#reader-in

I would like to apologize in advance to all Camus stans for what follows.

Camus staggered back, one hand shielding his face from the blinding beauty of what you held in your hands.

“You–” he gasped, one hand clutching his chest as if he was in great pain. “My eyes must be deceiving me. This cannot be possible!”

The smirk on your face was almost as wide as the depth of Camus’ anguish. You held up the box in your hands triumphantly.

“I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about, it’s just a cake.”

“You halfwit!” The look in Camus’ eyes was equal parts lust, fury and disbelief. “Can you really be so ignorant? Do you truly not know the treasure that you hold in your hands?”

“Of course I do,” you answered smartly, whisking the box away from his grasping hands. “This is what you’ve been obsessed with for the past few weeks, isn’t it? That’s the whole reason I bought it to begin with.”

The switch in Camus’ mood was almost as dramatic as his outburst earlier. Now radiating peace, love and mercy, he held out his arms beatifically.

“I see. You should have said so from the very beginning, little fool.” The dazzling sparkles from his smile wasn’t strong enough to disguise the greed in his eyes as he stepped towards you, his gaze fixed hungrily on the box cradled in your arms. “Come, I shall gracefully accept your humble gift with gratitude. Your due diligence in procuring what I was not able to shall not go unrewarded. I shall permit you a single taste of the exquisite treasure within for your services.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s the other way round actually.”

His steps froze.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me the first time,” You could actually see the light dim in Camus’ eyes as the words dropped from your lips like a death sentence. “This isn’t for you.”

The sound of Camus dropping sharply to his knees echoed as you turned and placed the box in your hands on the table. Lifting the cover, you took your time to admire the cake inside. It really was a beautiful piece of confectionery, almost like a work of art. It was a little hard to believe that what you were looking at was actually edible.

After taking a picture of it with your phone, you were in the middle of scrolling through your contact list when you heard Camus stagger back to his feet behind you.

“You must be lying,” he rasped, one hand against the wall for support. “There cannot possibly be anyone else you know who has the eye to appreciate such beauty and goodness besides me,” He straightened up, his composure gradually returning. “There is still time for you to repent. I shall forgive your transgressions this once if–”

You held a finger up to your lips as the call connected.

“Hello? Cecil?” There was an audible boom from behind you as the wall next to Camus begun to crumble, inflicted by the violent blizzard which had suddenly raged up around him. “Yes, it’s me. Yes, I managed to get it, thank you so much for your help with this. Are you free to come over now? You are? Oh, he’s here too but I already promised to share it with you–”

Your fingers stung with cold as your phone was abruptly snatched from your hand. “Ajima,” Camus growled, his hair drifting in the air with the force of his fury. “SIT. STAY.”

Breathing heavily, Camus tossed your phone back to you. You woefully beheld the ice-encased phone in your hands and stared resentfully at him.

“You owe me a new phone.”

“You shall receive however many phones you want in exchange for The Queen.”

You looked down at the cake with the grandiose name in front of you and then back at Camus.

“I hardly think that’s enough, do you? Never mind, I remember Cecil’s number, I can always call him again–”

“Wait!” A single drop of blood wept from the side of Camus’ lip as he bit back a roar. “Name your price, heathen. I shall endeavor to fulfill whatever dark desires you may have, even at the cost my very soul.”

You rolled your eyes at the extent he was willing to go to for a single dessert.

“Anything?” you asked in confirmation. “You’re sure?”

“A knight never goes back on his word. I swear, on the name of–”

“Right right, I get it.” Ignoring how miffed Camus looked at not getting to invoke the title of his sovereign, you waved off the rest of his sentence and sat back in your chair.

“First, no more name-calling. I’m used to it by now but it would be nice to see you and not be insulted every once in a while.”

“As you wish,” he sniffed in disdain. “If that is all…”

“Not just me. I mean towards everyone.”

Camus paused. “Everyone?” he repeated incredulously. “Surely there must be some concessions, there are imbeciles out there who cannot be called anything else–”

You gazed steadily at him, your fork poised over the top of the cake, ready to stab down and disfigure its surface. He sucked in a breath.

“I shall try,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “What else?”

“I want you to call me by my name.”

He blinked at you. “Is that not what I have been–”

“I mean my first name,” you cut him off. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

“…I suppose,” he admitted grudgingly, much to your surprise. “There seem to be no end to your demands. I suppose it would be too much to hope that that is the last of them?”

