Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

Edmund had been hoping to make the game one-sided, where only he was asking questions and Oliver was drinking. But this way worked too. He wasn't about to turn down alcohol, especially one he fancied. A tonic for the nerves and soul. A terrestrial ambrosia. And proven loosener of tongues. Few were as garrulous as drunks. Even Edmund could be prone to raillery after a few glasses. And it looked like he was soon to be well on his way to that.

"Horse. Riding." Edmund said at length, testing the shape of the words in his mouth, like foreign vowels. His tone was someonwhat bitter. "That I have not." He'd seen it certainly. But Edmund was more likely to be bitten by a horse than ever ride one. There had been no room, money, or necessity for a horse where he grew up. And while under Oliver's employ, his duties had been limited to within the main mansion.

"I'm sure you look dashing on one, but any attempt I make at riding would likely end in pratfall." Edmund said in jest, though was honest. He put his hand out in askance of the wine. "What about stealing? Have you ever attempted it?"
 
It came as no surprise that Edmund had never rode a horse before. He was hoping to be pleasantly surprised, that maybe once in his youth as some sort of daring and cunning way escaping being caught doing some sort of thievery, he'd lept up onto a horse and sped off into the forest. Though now that he reflected on it, it sounded more like a story for a novel he read as a younger child, entirely fictitious and only to curve young children's imaginations to wild stories that could quite possibly happen, but nothing they'd ever see. He at least got Edmund to drink, however, and learned a something new. It wasn't a shock, but simply something new.

"Maybe I'll still attempt getting you up on a horse," He mused, thoughtfully, though it'd probably wouldn't happen. It'd be too risky and out in the open. While he was unopposed to having only Geneva as his riding partner, he wanted to introduce Edmund to more of the royal world. Maybe he'd figure something out within time.

"Edmund, I'm the son of a king, now am a king." He reached forward and slipped the wine bottle from his grasp. "What use do I have with stealing?" He took a generous swig. "I'd think I'd be terrible at it, anyways."
 
The drink Edmund took after sitting up was welcome, and immoderate, perhaps even a little selfish since he and Oliver were meant to split it. But he was like a fish to water. Their previous actions stirred something bibulous in him that needed quenching. Or was that just desire, still pawing at him? In the tart and tang of wine he could still taste Oliver's skin. Edmund sucks his tongue and swallowed hard.

"Stealing isn't always about necessity. Sometimes it's just for pleasure." He explained casually. The cards were a good example of such. "And good or not, I wouldn't mind catching your hands in my pockets" Half flirtation, have invitation, Edmund smiled wickedly before looking aside. There was something endearing about the thought of Oliver's fumbling hands trying to lift something. Or his possible compunction and hesitance at taking what wasn't his. All the while, Edmund at his shoulder, the devil in his ear, urging him on. Take it, just for the thrill.

"You ever been bit by an animal? Other than myself, of course" Edmund asked with a grin, filling in Oliver's absence of another question. "When I was a child, I tried taking something from a dog and the blighter got a piece of me." He rolled up his sleeve to show his forearm. Along the underside were two whiteish dots, like vampire marks. They were all that remained of a once prominent, and thought indelible, scar.
 
It slipped Oliver's mind to ask another question. Though, he didn't complain when Edmund took up the silence with his own. His eyes looked over the scar with interest. He knew Edmund was obviously one to get into trouble -- the blossoming bruise on his face and the silvery scar on his arm were evidence of it -- so it came as no surprise that he even got into trouble with those of non-human kin. Oliver rolled his eyes and smiled, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling his arm gingerly closer to him to look at the scar. He'd be a liar if he said the image of the two white dots, faded away from years of existence, didn't have his mind stirring with imaginative stories.

"As much as you'd like me thieving around in your pockets, I doubt I'd do it. Sorry to disappoint, you flirt." Oliver replied, fingers tracing the scar before he withdrew his hands. His hands then rested upon the wine bottle. He was sure that Edmund knew he never had any negative interactions with animals. The only kind he ever interacted with were horses, actually, and from a young age, he knew better than to provoke them into anger.

