He smiled. The devil himself couldn't have crafted a more wicked grin.
"What do you say we play a game, little Reaper?"
I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher his intentions. "What kind of game?"
His grin widened, showing the tips of his fangs. I w...
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"Remember, you're to act compelled."
I rolled my eyes at the insufferable vampire prince. "Yes, I'm aware, Pierce," I mumbled, fighting the urge to yawn as I pictured him spontaneously combusting.
"I heard your incessant reminders the first three times. I get it, I'm your pet. Your toy. Your little plaything that you get to parade around in front of your father." I mocked, another yawn already in the works. "Don't kill your father yet—blah blah blah," I added, my tone making it clear what I thought of his instructions.
Pierce shot me a sharp look, his features illuminated by the flickering torches that lined the corridor. His long strides forced me to keep up as we navigated yet another turn in the endless maze of hallways.
"Mental dialogue." he reminded me, clearly irritated by my nonchalant attitude.
"Yes, yes, I know. Your little pet is aware of the rules, Your Highness." I cooed. "I know my place, rolling over and playing dead when you snap your fingers. Heel, little Reaper, Heel."
From next to me, Pierce let out a loud, exasperated sigh. I gave him a sidelong glance, eyes slitting.
Oh, boohoo, poor little vampire prince.
You'd be smart not to parade that exasperation in front of me.
Leaving my mental gate open, I deliberately began showcasing my thoughts, all the while trying to suppress the maniacal grin that was forming.
Ultimately, I surrendered to it, allowing it to stretch across my lips.
My exhausted, violently homicidal brain presented him with a fork in the road: left or right.
He raised a brow in response, daring me to continue, a challenge I readily accepted.
Left: It's a beautiful evening. Pierce is seated on his throne while Talon fetches him a drink. Pierce takes the glass, sips, and begins choking on his own pretentious wine, discovering too late that someone - definitely not me - had spiked it with liquid silver. His face would turn an amusing shade of purple before he fell to the floor. His crown rolling to my feet.
"The wine was a nice touch," Pierce admitted. "Though I prefer red."
I continued on, undeterred.
Right: Pierce gets tangled in his bed curtains during one of his dramatic exits, the fabric wrapping around his limbs like silken shackles. He'd struggle, of course, but only succeed in cocooning himself further until he thoroughly begins to suffocate in silk. He falls to the floor, and I stand over him with a stake, my eyes fixed on his chest as it ceases to rise and fall. I wait, biding my time until his heart is exposed. The mental image of him flopping around like a fish in expensive fabric made me snort out loud.
Pierce's lips twitched as he adjusted his cuff, fighting what suspiciously looked like amusement. "Your creativity is... concerning."
The vampire wasn't annoyed enough, which was annoying in itself.
