Private The King and The Fool

[Yula Perl]

// Ketaris​

The last time she’d set foot on Ketaris, she’d nearly thrown a chair at the King. In the time that had passed, she had not become any less temperamental.

Krayiss had plunged Yula into a depth of guilt she’d never felt. Zaavik’s savage departure had affirmed one of her worst fears; that she was useless to protect those she loved. Even—no, especially—when she actively tried. Fear of failure kept her from acting, and when she finally did, she’d been useless.

Yula was only good at taking care of herself.

Reaching out to Enlil was yet another selfish act. For as long as she’d known him, the King lived his life for other people, lacking in self-interest. Part of her felt like she had no right to present herself to someone whose morality outpaced her own by leaps and bounds.

And yet, here she was on Ketaris. Waiting in a vestibule after putting in an official request to see the King, the Grand Vizier of the New Imperial Order. The didn’t feel as bitter on her tongue even as she made her appeal, not this time. She was distracted. It had been a long time since they’d met, things could change. The Order had been very active.

Restless as ever, Yula raked the fingers of one hand through her hair. Still long, still dark, styled so that it fell over her left eye. Or what remained of it—the eyeball had been removed, the lid permanently closed with a few sutures. A vertical scar, fresh with tinges of red, ran from lid to chin. A visible badge of her failure. If it hadn’t been for her wonky eyesight, she’d have scaled the building and gotten this over with sooner.

Leaning back, Yula sunk down into her seat. Maybe she should leave—this would be too hard. Maybe she’d disappoint him. Enlil was one of her closest friends, so she remained. She had to see for herself that he was alright.

Enlil

 

[Enlil]

"My lord? Someone to see you-" her voice was even, tempered by several days of service to the ever-busy Grand Vizier. Though it began with trepidation and uncertainty, her career quickly became filled with more excitement than she'd ever dreamed- and more. When he held up a hand to dismiss her without words, she pressed him. "I don't think you're going to want to skip this appointment, sir, with respect. That is, not that I presume to tell you what you want-"

War and Civil unrest had not been kind to him. His agitation was amplified, to the point where he was curt even with those closest to him. Mhina was an oddity, and stayed with his staff despite her trial period coinciding with perhaps the single most difficult transitional period in Ketaran history. He managed to summon the last of his patience as he turned to look at her. "Who is it?"

"The name she gave- it was Perl." The part-Felacat girl hid meekly behind the folder she kept pinched in her hands, her ears twitching atop her head as she assessed his response. She understood how to talk to people. He smiled, a weak, tired smile.

"Finally, some good news," he sighed. His shoulders sagged, and he sank back in his seat. "See her in. And do we have refreshments ready?"

"I'll have a bottle made ready with haste, though I'm uncertain about whether you'll drink-" She didn't want to alarm him, though his guest didn't seem to be much in a mood for merrymaking.

"A host always provides the option of drinks, Mhina," he counseled. "Whether or not the guest partakes is their decision to make."

Enlil was happier for the mention, the very possibility of seeing Yula. Conflict and death had haunted him recently, especially the tragic business on Muunilinst. Something less morose would be a fantastic change of pace.

Mhina however, immediately realized that her King had set himself up for disappointment.

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

The girl with the cat ears returned, waving her through with a modest smile.

Yula exhaled slowly, released the held breath she’d been unaware of. Her request hadn’t taken long to process, surely that was a good sign.

Her steps were slow, and an onlooker might presume that she was taking her time. Perhaps she was recalling what details she’d remembered of the throne room, and how it had changed—or not—since her last visit. But her leisurely pace was to accommodate for her impaired vision, even if her gaze lingered a bit too long on the draperies, wondering if they were familiar or not.

Her focus found Enlil, and she couldn’t help but smile through her somber feelings. The words left her tongue before her mind had a chance to rein them in, as usual.

“If you’re not dead after all this time, you must be doing something right.”

Teasing him came naturally. Politeness, she once said, was reserved for those she could not stand.