"Seems like you really want me drunk," Oliver said with a playful sigh, taking another drink of the wine. It settled comfortably in his stomach. "Never been bitten, at least before you came along. I knew better than to provoke the animals I encountered." Before Oliver forgot again, he continued on. "Have you kissed someone before me?" He asked, genuinely curious about this. "I've kissed one girl before you, when I was about... 14 years old. She dragged me outside to the gardens late at night during a ball and forced herself onto me. It was like kissing a fish,"
 
Edmund always welcomed Oliver's touch, especially when it was compulsive, gratuitous, and done, not in reciprocation, but purely of his own motivation. It made Edmund feel wanted in a small, simple way. He watched Oliver indulge his curiosity with private pleasure, eyes occasionally straying from Oliver's face to his still exposed chest. Edmund didn't know if he should feel guilty that Oliver could do so much better than him, or lucky because Edmund could do no better than Oliver.

Thieving and horseback riding. Alas, their hobbies would never cross. Edmund made to roll his other sleeve to match. "You accuse me?" Edmund asked rhetorically with affected incredulity. "Had it crossed your mind that I may only be eager to know more about you? Though I'm sure, much like everything else, you'd wear even inebriation with grace." He smiled before looking inward, plumbing the recesses of his memory.

"I have kissed others before you." Edmund confessed, looking somewhat disappointed, mostly with himself. "At least four. None were forceful, fish-lipped young girls, I'm afraid." He grinned briefly before explaining, slightly reticent. "One was a girl who lived on the same street as me as a child. It was mostly experimentation, pretending we were adults. The second was a young woman I had crossed paths with on several occasions running errands. She was probably the closest I had to a relationship, and it was terribly superficial. The third was a man in a bar. He and I made eye contact around closing time, found ourselves out behind the establishment, exchanged maybe five words and one thing lead to another. The last was... a prostitute." Edmund's lips pressed to a thin line, not wanting to elaborate.

"I don't suppose you've slept with anyone, have you?" It was the question that had been pressing on his mind. He had wanted to wait until the alcohol had turned their nerves to butter, and their muscles rubber. But this felt like a natural segue.
 
Seems like finally the two of them shared something of their past in common, though Oliver found it general and not as shocking as anything else he could've asked about. Though, even if it was a bland, simple question, Oliver enjoyed hearing small tidpits of Edmund's elusive past, hearing and learning about parts of him he'd never learn in normal situations of interaction between the two of them. Oliver's fingers tapped on the glass neck bottle of the wine, fingers always still itching to pluck and prod and play with anything they could in idle entertainment.

"You should see me shit faced one day," Oliver replied with a hum. "I become a true graceless mess then. I can't be perfect all the time." He resisted the urge to take another drink of the wine, knowing it was reserved for the game. It was another idle activity to keep his hands busy as he focused all on Edmund and searching his mind for any memories to answer the questions and give some himself.

At the mention of sleeping with one another, almost instantaneously did Oliver's cheeks flood with heat and color. He looked down, shyly, biting the inside of his cheek. It was so unorthodox to be speaking so explicitly and without filter such topics, so unnatural to what Oliver was used to. He swallowed dryly.

"...Depends on your definition of sleeping with someone," He said after a long moment. This was embarrassing. "... I've... had someone go down on me once. Nothing more than that, though." He continued after swallowing thickly once more. His face felt like it was on fire, and his fingers tapped incessently on the glass. He didn't want to look at Edmund and see his reaction, not sure what his reaction would be much at all.
 
The idea of Oliver drunk beyond censor or tact was tempting. Edmund would have exhorted him to drink what majority remained in the wine bottle had he not selfishly wanted more himself. And so they had reason to continue their game, which both must have known was only a tenuous construct designed to let them test boundaries. Some other time, perhaps, they could get senselessly drunk together, stumbling and staggering together in an embrace.

As the topic turned sexual, it was hard not to miss Oliver's diffident behavior. Edmund didn't know how to address it, or if he even should at all. He didn't know how to react, because he didn't know what he felt. Many men would elate at hearing someone was a grey-shade of virgin, but to Edmund it felt like another stress, a need to perform and meet expectations. A person's first time was hyped and exaggerated to be something inimitably special. And the truth was that it never was anything other than fuck awful. It was awkward, and embarrassing. And he didn't want to be the one to prove that to Oliver, disappointing him.

But Edmund wanted to sleep with him before Geneva did. He felt that that would somehow make the marriage bearable. Stake his claim, give Oliver something to think about while Geneva was beneath him. But what if the memory he recalled was dreadful? Fuck.

