“These were taken from confirmed victims of Fíur du Ath,” the Chancellor states. “Each of them important, upstanding members of our society, their loss crippling blows to The Crown.”
I practically preen, chest puffed, about to thank him for the compliment when he waves a familiar board at my face, adorned with three words etched in coal.
“And this was your … handwriting when you signed for your rations,” he says, a bemused look in his cruel eyes. “If you could even call it that. I’m certain my youngling could do a better job, and he’s barely out of the crib.”
Some of the Nobles spill a roll of laughter that deflates my chest and makes me feel entirely too small. Makes my cheeks burn.
I learned to write with a piece of coal on the ground of a cell, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my words from looking like I’m still scratching them upon the stone. Every letter is a sooty ghost tilled from my past, but I refuse to let them beat me.
I click my tongue, glancing from skin slab to skin slab as the guard continues to slap them upon the floor. “Well done. You possess a brain cell.” I glance up again, holding the Chancellor’s beady glare. “I would cheer, but I’m certain you’ll do enough of that this slumber while you’re staring at your floor-length mirror, fisting your microcock.”
Gasps rain upon me as the Chancellor’s face reddens, the veins in his temples pushing to the surface. He opens his mouth, and I can see by his narrowed eyes that he’s thinking about using a phrase. One I’ve used more times than I can count, exhibited by the flaps of flesh decorating the floor at my feet.
His lips thin, and he clears his throat.
Lifts his chin.
“You do not deny that you took the lives of these individuals?”
I look up, straight into the shadowed eyes of the Incognito King who just won’t stop watching me, wishing he’d kindly fuck off.
A one-shoulder shrug as I meet the Chancellor’s stare again, threads of pain lancing across my flesh like fiery veins. “Seems a bit pointless given the evidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“I do not appreciate your attitude,” he scolds, the other Nobles murmuring between each other while they leer down on me, passing me looks of disgust.
Disbelief.
Rage.
“Well, apologies for hurting your feelings.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut in.
Again.
“I, however, do not appreciate being forced to take out the population’s filth because this kingdom is run by an imbecile who believes that having a cock, three beads dangling from his ear, a cruel dragon, and a powerful army means he doesn’t have to iron out the kinks in his rumpling society.”
The upper mezzanine erupts in a riot of sound, the Nobles looking between each other, some of them throwing their hands in the air as they heave words toward the Chancellor. Like it’s somehow his fault I possess a brain that thinks, a mouth that speaks, but lack the self-preservation to avoid using both while standing in their presence.
Good. Hope I’m making enough of a spectacle that the Nobles will be satisfied with my capture. That Rekk will be given something else to chase, and the Ath will flip from the fire—even if it’s only for a little bit.
If I’m going out, it might as well be in style. It’s not like I’ve got anything to lose.
Not anymore.
The Chancellor hammers his gavel against the table three times over, silencing the racket. “You would disrespect our king so publicly?” he bellows, cheeks red like his ruddy cloak.
I cock a brow. “Is that a rhetorical question, or did you want me to answer?”
The Nobles murmur between each other while I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet, desperate to be done with this. I have a bowl of slop calling my name.
Again, I peek up at the mezzanine.
He’s still watching, arms crossed over his broad chest.
I sigh, pick at some of the filth beneath my nails, flick it away. “I’m incredibly bored with this conversation. Can we get to the point where you condemn me to execution for taking out the trash? That’s the part I’m most excited about.”
“You want to die?” the Chancellor asks, not bothering to mask his shock.
“No,” I murmur, picking another curl of filth free. “I’m just so sick of looking at your ugly face that death is starting to sound rather cushy.”
His upper lip peels back from his canines, and I’m certain the vein in his temple is going to burst. I throw him a wink, though considering my other eye is still half congealed, it probably looks more like a blink.