Chương 33: Vol 1. Eye to Eye: Part 2

Steel hissed from scabbards in the background. Morton's shoulders visibly tightened, and her hand remained firmly on the grip of the pistol, though she did not pull it out. She looked Korra in the eye. That was an expression Korra knew well, the old look that warriors gave each other in disagreement; informally, it was known as the "fuck around and find out" look. Even while facing Korra down, Morton subtly positioned herself between Tahir and the nearest guards. It was a really good stance, Korra noted.

It would allow her to turn her body swiftly in any direction she needed. Tahir's ears flattened, and the colour beneath his fur drained away. He recoiled at the hiss of drawn steel. The sound made a series of images rapidly appear inside his mind—ones that made him want to cry—and it took all he had to repress them. Korra slowly reached for the hilt of her sword.

"And why not? Are you planning to use it?"

"Only if I have to." Guards came flooding into the room, their swords gleaming in front of them. Tahir put himself in front of Morton.

"Please, please!" he begged.

"Morton is just a little quick to anger. Forgive his uncouthness!" The guards crept closer, but Korra put one paw up, signalling them to hold back.

"I will let you keep it if you can show me that you will not harm me or anyone in this building."

"With pleasure," Morton said. She took the pistol from her side deliberately slowly. She removed the magazine and emptied the ammunition from it into her palm, then pulled back the slide and caught the round that flew from the chamber. She gave all three rounds to Korra, slid the empty magazine back into place, and holstered the pistol. Korra looked over the little hunks of brass between her paws. Strange, she thought. She was never a fan of pistols.

They were expensive, hard to get one's hands on, and, in her experience, highly inaccurate. By the time you set up your shot, your opponent had already cut you down with a sword. They were also highly dishonourable weapons of combat. Yet she had never seen anything like this ammunition. Rather than being little balls of silver, each was a cylinder with a pointed end. And how small that pistol was… Where did one put the black powder?

The elves, despite their tribal lifestyle, were great inventors when they wanted to be. She looked back at Morton.

"Did you build that?" Morton shook her head.

"No, ma'am."

"Do you know the person who made it?"

"Can't say I do, ma'am." Korra didn't fully believe her. Still, she pocketed the three bullets.

"I will give those back to you upon your departure from my estate. Now, Prince Tahir Orien, what is it—" Korra winced. Kurik was shouting soft profanities. He waltzed over to Tahir and knelt.

"This simply will not do!" he said.

"What will not?" Korra asked. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Kurik waved his paw over Tahir.

"T-this outfit! It is utterly hideous! How could a royal even be seen in such an awful garment?"

"I ask myself the same thing, Prince Kurik," Tahir said. Kurik eyed Tahir. His eyes travelled over the knots in Tahir's fur, the exhaustion beneath his eyes, and the travel stains that darkened his dress and made the already hideous garment even more hideous. He wanted to barf. Such a pretty man being subjected to such horrible clothing… His little heart could break into a million pieces. His face went stern, ultra-serious, and he said, "That does it. You're coming with me; we need to get you some new clothes."

"Hey—" Korra was about to say, but Kurik had already dragged Tahir out the door.

"We will be back later to prepare dinner! Fill me in!" Korra sighed. She looked over at Morton.

"Men really are all the same, aren't they? They go off to play like children, leaving the women to talk." Morton chuckled and tipped his hat.

"I don't disagree, even though I am a man."

"Really?" Korra said with an unintentional voice crack.

"You're a man?""'Deeds I am."

"No, you are not.""'Fraid so." Korra looked at Morton silently for a moment. How? His beard was almost as long as her mane, and it was far thicker than hers. She grunted. Some people get lucky with hair growth, I suppose. Still, for him to be so feminine while being a man and an elf… She had heard that elves could be more androgynous than was typical for a Kharani. He did not seem androgynous. No, he was ruggedly feminine in every way.

"Are all the elves of your tribe as"—she looked him up and down—"feminine as you?"

"I ain't an elf either," Morton said with a sly grin. Korra felt like she was going insane.

"Next, you're going to tell me you're actually Seroth himself.""'Deeds I am." Korra snorted and wiggled her ears. She hated how funny she found that.

"Sir Christian," she asked evenly, "would you like to have some tea with me?"

"I used to be more of a coffee person, but, yeah, I can't say no to some free tea."

"I am unfamiliar with what Ethiopian Coffea arabica is, but I can supply you with a decent amount of tea. My mother used to cultivate various plants before her hands became too stiff to work. Are there any preferences for what type of leaves?"

"Not really. This thing will guzzle up about anything." Morton patted his stomach.

"And do you take any cow's milk or sugar?"

"God, no!" Morton said, looking almost offended.

"If there was one thing my daddy taught me, it's that people who put milk and sugar in their tea and coffee are the devil themselves. It ain't even tea anymore; it's just milk and sugar."

"The… devil?"

"Ah, a guy that tempts ya' to do evil."

"Oh, yes, the demonic," Korra said in understanding.

"I will agree to that." Korra turned to her guards and barked, "Have a servant bring us some green tea, and have dinner prepared. I expect it done by the time my husband returns to me." One of the guards bowed deeply.

"Yes, my lady." The guard headed off.

"Until your husband gets back… Isn't that a bit short?"

"It is comments like that, Sir Christian, that make me question whether you are a man."

"How come?"

"No man would ever say fashion is a quick endeavour."

"Well, this one ain't got a lick of fashion sense."

"Come sit," she said, sitting in the armchair opposite the couch. She had another guard send for a servant to start kindling the fireplace. It was getting dark out, and with the darkness, the evening heat had subsided into the usual spring frigidity.