Title: Promise
Author: boudecia7
Characters: Matt, Mohinder
Rating: G
Summary: Follows up the prequel I wrote to kethni’s Whipping Boy. Many thanks to her for the continued tolerance and encouragement. :D

The queen nudges Abha with a smile and nods her head toward where Matt stands glaring suspiciously at the doctor examining the young prince. “I do believe my little pet is prickling,” she murmurs, chuckling.

Matt’s eyes never leave the liver-spotted man who pokes and prods at his month-old charge; his fists clench and unclench by his sides, his chubby face twitching in dismay. Finally the doctor unswaddles Mohinder and removes his diaper, lifting him up and grunting approvingly. “Testes have descended,” he tells the queen by way of explanation, then turns the baby over his arm and delivers a brisk spank to his backside.

Mohinder and Matt wail as one, the latter swiftly snatching the infant up and kicking the doctor in the shin. “How dare you!” Matt shouts, following the exclamation by slamming his foot down forcefully on the doctor’s toes.

“Why you little cur—“

Matt dances away from the doctor’s hand as it sweeps down at him; he wheels about and only narrowly avoids bumping into Mira.

“Matt!” she warns, reaching for his shoulder. Matt clasps a hand over Mohinder’s head protectively and darts around her, causing the previously bored women in the room to squeal in delighted horror and cease fanning themselves to watch. They quickly make a game of trying to capture the small boy weaving deftly through their midst, but Matt proves surprisingly agile, finally diving beneath a desk in the corner and turning about with his feet poised to kick.

Mira drops down in front of the desk with an exasperated smirk. “Give over, Matt. That’s enough.”

Matt waves his foot threateningly as he huddles against the wall, holding Mohinder tightly. “He shouldn’t hit the prince!” he hisses.

For a moment something like amusement flickers across Mira’s face, but she quickly straightens her expression. “You’re right about that,” she murmurs, raising her voice to add, “Come out from there, you little scoundrel.” Matt shakes his head. “He won’t do it again,” Mira promises.

Matt tilts his head, then reluctantly hands Mira the baby; she yelps a moment later as the young prince urinates across the front of her dress.

The queen laughs when Mira returns Mohinder to her, sputtering in disgust over the state of her clothes.

“That slave child should be kept in a cage!” the doctor seethes, still rubbing at his shin.

“That will do, Doctor,” the queen replies curtly, indicating the door with her head.

“A creature like that has no place in Your Highness’ quarters,” he continues, glowering at Matt when he returns to the queen’s side. “Snatching babies and racing recklessly about like a wild ape!”

Mira spins around sharply. “Because he thought you were giving the prince a beating!” she snaps. “Did you not hear Her Highness? She said that will do. Get out of here, you aged quack!”

The doctor recoils, stammering in surprise. “I was testing his lungs,” he protests, but he gathers his bag into his arms when Mira glares sourly and Matt takes a menacing step forward. “Good day, Your Highness. I trust you’ll let me know if you have need for my services again.”

The queen shifts Mohinder in her arms to drop a graceful hand upon Matt’s head. “Good day, Doctor.”

**

Matt changes Mohinder’s diaper carefully and sits him in his lap to watch the musicians play in the corner of the queen’s quarters. Mohinder’s eyes sweep from one man to the next as various instruments take the lead, the baby’s dizzy expression making Matt laugh.

“Matt! Bring Mohinder here, little pet,” the queen calls from across the room, patting her lap. Matt climbs obediently to his feet, taking care to lift Mohinder gently before carrying him over to his mother. “There we are,” the queen says brightly, kissing Mohinder’s plump cheek; Matt hangs over the edge of her chair, resting his chin on his forearms.

“His Highness is well-protected with Matt around,” Abha remarks, putting aside her cross-stitching to watch the scene with amusement.

The queen ruffles Matt’s hair pleasantly. “My son certainly has nothing to fear from self-important doctors.”

Matt frowns. “He was a bad man,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “He shouldn’t have hit the prince.”

“Sees things rather in black and white, doesn’t he?” Mira observes from over the top of her novel. “You’ll need to learn to read between the lines if you want to get on in this world, little slave.”

Matt colors and looks at the ground silently, the tips of his ears bright red.

“He thinks you’re criticizing him,” the queen objects, placing her arm around Matt’s shoulders as she holds Mohinder close. “There’s nothing wrong with being uncomplicated, Mira. Matt is honest, straightforward.”

“He isn’t. He buries his feelings like a squirrel with a nut. Don’t you miss the withered old women who used to care for you back at Gopol’s, Matt? What was the one’s name, Latika?”

“Lekha,” he whispers hoarsely, eyes still lowered.

“Honestly Mira, why do you pick at the child? It doesn’t become you,” the queen snaps, kicking out at Mira’s foot. “Cease.”

“I just don’t think he should be praised for wearing a mask. It will bring him no pleasure.”

“Complaining about what cannot be changed will not make him any happier,” Abha points out. “Matt’s a good boy, he doesn’t deserve to be the object of your sport, Mira.”

“I suppose not,” Mira agrees blithely, catching Matt’s eye as she returns to her book. He blinks in surprise when she winks, then focuses on Mohinder, smiling when the prince reaches out to take his finger.

**

The queen lets out a startled laugh as she brings Mohinder into the nursery that night. “What do you think you’re doing, little pet?” she demands, pushing her foot into the nest of blankets Matt has made at the base of the baby’s cradle.