"I don't know the semantics of virginity." Edmund intoned before laughing cruelly at his own luck. "And I wouldn't exactly call you one, but it feels like it." He combed a hand through his hair, thinking of what next to say. "You don't need to drink for that question, though." Was what first came to mind, followed by, "You're not missing out on much."

But that felt like a statement he desperately wanted to prove wrong. And so he amended, "At least, in my experience of shallow trysts." he swallowed dryly. "I don't know what it's like to sleep with someone you actually care for."
 
Oliver felt a bit better about admitting such a thing to Edmund once he heard his responses. He kept saying things, more and more, sounding like the voice equivalent of tripping up the stairs but then trying to play it off cool and smooth, as if it didn't happen. Oliver also felt... disappointed. Edmund didn't have that grand of a reaction, at least from what he could hear. It sounded like he was merely replying. No ... surprise or interest, no disappointment that he wasn't a "complete virgin" or whatever that could mean.

"You don't need to tell me how bland sex can be," Oliver replied, voice quiet. He cleared his throat a little and finally looked back up at Edmund, though quickly avoided eye contact. The fires alight on his face were quelling some, but he could still feel it burning. "Though, I don't know any better than you, I guess."

Was he supposed to ask a question now? But at this point, Oliver wasn't quite sure what to say. This evening had turned in a direction he never anticipated, or at least expected. Do they continue down this path? Did it even matter? Oliver clearly had inexperience, but also he didn't quite think so. He's done something with someone at sometime and he didn't think it meant nothing. He bit his lip.

"Uhm..." He started up again, still feeling awkward and embarrassed, not sure how to escape this. Seems like he didn't need to be shit faced to become a graceless mess. Where would he go after this point? Continue asking about Edmund's sexual endeavors? Without thinking he took a drink of the wine. "Ever... fantasized about another?" He finally asked. It was a stupid question, and could be taken in a sexual manner, but god, it was better than nothing. It at least left Oliver curious for an answer, his mind focusing on how Edmund would reply than whatever mess they were at earlier.
 
Right, sex was bland. Set the bar low, real low. But that then made it unappealing. And even if his dread of disappointing Oliver was arresting, Edmund didn't want to not sleep with him. Because he did. Eventually. At some point. Fuck, maybe even now. The atmosphere had turned grave and awkward, but he couldn't deny that he wanted Oliver in an ineffable way that he'd never known before they grew closer.

Oliver's next question only seemed to drill that point home further.

"Yeah." Edmund confessed. "I've fantasized about other people." Mostly it was just small hopes and daydreams, or something before sleep to get off to. But with Oliver, Edmund could have filled novels with thoughts of him. They covered a spectrum of feelings. Sentimental and lewd, sick and sweet, domestic and depraved. He couldn't remember someone being on his mind so frequently as Oliver. Was it perversion or obsession? Or something sweeter, more vulnerable in nature?

"Sometimes I'll just imagine what I'll say to people, or would like to say." Edmund explained, every compliment he never said came to mind. 'The flourish in your signature is gorgeous.', 'Your smile is contagious.', 'The graze of your knuckles touches me deeper than anyone's kiss has.' "Sometimes I'll imagine scenes that can never happen." like their roles being reversed, just so he could give Oliver everything he deserved and more.

"But mostly," Edmund said, looking to him. "I just think of you as of late." He smiled, sullen. "That must sound rather simple of me. Because you asked, I assume you fantasize of others, no?"
 
Of course Edmund had his own fantasies, and of course Oliver had his as well. Oliver believed it was mere human nature to dream of scenes either impossible to have exist, or for things that could happen, if the chance or the situation ever were to arise. Oliver fantasized more than he thinks he should, especially as of late. Whenever in a situation where he was alone, cooped up in his study, his mind would more often than not think of what could be's.

The admittance of Edmund's fantasies in a general sense was... endearing to hear. He'd be a liar if he said he didn't think of Edmund more often than not as well. But hearing Edmund say it, confirming that those were thoughts he had running through his mind, either during their time together or in seperation left him feeling that this was legitimately something the two of them mutually felt. Whether it be love or simple affection, it was mutual. It felt nice to know that.

"Of course," He replied. "I've fantasized of plenty of people, but just like you, you've been the only one on my mind." Oliver smiled, bashful. "Isn't weird to think about someone so much when you see them already so often?"
 
