An exerpt from my novel, Lucrys' Story. (Name is WIP until I finish.)
Lucrys' Punishment and Gift: Old Friends
Skaarin watched Latrus walk through the courtyard, his guards eying him intently as he sat on a stone slab. He placed his hand on a blue flower gently, fingering the petals. Skaarin pranced in, bowing his head to everyone he strode by. He kneeled in front of Latrus.
âWhatâs with the formalities?â Latrus asked. âYouâre bowing. Is someone special around?â
âI just thought Iâd be kind,â Skaarin smiled.
Latrus picked the flower. He ripped off the petals slowly. âHow do kings please gods, Skaarin?â Latrus put up his hand before Skaarin could answer. âHow do men please kings?â
âI donât know,â Skaarin replied. âIâm the friend of a king. And Iâm not much of a man. I wouldnât presume to know how others would please you. But I doubt any gods would concern themselves with any of you mortal bastards.â
âAre you calling yourself a god?â
âIâm concerning myself with a mortal bastard. Why? Do you praise me, young king?â
âI donât praise anyone. I see you as a friend. I donât even praise that god Iâm helping.â
âStaara?â Skaarin asked. âHeâs old anyway. Existed long before me, or anyone else that lives around your kingdom.â He stood and brushed his knee, then sat beside Latrus. âIt wouldnât make any sense to praise some dead freak. So thereâs no reason to praise a wretch that some fuck brought back into the world.â
âCould you not remind me of where he came from? I trust Staara well enough. But I donât need to remember my father, Skaarin.â He picked another flower.
âWould you have my tongue pulled?â Skaarin said, chuckling. He turned to the flowers and waved his hand melodically. A flower swayed, and then lifted from the soil, its stem slowly tearing. âYouâve got these things spreading across the kingdom, you know.â
âAre they ugly?â Latrus moped, placing the flower to his lips. âYou seem nervous. Itâs not like you to use magnius. You usually save that for your personal projects, not for tearing apart pretty flowers.â
âHow many flowers have you torn into, then?â Skaarin countered as the petals drifted to the ground. âYouâre off almost every night searching for a girl. I donât envy your adolescence. It comes with arrogance, little king.â
âDonât give me another talk. Your jealousy canât make you king.â
Skaarin smiled and stood, patting Latrus on the head. âI hate royalty,â he said.
âGood. Youâll serve it well then. Now tell me about the twisted slaught you brought away yesterday. Did you learn anything about him? Or was he just off in his own mind the whole night?â
âI learned a word from him. But you wonât like it.â Skaarin smiled wryly to Latrus and turned away, humming. He tapped his leg softly to the tune in his head.
âWhat was it?â Latrus asked. Skaarin kept silent. After a quiet moment, Latrus grew impatient. âSpit it out, mutt,â he said.
Skaarin cocked his head back to look at Latrus, and then danced a few steps away. He smirked and held out his palms with an apologetic shrug. His silver eyes locked onto Latrus, catching him fast in his game. âDevour,â he replied.