It is the slow creak of the palace doors that catch Avdotya’s attention, the low groan that was just enough to unsettle the silence that sat so heavily around them. Her ears spun from their backwards hold and her molten gaze waited for him to slip through the darkness and into morning light. Then, there he was, like a bird perched on high staring down at her from the very top of his steps. His steps. The woman nearly hissed at the thought - here stood a creature borne of Denocte’s black night, no man built of the day’s blistering heat, who assumed the title of king in Solis’ domain. She could feel the snarl bubbling in her throat, threatening to gargle past her lips out of sheer displeasure only to be suppressed and pushed back into her chest, back to where all her hatred simmered and smoldered. Avdotya was not loyal to the crown, she did not possess respect for those who sat upon a gilded throne... especially those who bore no blood of the sun.
But then, she was also not a fool.
The cogs in her brain were constantly at work, ever-aware of the game of power and politics; a feral woman capable of dawning the robes of the civil when circumstance called for it. She had done so once before and she’d done it well. Except this was Raum and Raum was not civil. His game was one she could play without thought, for it was her game too. It was instinct. That was why she was here, standing before a man feared and abhorred by the world with a severed head on a pike as her housewarming gift. A gift and a quiet threat, all wrapped up in a swathe of blood and gore.
A small sliver of a wicked smile grew on her lips when he questioned her, seeking relevance where she had hoped he might have already known it. ”Ah,” she crooned, ”a king does not know his own noblemen.” She looked into the dead eyes of her mark, recalling the fine silks his body wore and picturing the way they would look now draped so elegantly across bone and decaying flesh. ”This is Maalik of House Hajakha, a frivolous man in life and worth far more in death-” the viper paused and remained stock still, moving only to turn her head up to Raum and the beast that stood with him, ”what sort of guest would I be if I arrived empty of hoof?”
And then, when the dust around them sat in a thin layer atop her sweat-shone hide, she studied the great walls she had once set ablaze while he spoke of them. She could still see the soft, black marks of her work that marred them among so many other remnants of the desert horde's presence in the capitol. The Davke had done a magnificent job of ravaging this place in their surge of vengeance, and now their khan had returned to cement the roots of their revival. ”No, but I have taken from these walls what I wanted. My interests lie elsewhere, now.”
But then, she was also not a fool.
The cogs in her brain were constantly at work, ever-aware of the game of power and politics; a feral woman capable of dawning the robes of the civil when circumstance called for it. She had done so once before and she’d done it well. Except this was Raum and Raum was not civil. His game was one she could play without thought, for it was her game too. It was instinct. That was why she was here, standing before a man feared and abhorred by the world with a severed head on a pike as her housewarming gift. A gift and a quiet threat, all wrapped up in a swathe of blood and gore.
A small sliver of a wicked smile grew on her lips when he questioned her, seeking relevance where she had hoped he might have already known it. ”Ah,” she crooned, ”a king does not know his own noblemen.” She looked into the dead eyes of her mark, recalling the fine silks his body wore and picturing the way they would look now draped so elegantly across bone and decaying flesh. ”This is Maalik of House Hajakha, a frivolous man in life and worth far more in death-” the viper paused and remained stock still, moving only to turn her head up to Raum and the beast that stood with him, ”what sort of guest would I be if I arrived empty of hoof?”
And then, when the dust around them sat in a thin layer atop her sweat-shone hide, she studied the great walls she had once set ablaze while he spoke of them. She could still see the soft, black marks of her work that marred them among so many other remnants of the desert horde's presence in the capitol. The Davke had done a magnificent job of ravaging this place in their surge of vengeance, and now their khan had returned to cement the roots of their revival. ”No, but I have taken from these walls what I wanted. My interests lie elsewhere, now.”
You’re playing my game now, @Raum
