reprobii:
As little as he believes in Asmodeus’ so-called integrity, he only sighs. There’s no point in pursuing a disagreement here. Though… he’s not sure if he’s more disappointed or surprised when Asmodeus suggests payment here. Here? In his office?
Sure, he’d resigned himself to his fate already, but goddamn, he was still a prince. He’d at least expected the dignity of having his first time in a real bed, but…
For a moment, he only looks at his new husband, before realizing he’s making nearly no effort to conceal his dismay for the first time since their marriage happened.
In the next moment, though, he recollects his composure.
“Sure. But before we… begin, I guess I should say this now. As long as you don’t do anything detrimental to Brakhava, I’ll follow you as long as we’re married. So long as you leave my… former home intact, you can count on my loyalty - my current condition being evidence.”
He’s hoping Asmodeus noticed his actions at all, but…
Well, he’s said what he needed to say. With that, he turns away, and quietly sets about tying his hair up.
“Such a sour face. It’s not like I asked you to kill a man.”
Asmodeus kept his eyes upon his future mate, refusing to miss a single second of his submission. The smug feeling from before returned in full force. Sytry seemed to be rather displeased, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t fight, he didn’t rebel. He did what he was supposed to. He was already so obedient, the king could only wonder what he’d be like in the future. After he put him in his place.
A pledge of loyalty sealed their deal, Asmodeus unable to hide his smirk now. “As long as you obey, I have no reason to bother Brakhava any longer. I have my prize, already. I have no use for them.”
While the prince adjusting his hair was a lovely view, something in Sytry’s words struck him as odd. His current condition? As far as the king knew, Sytry was completely. He didn’t seem injured or ill…did he?
“…..What do you mean, your current condition?”
Honestly, Sytry thinks, I’d rather you asked me to kill a man.
At least then it’d be familiar territory, as disappointed as Mihr would be in him.
He doesn’t particularly like the way Asmodeus says he has no use for his home, but... given the alternatives could be much, much worse, Sytry lets it go. Asmodeus would sooner ascend again than perform any more than perfunctory acts of service towards Brakhava - indifference was the best outcome to hope for here.
He freezes for a moment as the king throws that question back, the hair ribbon falling for a moment from parted lips before he quickly snatches it up again - and for the first time, as he glances at Asmodeus, there’s something akin to hurt in his eyes. A kind of grief - confirmation that Asmodeus wasn’t, and would likely never, pay attention to him outside of this context. And though of course, this was what he had prepared himself for, it was a very different thing to be stunned by the realization in the moment, that he could have given his life, even, for someone who wouldn’t even notice.
He looks away. “... Never mind.”
His voice is softer, bordering on the edge between trembling and cracking.
“It’s nothing. Please don’t worry about it.”
As if to force a resolution to the topic, he fumbles with his shirt collar, attempting to maintain some semblance of grace instead of quite literally ripping it open to get... this over with.
And though he tells Asmodeus not to worry, he’s worried - without being able to take time to recover and delay the circulation of the poison, it’s starting to take deeper effect, and it’s beginning to require conscious effort to keep his hands from trembling despite the room not being cold at all.