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The Commerce of Royalty: H Angelov
🕑 Added 2025-06-19 13:33:18 +0000 UTC“It’s quite a good deal, really.” Ivarsson tugged the cigar into the side of his mouth, sitting back comfortably. “Even with expenses, such as shelter and feeding and so on.”
Angelov hummed softly, tilting their head for just a moment before clicking their fingers, the end of Ivarsson’s cigar immediately catching alight, and giving off the usual soft glow those things had. The ex-heir gave a grunt of thanks and inhaled.
“Hm.” Angelov leafed through the sheaf of papers again, painted nails dragging over some of the sums. “More so. I assume wellness checks would be in place?”
“Well..” Ivarsson couldn’t stop the flash of doubt that etched over his face for a moment. The Macedonian couldn’t help the small smile that stole over their own. “I think for the first few years, maybe. If you wanted to relocate to the Isles, then maybe-”
“No.” Angelov immediately shut that idea down. “Not even your full fortune could make me want to spend more than a few months in your countries.”
Ivarsson swore he could see them shudder at the thought. A part of him wanted to stick up for his promised land, but the other part of him had been staying in warmer climates recently. The ache in his bones had all but vanished and the food had been delicious. Goodness knew what things were like in Macedonia. His stomach grumbled a bit. Fuck’s sake.
“Well then. I’d send along Braithwaite-”
“Hm?”
“Oh, my butler. Well, more like the child’s full time nanny at this stage.” Ivarsson couldn’t stop his chortle, remembering the last time he saw his compatriot. A pillar of wisdom, who advised him well, cursing underneath their breath as they hunted through the grounds, trying to find his child. Apparently having escaped another mandatory bath time.
Angelov just gave a dry smile. Just being polite, Ivarsson thought warmly. Truly an Islander deep down probably. No idea what the fuck he’s talking about and smiling just to avoid awkwardness. Perhaps they shared an ancestor, given the Royal family’s origins. Better not say that out loud though. Calling someone an Islander at heart was usually an insult, weaponized by Gallia, Kemet, Almany- Well, most places.
“But yes, perhaps it would be best to send them along as well?”
Angelov shrugged.
“Would I have to provide expenses for them too?”
“Oh, no, no,” Ivarsson ashed the end of his cigar and shifted in his seat. Avaricious, grasping little fucker. He had to respect it though. It wasn’t horrible hard to disappear someone, but it was if you didn’t want that someone dead.
Especially if you wanted that person taken care of, fed, clothed… Loved would be nice in the long run. Even if they weren’t of a mind to appreciate that.
As per usual, there was a pain in his side at the thought of his child. A sharp one, just below his stomach. He massaged the area with his good hand and hoped Angelov didn’t think he was coming onto them or something. Not that Angelov was bad to look at. Ivarsson had lucked out. Macedonia was a good way away from the Isles, it was warm, it had plenty of older buildings, and Angelov was known for living well. Not royalty, so that was a mark against them in real life, but in this situation? A blessing. His child would get to swim in the sea that was a beautiful green-blue, eat food no doubt better than Braithwaite’s cooking. Their jailer was beautiful in a cruel way. Should have been in some of the elder myths about Hellas, to drive men and women mad, but here they were. Looking at him with unfeeling eyes, slices of red in those black irises. Truly, the best Ivarsson could ever give them.
“I’ll provide all the money for Braithwaite too.” He finally ended his sentence after a while, the ache ebbing away.
Angelov gave a long sigh and sat back in their chair a bit. They just looked up at the ceiling for a while. Ivarsson could understand. Clem liked to decorate well, and while they and their child were back at the house, he got to use their apartment they still had in Lutetia. Angelov had refused to move any closer until a deal was struck. Apparently Gallia was their stopping point before coming to swoop up his kid. Ivarsson glanced up too. Hm. It was a nice ceiling. No doubt the rundown family manor was being made over thoroughly. He wondered if he was going to come home to pink and yellow wallpaper.
After a moment the Macedonian stood up and went towards the open glass door, looking out onto the breathtaking city. A fresh scent of flowers and bread washed over him as he breathed in, overpowering the smell of his cigar.
“I can’t make them be happy, y’know.” Angelov finally said. “If that’s a part of the contract, I might as well leave now. It’s up to them to enjoy going from one jail to a… Nicer one.”
“They’ll adapt.” Ivarsson said sternly.
“Hope so.” They returned to the chairs the two of them had been occupying and picked up the pen that had been sitting in the inkwell by the papers and leaned over. They scribbled down H. Angelov onto the last blank line and passed it over. “Then, I am happy to take your money.”
Ivarsson chuckled and clapped his good hand against his knee.
“Very good. Something bubbly to celebrate?”
“Would love it.” Angelov said smoothly and watched the man shuffle away, to get their drinks.
The Macedonian stood stock still for a while before smiling to themself and patted their jacket pocket. Filled with quick instructions, detailing his friend’s thoughts about the newcomers to the house and how to right the situation they found themself in. And a plea. To take the deal Ivarsson would want to strike. Angelov didn’t mind it. After all, they knew they had been personally recommended.
Comments
Parson
FUCK YOU IVARSSON 🗣️
