Successor

Chapter 1: Krys

Chapter One: Krys

My deep laughter resounded throughout the empty halls as I walked, smirking to myself in satisfaction. I had just managed to persuade the cooks to leave for the night and gather whatever food left in the fridge. And evil tactic, perhaps, in making my brothers somewhat cranky, but that was all part of the plan, wasn't it?

I had already eaten—it didn't bother me; and I had a stash of preservable food in my room anyway—but, though such a trivial matter may make absolutely no impact on my life, it may just raise my chances to win over the crown. I could feel as a glare settled on my back and I chuckled one last time before finally halting and turning towards my hot-tempered brother.

"Dalek," I said, trying to mask the smirk with a smile. I was unsuccessful. "I see you've caught up with me. Coming along to Gail's room?" He just glared harder and I sighed. "What irks you?" I asked innocently.

His face twitched, much to my amusement, and his glare seemed to intensify—if that was even possible—but it bothered me not. I was used to him after spending all sixteen years of my life with him.

"What do you think is annoying me?" he snarled, spit hitting my face. With a slight look of disgust, I wiped it away. There could be tons of things annoying him—after all, only just before our return to the castle, we had a run in with a rather opinionated girl—but I'd assume that he was most likely hungry, and having discovered that there was no food, stormed his way over to me.

Before I had the chance to reply, though, he interrupted, as he so often does when conversing with others. His face became a shade of red as the blood broiled, and I could hear his stomach growl. "Everything," he hissed. "Mostly you, though. How could you have let the cooks leave today? I'm starving and there's nothing—to—eat!" He had pushed his way up to my face as he spoke, but he leaned back again, balancing on the heels of his boots with his arms crossed over his chest.

I shrugged. "You should have eaten before, Dalek. You'll have to wait for tonight; I'm sure there will be something you like at the party."

He growled, sounding very much like an animal. "You didn't answer my question, and you knew I hadn't eaten beforehand, Krys."

Sighing, I said, "Well, the chefs should have a break, shouldn't they? I thought they deserved some time off. Maybe to mourn our father's death. I think that one girl was his personal chef—his favorite; she must feel much sorrow for him."

Dalek's face darkened at the innocent implications I had not-so-innocently included. He made no comment about it though, and changed topics quickly. "You have no power to send the cooks home, Krys. I reserve that right for now."

I raised my eyebrow. "You're saying that I retain absolutely no control over any person employed within this shared castle? I believe you're wrong about that, Dalek. I have just as much authority to scatter the servants as you do."

He huffed, glancing away yet knowing he was beat. It's impossible to beat me in this type of game, especially being one like Dalek. He wasn't finished speaking though, and said, "You'd be better off if you at least tried to not irritate me. I've already been in a bad mood since earlier."

"You're always in a bad mood," I pointed out. It was true though. Never had Dalek come down for breakfast, lunch, or dinner without looking horribly annoyed with one of us.

"Shut up!" he snarled. "I'm just so done with you, Krys!" He threw his hands into the air, expressing his anger, but I noticed he looked quite monkey-like right then and a smile returned to my face. He narrowed his eyes at me.

"I don't know why you're smiling, Krys," he barked, his voice cracking in exasperation. "I see nothing funny about this situation! I've nothing to eat before I attend a stupid party that could decide our whole future, and that girl! She's infuriated me enough for the rest of the day! How am I supposed to attend a party like this?" he asked, lowering his voice to a growl.