"The only one." Edmund echoed, unable to suppress a smile. "I should feel so privileged to hold the spot in your mind that most women in the country wish to have." There was no accolade or approbation that could rival being perpetually in Oliver's thoughts, not to Edmund at least. There was no confection sweeter than knowing they shared a mutual preoccupation for each other. But was it of the same tone?

Edmund drew closer, placing his hand over one of Oliver's on the wine bottle. "I can't say if it's aberrant," he expressed, looking up from their hands to Oliver's face. "Because sometimes it doesn't matter how often you see one another, especially if you never express everything you want to." What that statement implied, and where it would lead, Edmund didn't know. He didn't even know, fully, what he meant by it.

"Tell me," he asked, half teased half supplicated. "What do you think about me? Do you think of waking beside me in the morning, kissing me publicly? Or something less innocent." He drew closer still, placing a soft kiss on Oliver's jaw, speaking low. "Have you thought of me going down on you like your first time?"
 
The sudden closeness of Edmund made Oliver's breath hitch, his mind reflecting back briefly to what had happened earlier, with the blindfold and the near promise of something the two kept skirting around, even now. Warmth seeped into him from the touch of Edmund's hand over his own, the dark liquid of the wine no longer something tempting to drink now that Edmund was close, temptingly close.

The questions that came out of Edmund blew out against Oliver's skin, his breath hot and the words clearly wanting to coax something private out of him. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes going half lidded. Oliver drank up the proximity of Edmund, taking it in better and faster and with more enthusiasm then any wine or drink he'd ever had or ever will have.

"You know me already too well," He replied, his voice airy, breathy. He let out a soft exhale. "Your lips don't do me any good, but they certainly feel like heaven." His free hand, the one not trapped under Edmund's own reached up and finished unbuttoning his shirt, then pulling it free from it's tucked in state in his pants. "Do you think the same things? Of innocent thoughts of intimacy and affection, but also of debauchery?"
 
Be it out of innocence, tease, or tact, Oliver was evasive, neither denying, nor explicitly affirming what Edmund asked of him. Only implying. And then he reflected the question back. Equivocal as a true governing figure, a modest flirt. Was it sick of Edmund to wonder what Oliver looked like when stripped of decency? He didn't know if that was curiosity or an honest desire. From it all, there was one thing Edmund felt certain of. He wouldn't cross the line they toed until Oliver explicitly asked him to. If he wanted Edmund between his thighs or on his knees, then Oliver was going to have to say it. Because Edmund wanted to hear it in the worst way.

The feeling of his shirt being loosened and unbuttoned completely was relieving, but Edmund didn't want Oliver's hand to leave him just yet. He took hold of it and pressed it against his now exposed skin, tacitly exhorting Oliver to touch. He exhaled slowly, adjusting to the subtly cool feeling of Oliver's fingers.

"My lips do you plenty good." Edmund assured jokingly, chuckling. "They defend your honor and get me in fights." That he couldn't nestle into the crook of Oliver's neck without pain was vexing, but he could still kiss there, and did. Soft and slow as though to soothe the bruises already there. He pulled away just enough to fully see Oliver's face when answering.

"Well, I'd have to think of such things to ask about them, wouldn't I?" Edmund teased, letting go of Oliver's hands. The wine bottle was still between them, a small inconvenience that doubled as a safety measure. Close, but not too close. "I've thought of us in many ways. Some too sappy to speak of lest I ruin my reputation. And others too licentious to be said in civil conversation." Edmund grinned, privately recalling a few of the more absurd fantasies he'd had.

"In specific, what would you say is the fantasy you think of most often?"
 
Oliver was more than glad to keep his hand close and against Edmund's skin. From the place it was at his lower stomach he brought it upwards, slow, never pulling away from him. His hand went all the way up to his shoulder, near the loose collar of his shirt and he then began to push the fabric of the sleeves off and down his arms. His other hand joined in, pushing off the fabric from his other arm. It was much too warm for something stupid like a shirt, Oliver justified. He wasn't doing this for his own pleasure ...

He kept his fingers' graze light along Edmund's skin, a slight tease. When he got down to his wrists, only then did his hands pull back, but only to return to unbutton the cuffs at his wrists that prevented the shirt from fully coming off. "Mhmm. Of course only your devilish mouth can do me the most good," He retorted, letting out a small laugh.

