Eros

Blood Bath - 28

Felor breathed out heavily. Climbing the fifteen floors to the top of the Dark Tower wasn't a leisure even for a fit man. He entered a room that bore minimal furniture. The dark gleam of obsidian sprawling on the floor, walls and ceiling. The Black Prince sat at the balcony, and as per usual, there weren't any guards at the room he occupied.

I could kill him right here, Felor toyed with the idea. He did it whenever the opportunity presented itself, and was more than once close to actually trying. But one look of the Black Prince's emerald eyes always snuffed out his courage.

"Have you asked to see me, my prince?"

"Felor? Yes, yes. Come, sit with me." Roman gestured with a light hand towards the chair at the other end of the table. The one was the back to the sky view, and a faceful of Roman and obsidian. Felor did as he was told.

Two plates were offered on the table between them. The prince's plate hosted a thick slab of fatless steak, Felor's plate - empty.

Waiting for the prince to speak, Felor watched him eat in silence, unwilling to risk his wrath by intruding on the meal. He noticed his steak was barely cooked. Every cut revealing tender red and leaking blood sauce.

Felor felt his legs tensing, and it wasn't from the stairs. Although he had climbed high up the Syndicate, an invitation to the top of the Dark Tower wasn't a common thing. The waiting undermined his composure, like the bastard was waiting for his anxiety to show.

That hoping it hadn't already.

"My, my," Roman set the silverware at his plate with the half-eaten steak, looking across to Felor. "I haven't noticed your plate is empty. How terribly rude of me – to eat alone."

Felor opened his mouth to protest when black sleeves flapped in two swift movements towards him. Before he could react, he was yanked towards the table by his tunic, and then slammed against it by a hand that fell upon the back of his head. Shifting down, a rigid forearm sawed against his nape, pressuring his face into the empty plate.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the Black Prince's other hand disappearing into the dash of his jacket, and then reappearing with a silvery glint of steel in its grasp.

Panicked, he squirmed in an attempt to break free. But it was too little, too late. The feather carved a smooth, clean cut, and Felor's ear dropped from his head.

He bit his lip to muffle a cry. Roman released him, and Felor darted up in his seat. Terror struck him with the sight of his ear, resting in his plate. A thick drop of blood trickled down the side of his neck, sickeningly warm. The pain would doubtless be excruciating if it came on its own, but with the matter of his survival at hand, Felor felt it more like a terrible, terrible itch.

"There you go," The Black Prince set the feather aside and once more took hold of the silverware, smiling a devilish smile. "Dinner is served."

Felor's eyes dilated in shock. He can't possibly mean it...

"I prepared you a meal, Felor." Roman's smile vanished, and Felor knew then he had no choice. "I would be personally offended if you refused it."

He moved without wanting to, a doll pulled on strings of fear. The silverware shook in his hands as he picked it up. Felor gulped down his spit, stabbed his ear down with the fork, and brought the knife across it. A crimson puddle widened across the plate as he dissected the elastic flesh, intending to cut a piece small enough for him to swallow straight.

"Don't do that." The Black Prince's eyes gleamed viciously.

"You gotta eat it whole, chew it real good, else all the taste will go to waste." He explained, reading the question Felor was too petrified to ask. Felor dropped the knife and raised the fork. Sickness stirred his stomach and vomit nearly lunged up his throat as he brought his ear towards his mouth.