It was too intentional, too specific in its details. Too personal.

Finally, when it became too much to bear, I asked. "Lucius. Did you build this place... for us?"

He froze, caught like a child with stolen sweets, before his features composed themselves into studied neutrality. He shrugged with an artificial nonchalance that couldn't quite disguise the weight of his words. "In my youth... I believed the threat we faced would not be so long-lived. That the bond we shared, brief as it was, would draw us all back together early and often. Like a children's tale, we'd band together to unwind those grand mysteries and conspiracies you put in my head." He paused, meeting my gaze with quiet intensity. "I suppose I imagined a world in which we all had far more time on our hands. So, yes, one of my first acts as Baron was to build this place. Eventually, reality set in, and I stopped wringing my hands, waiting with bated breath for news of your return."

"We never forgot you," Maya said, her voice soft with unsheathed guilt. "It was just—"

"—What?" Lucius interrupted, arching an eyebrow. "Difficult to pen me in between the grand battles and repairing the dimension gate?" His eyes found mine. "Dying and resurrecting really took up that much of your time?"

Though clearly intended as jest, his words carried a barb that found its mark. Lucius had never seemed to hold his father in high regard, but I understood better than most how complicated that path could be. The baron had only just passed when we'd been forced to depart in the battle's aftermath, as I was rushed to the Sanctum nursing a soul injury that threatened to claim my life.

Now, picturing him waiting for word year after year, for a visit that never came...

I clasped his shoulder firmly. "We'll make up for lost time."

Maya nodded with earnest conviction. "And won't stay away for nearly as long. I..." She gazed around the home once more, something akin to reverence in her expression. "This is too great a gift."

Suddenly sheepish, Lucius thrust his hands into his pockets. "Hardly. Cairn lives in a gods-damned palace; this is quaint by comparison."

"A palace filled with liars, spies, and sycophants," I countered, amused by the notion that anyone besides my father could find genuine comfort there. "Trust me, by comparison, this is an oasis in the desert."

The praise pleased him visibly; color rose to his cheeks despite his efforts to appear unmoved. "That was intended to be its purpose. A place for either of you—or both—to stay and rest, presumably from your travels. When it became... obvious I'd been a bit fantastical in my expectations, I kept the place as a project. Anything I've introduced to Kholis I've tested here first. The pixies, the integrated dwarven tech. Hells, we have more Rootsong trees in Kholis than some full groves, all raised from saplings traded from the elves." He trailed off as we both regarded him with mounting curiosity.

Suddenly his smugness returned tenfold. "Elphion take my eyes. Does a yokel lord in the armpit of Uskar have knowledge that has escaped not one, but two brilliant, well-traveled adventurers?"

"Gloating does not become you," Maya sniffed.

"He's fine," I smirked at Lucius. "If you filter out the smarm, he's basically just calling us smart and well-traveled."

With exaggerated grandiosity, Lucius beckoned us to follow, leading us back to the wide room where the hearth glowed with steady warmth. He approached the opposite wall, stopping before what appeared to be a simple wooden panel. Resting the fingertips of one hand against the grain, he bowed his head and murmured something unintelligible. Something within shifted with a whisper of hidden mechanisms, and the panel itself slid open.

"Come," he gestured us inside.