"Too sappy it ruins your reputation? What reputation must you uphold here in private?" He finished unbuttoning the cuffs and pushed the shift off fully, its crisp fabric surface crumpling behind Edmund in a forgotten heap. He briefly wondered of Edmund would move to do the same, to slip off Oliver's shirt in the same fashion to make them equal.

"The fantasy I've had most often?" He repeated. He bit his lip in thought. He actually wasn't quite sure. In most of his private moments when his mind would drift, he'd fantasize just about anything and everything. Nothing stuck out in his mind as being the most prominently thought about... But then there was. The night when that man went down on him, his first sexual encounter, recently he had been replacing the stranger instead with Edmund, a familiar figure and one he wanted desperately. His cheeks burned with that familiar flame.

"... Recently, I've been thinking about that time when someone went down on me... and I replaced that someone with you."
 
The removal of his shirt left him feeling exposed, diffident. Edmund had never felt that way before, had never cared much what his partner thought of his body. But with Oliver, he wanted to be everything the other desired. And it made Edmund self conscious of every minutia of his body. Was Oliver disgusted by body hair, should he have shaved? Or did Oliver like it, and so Edmund should have felt ashamed that his wasn't thicker and abundant? His musculature wasn't impressive, not nearly as large or superficial as some of the guards. Edmund ate too little to develop any significantly, and ate too much for his abs to be anything more than subtly hinted below his skin. Not thin enough to be considered epicene, not muscular enough to be enviably masculine, and not fat enough to... be fat. He felt so average. But didn't stop Oliver.

Edmund relished every touch, even moving to better allow Oliver access to his cuffs. The sound of his starched shirt crumpling, the chill of air across his back, and Oliver almost equally exposed as he was. Edmund wanted to press their skin together, wanted to feel Oliver against him without barrier. He took Oliver's hands, one at a time, and removed the cufflinks at either wrist. Impulsively, he let his fingers wander along the pulse and superficial structures there before moving to push the shirt from Oliver's shoulders, encouraging him to shuck it off.

At hearing Oliver's confession, Edmund's heart beat just a little faster. He worried that Oliver could see the shift in his breathing, no shirt to hide the rise and fall of his chest. His mouth felt wet, his tongue heavy. There was no denial that he'd happily oblige Oliver in entertaining that fantasy. That was, if he could. Oral wasn't exactly something in Edmund's skill set. He'd done it, but never to completion. It had always been a prelude to sex, a means of warming up a partner and showing interest. He swallowed hard, smiling in a private, embarrassed way. Though whatever shame he may have felt at his shortcomings was attenuated by the hint of color in Oliver's face.

"I think I'd enjoy fulfilling that fantasy for you." Edmund admitted, brushing his knuckles against Oliver's cheek. "You'd have to give me more details though." It was cruel of him to press, knowing it made Oliver uncomfortable, but he wanted to know so, so badly. He tried not to smile, knowing it would look cutting and derisive, and only half succeeded. "Did this person get you off, or just get you hard?"
 
Oliver relished in the fact that Edmund returned the favor of slipping off his shirt, finding the simple intimacy of it pleasant. The casual brush of his fingers against his wrists, the light touch that was just enough to pry free the buttons from his cuffs, too simple but he loved it all the more. He shrugged off the rest of the shirt after Edmund leaned back to allow him to do so, now an identicle crumbled pile of fabric behind him like Edmund's shirt now was. He was now aware of the cold of the room, the cool air washing over him like water.

Oliver was now able to be more accutely in tune with every slight shift in Edmund -- if his breathing got caught in his throat, if it sped up ir slowed down, and if he looked close enough, the pulse, the steady beating of his heart as it pounded away inside of him. While Edmund's body wasn't like those Greek sculptures of the ideal man, Oliver liked it. It was real, it wasn't some ideal fantasy. It wasn't perfect, because Edmund wasn't either and Oliver liked that. Oliver liked the change, the imperfection and informalities all present in Edmund.

He was brought out of his short revere by Edmund's words. Had he still be drinking, he would've immediately began choking on his wine. The chill of the room was pushed away by an embarrassing heat now flooding through his veins. Oliver should be used to Edmund's pushing and pushing to know more, but this was a topic he was taught to avoid, taught to not speak about aloud due to its vulgarity. And now he was pushed to speak about it. He bit his lip and looked down at Edmund's collarbone, finding it a tad bit easier for him to speak should he not maintain some semblance of eye contact.

