Wings

21: Does It Get Your Blood Boiling?

Luke POV

Track: Angry Too, Lola Blanc

My father has come back from the interrogations angry. Mad. I know because his fists tell me, but what doesn't make any sense is that my father must be drawing my blood from me with sorcery, he must be casting spells, because he's covered in my blood before he even starts hitting. How does he manage it? He's painted red every day, looking how he looks after I've failed him yet again.

And I have. I failed him again. I had thought I succeeded—the rabbit was caught after all, I tracked him down and ran him into the ground and nearly tasted his blood as I break his neck. The rabbit turned up to the palace door because of me—

But it's still a failure and I know because King Hermes returns every night and finds me and slams his fist into my stomach and I can't figure out what I've done wrong that makes him so mad. Mad. Ha. Crazy.

"Fucking Monster," my dad mutters one night at dinner. "He won't cave. I cut off his wings and he still just kept muttering 'I forgive you.'"

"I'm sure he'll come around, darling," says my mother quietly. My father slams his fork down—I jolt at the sound—and glares at her until she corrects herself: "Ah, excuse me. I'm sure he'll come around, your majesty."

He hums, sounding angry again. I fidget with my butterknife. I turn it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over in my hands until all that I can think of is my butterknife spinning through the air. But no, a butterknife isn't good enough. A butterknife is dull, not good, not useful. I nearly laugh at the similarities.

"Luke," my father says my name like a slur, "are you listening? Useless heir. You have a new mission, and you better not screw this one up. Tomorrow morning, go into the Monster's cell and kill him. I don't care what weapon you use so long as he's dead by the end. Do you understand me?"

I set down my butterknife and pick up a steak knife. I turn it over and over and over and over and over and over—

"Luke," my father repeats, "do you or do you not understand?"

"I understand, your majesty." It comes out automatically. I keep turning the knife over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over—

"Maybe he just needs more time in the infirmary," mutters my mother.

My father snorts. "Don't be stupid. He's messed up in the head. At least if I can pin the beatings and death on him, the Senate will have no reason to doubt me—he's fucking insane."

I stop twirling the knife in my hands and look up and meet my father's eyes.

Before my eyes, my father's eyes morph into demon eyes, slits rather than pupils, red and glowing and awful. His face changes too—grows scales and a tongue that's split in half and and I think my father might be a snake. That might explain everything, why he's so angry—after all, I would be angry if I were turned into a snake, I can't really blame him. And it explains all the blood too because snakes are bloody creatures and after all, a snake has to eat.

"He's our son," my mother stammers. "You can't—"

My father grabs his crystal glass and throws it across the table, and I watch, impressed, as it hurtles toward my mother, catching the light of the fireplace in its edges and shining it all around like a miniature show of lights. My father is...generous for providing such a display.

The glass hits the wall behind my mother and the wall eats it up.

"Do not tell me what I can and cannot do," my father says lowly. "I am your King—you are not my equal, and you certainly do not get a say over what happens to any of my subjects, including Luke."

I look back down at my knife. I twirl it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and...

The door knocks on itself.

My father stands up to open it, and Percy Jackson is standing in our doorway with a smile, and he says, "Hello, your majesty. My name is Perry Johnson. I am honored to speak in your presence. I was hoping to speak with Prince Luke. Would your majesty approve for Luke to leave the castle with me?"

Perry Johnson? My memory is worse than I thought, perhaps Percy changed his name, I wonder if the whole town is confused or if we go on and on and on and pretend that Percy was always Perry and nothing has ever changed.

"I don't care, but make sure he's back by tomorrow morning. He's got a mission to fill tomorrow," my father says.

I take my knife with me and go with Perry Johnson, even if he is a liar or at least a name-changer, and ignore my mother when she tells me to leave my knife behind. Perry's smile disappears like the crystal glass the moment we're out of view of the king.

It's generous of my father to make people smile like that.

Perry takes me to the village.

I keep my knife with me and turn it over and over.

Word count: 1104

What proportion of that word count do you think was just "and over" being repeated lmao

Anyway here was your semi-regular Luke update: still insane, but now he has a knife. hope you enjoyed

Yours,
Sunny