“You wished,” you smiled. “Next, take me with you the next time you go back to Permafrost.” You’d never been there before and the thought of seeing where Camus grew up intrigued you. He paused in thought, and sighed.

“Fine. That can be arranged.” He stared down at you, his patience clearly at its limits. “Surely that is the last of your demands?”

It was all or nothing now. You took a deep breath, your words coming out in a rush.

“There’s this Florence Nightingale mini-skirt Halloween costume that I’m sure you’ll look great in–”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT! THE AUDACITY!”

It was a testament to how sturdy the table was when it didn’t break under the force of Camus’s fist.

“I-I cannot,” He was breathing heavily, his voice that of a man who was on his knees in the greatest agony. “Even if it is for The Queen…The Queen–!”

You were beginning to get the feeling that the man before you might actually physically shatter into pieces right in front of your eyes if you pushed him any more than this.

“Three out of four isn’t so bad, I suppose,” He slowly lifted his head and gazed at you, the light of hope gradually returning to his eyes. “Just one bite then.”

“Not even a slice?”

The fascination of seeing Camus actually pleading with you made you let your guard down. “I could concede to a large spoonful if it makes you feel better.”

The only thing indicating that Camus had left the room was the gush of wind that followed in his wake. You blinked and he was back again, a porcelain plate in hand. You made sure to keep a firm grip on the tray that the cake was placed on in case he decided to break his word and hijack the whole thing anyway.

“Remember, one spoonful.”

His confidence restored, Camus simply looked you straight in the eye, his arrogance rapidly returning in full force.

“Of course.”

Reaching into his coat, he pulled out what looked like a garden spade except that it was slightly smaller, made of platinum and engraved with elaborate carvings. Elegantly spinning it around his fingers, he swiftly sliced down at the speed of light, neatly separating the cake into two with one slice being more than three quarters of the whole thing.

Sliding the head of the spade under the larger piece, Camus was about to ladle it on to his own plate when you finally recovered from the shock of almost having your fingers sliced off.

“There is no way that is a spoonful!” You objected, jabbing a finger at the implement in his hand. Seeing him arch a brow at you, you resisted the urge to throw the rest of the cake at his smirking face.

“This is, to all purposes, simply a very large spoon. If it has a handle and a rounded head suited for scooping and serving then it fulfills the standard definition of a spoon, regardless of its size.” He lifted the spade, the edges of the abnormally large slice he had cut and chosen filling the surface of the blade right to the edges. “Observe, a single spoonful.”

You watched in disbelief as he transferred what could no longer be called a single slice of cake to his own plate, sliding it off the blade with a flourish. The look that he gave you as he carefully wiped down what he insisted to be a spoon made it clear that it was his victory.

By this point you were wondering what the difference between manslaughter and murder was, and if you suffocated Camus with enough cake which of the two would give you the lighter sentence.

You had reached the stage of planning how to dispose of his corpse when a cup of tea clinked against the side of your plate. Looking up from the pathetic remains of what you had thought was a sure victory, you saw a full tea service on the table. Camus was standing behind you, having plated the remaining slice of cake and setting it before you while you were lost in thoughts of crime. Placing cutlery on either side of your plate, he went on to unfold and spread a napkin in your lap, then returned to his seat and folded his arms.

Your first name rang from his lips like the summons of an avenging angel.

“I shall allow you the first taste of her glorious majesty. Hurry up.”

All thoughts of murder temporarily blown away by the fact that he was actually doing what he had promised you earlier, you slowly reached for your fork. The minute the cake touched your tongue you understood why Camus had been willing to sell his soul for a single bite.

When you recovered, you blinked and found yourself subjected to the extremely disturbing sight of Camus sparkling like a vault of diamonds, a spring wind blowing his locks into an attractive mess as he indulged in what had to be the most indecent look that you had ever seen on him. He looked, for all the world, as if he was in the midst of the greatest ecstasy ever known to man.

“Well done,” Daintily dabbing away the tears of bliss which had gathered at his eyes, he bestowed a smile worthy of a saint upon you. “This would be considered a great accomplishment for someone of your standing, peasant.”

“You promised–!”

“I was not addressing you,” he replied smoothly, his fork going in for another bite of the cake which he had impressively managed to demolish a third of. “I was simply describing your social status.”