You don't even know why Lucas latched onto you. When he came to power after killing the old king, you simply washed the old kings socks, which he proceeded to burn.

But after, he'd taken you by the wrists, with this stupid look in his eye, and said: "You're my assistant."

You liked the old royals. Sure, they were arrogant, sure they were as bad as most monarchs, but you'd been loyal to them for so long and... Now you had to serve some man raised with pigs like he was more than a brute that could make a few women drop their panties.

You called bullshit, he thought you were the manifestation of love and beauty. He didn't know the difference between heterosexual and homosexual, at least socially, and wasn't the least bit scared of making it very clear that he liked you, or at least favourited you in a way that felt like it meant more. You were more like a concubine to him than an assistant. It wasn't like he was married anyway.

Now, he was lounging.

That was the closest word to describe it. Considering he looked like he was trying to find the least dignified way to sit on a throne. His head was propped up on one armrest, ponytail draped over the edge with his legs kicked over the top of the throne. He occasionally kicked his feet. Somewhere across the throne room, a few men played music, which he quietly listened to as he spun his crown on his finger boredly. He held a wine glass in his other hand, in a weird way at that, and occasionally sipped from it.

But it never took long for him to call for attention, probably without anything important to ask or say.

"Assistant, assistant."