One of his hands reached up and rested on top of Edmund's, the one stroking his cheek. With how much he thought of the altered form of the memory, the real memory's true details were a bit blurry. "They.. got me off," He replied, simple. He didn't want to divulge in too many details. It felt dirty, unlike what bullshit he would normally talk to other royals about. But this was Edmund. This was different.
 
'They... got me off'

If Edmund's work wasn't cut out for him already, then it certainly was now. He had nothing to measure his ability against, and wasn't naturally confident in it. Not in this situation, not with Oliver. Edmund wanted to be the best possible for him, adroit in every way, and knowing that he couldn't put a seed of nausea in Edmund's stomach. He was never going to be perfect. That was fact. He tried to raise his spirits, thinking positively. If Oliver's affections and interest were genuine, then wouldn't he want Edmund even with all his faults? Maybe Edmund wasn't as conversant in sexual ways as a roue, but ardor and enthusiasm had to count for something, no?

Edmund took the wine bottle and set it safely aside. Oliver's shyness was endearing, and teasing him was more satisfying than symmetry, but seeing him now, Edmund couldn't help but feel a pang of compunction. He wrapped his arms around Oliver's shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. His body felt warm in contrast to his hands. Edmund wanted to press him closer, smother him in unrestrained affection, but he forbeared, carding his finger's through Oliver's hair instead.

"Sometime, if you like," Edmund said softly, close to Oliver's ear, "We can make that a reality, or at least try to." A smile colored his tone and a self-derisive laugh made him shudder. "I can't guarantee I'm any good at." he confessed. "But if you're ever willing to try, then so am I. We can take it slow, and light-hearted. Maybe half drunk so we can smile at each other's failings and shrug off any embarrassment."
 
Oliver was now no stranger to Edmund's sudden bursts of affection. Once pulled in against him, warm and gentle and oh so welcome, Oliver practically melted immediately into him, his own arms wrapping around Edmund and keeping him close. He kept his head placed gingerly on his shoulder, eyes closing completely. Before he had this, the closeness of another, Oliver wasn't quite sure how he lived life before it. It was like one of those things where you don't know you need it until its gone -- except in this case, he didn't know he wanted it until he had it.

"I don't care if you're going to be good at it," Oliver huffed, sighing softly. "You can't be worse than me, whose barely done anything sexual. But even so, I only care that you'd be willing to do it and take your time with it." He kissed along Edmund's shoulder and up his neck. "You worry so much about being good at things. Just worry about how bad I'll be at it instead,"
 
"Is that a challenge?" Edmund asked facetiously. "Because sometimes being the worst is better than mediocre. Worst, though negative, is at least a superlative." That was the euphemistic way of seeing it at least. There was relief to be found in Oliver's words. That he shared some of Edmund's worries made him feel more accepting of them. Though Edmund didn't know if he could take things slow, as he'd previously said. Sometimes sex was a sudden escalation to climax. And sometimes it just pattered out. But Edmund felt that he knew what Oliver meant.

"Who's to say you won't have beginners luck?" he asked optimistically, returning Oliver's kisses, punctuating his last with a playful nip at Oliver's earlobe. "Honestly," Edmund whispered, "As long as you want me, I couldn't care about your skill. Because it's not about sex." Sex was only the means of expression. And though Edmund wasn't certain what it was he wanted to convey to Oliver, he knew it was deeper than physical stimulation. What they had wasn't a dalliance. Edmund wouldn't have care so much, or gotten punched over something as transient and petty as that.
 
It was odd to think that not even close to a week ago, he and Edmund were struggling to see potential and a mutual interest in one another to pursue a serious relationship. Now, here on this boat and heading back to Oliver's estate, the two of them were both certain that this was a real relationship they both wished to commit to and were willing to do as much as they could for.

"I doubt it. I can barely talk about it, Edmund." He retorted, resting his head on his shoulder, relaxed and comfortable, more than he ever had been for perhaps his entire life. It felt nice to have only one thing to focus on, one thing to worry about, instead of the multitude of things he had to do while performing his duties as king. He could take a breather for once. "..I can't believe we can't finish a single game of anything. We didn't finish 2 different games and it hasn't even been a day."
 
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