Regarding him with an arched brow, Yula shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I heard that you melted some guy's face off.”

She didn’t sound…entirely displeased by that.

Enlil

 

[Enlil]

The chaos that fell in the moments between was disorienting. He liked plans, and he liked to be prepared. The only time Enlil ever strayed from the carefully laid out path was in war, and when it came to Yula. Between the two of those things, he only liked one of them. As the manservants hurried to prepare the room with no forewarning, a bottle was presented to the King for inspection.

"Sweet white," he appraised, clearly not impressed. "She'll love it. Excellent choice." If there was anything to know about Yula, it was that her tastes were not extravagant or discerning. That there was an opportunity at all to drink would certainly satisfy her.

He began to set the bottle on the table as the men cleared away the pile of papers and pens that had amassed in the past several weeks. As he did, she spoke. There was something in her voice that was not as it seemed, though she smiled. Was that smile for his benefit, he wondered?

"That you still believe my enemies so skillful as to warrant fretting for my life does give me some small cause for concern," he joked. The King had always been an arrogant, at times vain man, but his strength was not something many questioned. Those who did got burned- quite often literally.

She was forthcoming, but her posture, her mannerisms were unconsciously defensive. He'd observed her movement from the moment he saw her. He always did, as a force of habit. Watching Yula move was one of the few vices that he could not, and would not willfully forfeit. This time, though, when she entered the room, she seemed like a foreigner.

Yula had been here before.

These things culminated in a series of questions, unspoken thoughts that died before he could ever give them voice because she spoke first. What she said ripped his thoughts away from her well-being and set many new, uncomfortable questions in motion.

It was not the truth of the matter, but it was not far from it. The matter of Harrsk's death was officially a state secret, one of those that they classified as a tragic end in the line of duty, defending Muunilinst against the Sith attack. The panic that would result from the actual story was something Enlil, Tavlar, and a majority of COMPNOR decided could not be allowed to spread.

So, where was the leak? The cogs in the King's mind already began to turn. He would begin inquiries... but later.

Now, there was Yula.

"What a strange story," he managed a tight smile, though it was ever his way not to lie. And how could he lie, to Yula? "Though not perhaps without some truth. No, I grafted molten metal to his face, and he died from shock before he ever had time to suffocate. He did not suffer."

He imagined that flesh had melted at some point in the process, though.

"You've changed your hair," he offered. There was more. Something was different. He chanced closer, albeit without the wine in hand. Should he touch her? No- he never touched her. Theirs was a minimum safe distance.

He respected that distance.

"It will take some getting used to, but I like it."

Yula Perl

 

[Yula Perl]

The banter helped to ease the tension in her shoulders, enough for her to unwind her arms from one another. Hands drifted to her hips, settling there as she stepped around Enlil to inspect the drink he’d prepared. This may have been the court of a King, but first and foremost, it was the home of a friend.

Yula tsked. “What a way to go.”

Enlil was not an unnecessarily cruel man. With him, the punishment tended to fit the crime. That begged the question—what did the man do to earn a death by the touch of heated metal against his flesh?

One hand wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle, pulling it closer to her face than she’d usually have, inspecting the color further. Her only visible brow arched in his direction, but she didn’t question his choice.

Enlil did not like white wine.

The subject pivoted back to her just as she’d uncorked the bottle and poured herself a generous glass. “Thought I’d try something new.” Not bothering to aerate the wine—did this type even require letting it sit first?—she took a healthy sip from her glass and swallowed thickly. “I think it’ll change again by the time we see eachother next.”

Glass in hand, she wandered until her steps brought her to the window. Each time she’d been to Ketaris, it was to see him. She’d never taken the time to see the planet itself, to take in the results of Enlil’s leadership.

“How is Ketaris?” It was easier, she’d found, for her to focus on distant objects and landscapes. Less disorienting. Her gaze swept along the cityscape of Ketaris, as if she’d find answers there. A lazy breeze drifted through the window, enough to shift her hair away from her face for a few seconds.

Enlil