a king walks among us
He watches her come close. He watches, and he waits. He waits for her to strike for so long it seems like forever; he waits for her to tear his throat open with that iron blade of hers or for the blackness that follows her to do it, or for the rot to crawl up his legs and turn him into a wet mess of blood and bones.
None of those things happen.
”You came and you did not ask me.”
The tapping of her blade halts, and there is silence, save for the breathing; the inhale, exhale of two, no three, bodies, death-bringers, rot-bringers, meeting at the edge of violent waters. Waters that could sweep them both away in an instant, waters that could kill them both more easily than they could kill each other. He wonders what it would take to drag her with him if he slipped.
The rot runs towards him. The twirls of her horn run towards him.
”It is not for you.”
He thinks-knows that she wants to kill him. She must know me, is his only thought, and a breath later is the question: How do I kill her first?
The river runs towards them.
(It takes the threat of death to know whether you truly want to live.)
In less than a blink or a flash or a sharp inhalation he dips, then twists, twin horns aiming for her one horn. El Rey gathers his momentum, body sliding one way and head another, all hopes screaming may the river-foam take her.
This has been his entire life; what is one more corpse to the raging waters?
@Thana || he’s attempting to hook her horn with his own and throw her into the river.
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