Matt sits up and folds his arms stubbornly.

“Go back to your bed,” the queen says gently, placing Mohinder into the cradle and pushing it to make it rock.

Matt kneels up and peers into the cradle. “Let me watch over His Highness?”

Dropping down to stroke Matt’s hair, the queen shakes her head. “Poor little thing,” she murmurs fondly, looking up when the wet nurse wanders in. “Ah, Ela,” she says. “Make my little pet up a better bed than this, will you?

Ela bows perfunctorily. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Matt smiles broadly when the queen lifts his chin. “Well, my little one, my son couldn’t ask for a more fierce protector, I know.”

“Thank you Your Highness,” Matt murmurs shyly.

Ela returns with an armful of pillows that she thrusts into Matt’s arms, and the queen gives his cheek a final pat before retiring to her chamber for the evening.

**

Matt wakes as the fire dies down to embers, unsure at first about what’s woken him. Checking the cradle, he purses his lips as the tiny prince inside stirs in his sleep. Voices carry dully from the queen’s adjacent bed chamber, one unfamiliar to Matt except in pitch. A man, he realizes, tiptoeing closer to the wide double doors. The doors are closed, but he can still hear the conversation within.

“…since he was born. Summon a concubine since your need exceeds my demands, husband.”

“I don’t require a concubine, I require my wife,” the king replies crossly. “Lali, we haven’t lain together in months.”

“Because I’ve been carrying your child through the hot summer season,” the queen snaps. “A child you’ve visited exactly once since his birth.”

“Lali!” The king’s voice rises in pitch. “There’s been unrest, my days have been full. I’ll see the boy now.”

“Don’t trouble yourself; he’s asleep.”

Matt jumps as he hears the sound of something heavy being knocked over, and then the queen says angrily, “Chandra, mind your temper. If you wake Mohinder you can tend to him yourself.”

Reaching cautiously for the doorknob, Matt opens the door quietly and peers inside. The king is standing over a spilled water pitcher, his expression dark as he reaches for the queen’s wrist.

Matt starts to lean on the door, poised to shout, when a hand claps over his mouth and drags him back. Ela pulls him against her plump body and stares down into his face, shaking her head firmly. Dragging him back to the fireplace, she pushes Matt down onto his bedding roughly.

“The king, he was going to hurt Her Highness—“

“—he won’t. And if he did it’s no concern of yours, boy. You’re a slave and he’s your master.” Ela clucks her tongue as Mohinder whines in the cradle. Lifting him up, she carries the baby over to a soft armchair and unfastens the top of her dress.

Matt kicks out at his blankets cantankerously. “He’ll hurt her. Gopol used to—“

Ela hisses and Matt whips around to see the doors to the queen’s bed chamber being pulled open. The king strolls in holding the queen’s hand; Ela covers herself with a soft blanket as he smiles stiffly down at Mohinder. “Hungry, is he?” the king asks awkwardly.

“Yes, Sire,” Ela allows modestly. “Would you like to hold him?”

“No!” The king rears back in alarm. Behind his back, the queen rolls her eyes at Matt, smirking. “No; let him eat.”

As Ela maneuvers Mohinder beneath the blanket to her breast, the king’s gaze jumps around the room wildly, eventually landing on Matt. “What’s this white-faced little ghost?” he demands gruffly, frowning.

“This is Matthew, Mohinder’s special servant,” the queen says, laying a hand on Matt’s head. “You’ve seen him before; he’s my little pet. He keeps an extremely good watch over our son.”

The king scowls. “As you like, I suppose,” he says finally, kissing the queen’s cheek. “Good night, Lali.”

Matt glares mistrustfully at the king’s back as he leaves; chuckling, the queen drops down beside him and takes hold of his shoulders. “Mira’s not entirely right, is she, Matt?—sometimes you hide that heart of yours not at all.”

Ela snorts and shakes her head, rocking Mohinder gently. Matt yawns and rubs at his eyes, then allows the queen to lay him down and tuck him in.

**

“The long heat’s made for a bad harvest,” Abha murmurs in a low voice as the queen toys with Mohinder’s curls.

“His Highness might do well to pay attention to the people’s plight if he doesn’t want to end up with his head on a pike like his cousin,” Mira says sharply, then flushes in embarrassment. “Forgive me, Highness,” she mumbles, unable to meet the queen’s eye.

Handing Mohinder to Matt, the queen points to the window seat. “Go play quietly with the prince and keep him out of mischief, little pet,” she says brusquely. Matt retreats across the room and does as he’s told, placing the now 4-month-old infant between his knees to sit. Mohinder grins up at him cheekily and grasps Matt’s nose, yanking hard.

“Ow,” Matt complains softly, trying to ignore the worried buzz of the women’s voices in the background. “Your nails are vicious, Highness.” Mohinder giggles when Matt places his fingertips in his mouth, nibbling off the excess nails one by one.

“That’s better,” Matt tells him, turning Mohinder about to look out the window and resting his chin on top of the small prince’s head. “That’s your kingdom,” he says warmly. When he looks back over his shoulder, the queen and her ladies have their heads together; Abha has her hand on the queen’s arm comfortingly. “One day you’ll take good care of it.”

Mohinder twists his head to look up at Matt, meets his eyes, and flashes him a gummy grin. “That’s right,” Matt says, returning the smile. “And I’ll take good care of you.”