'ᴡᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴇɴᴛɪᴍᴇɴᴛ. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴠᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ.'
Only one month has passed in Daliah Viper's life trying to reintegrate at court and follow the uneasy trails her eyes have caught.
One month filled with blood, tribulations, and l...
(Since I wrote more elaborate on some conversations than expected, the Daliah part may or may not run for another few chapters, until I reach the transition I wanted to do. But I aim to not draw it out longer than necessary, promise!)
For @gipsiemoth
-a compact usually solid piece of substantial material especially when worked or altered to serve a particular purpose
-a hollow rectangular building unit usually of artificial material
-psychology : interruption or cessation especially of train of thought by competing thoughts or psychological suppression
-a quantity, number, or section of things dealt with as a unit
- a platform (from which property is sold at auction)
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The silver wings of our transport sink slower in the afternoon air. This isn't a nightly trip, nor is it exceptionally secretive. The jet is too big for that, and my company readying themselves betrays the former secrecy now.
The dogs are perching right beyond my feet now that I have taken my seat and even put on a belt. A radio sings in static in front. Our pilot announces us- the arrival of the crown. Runt tilts her ears. I catch the announcement of it. Fleet Prime. Who thought I would ever be in a position to be announced as that, in the official company of the latest leader of our country?
He sits in his seat blank and cold, with whatever thoughts circle in his head that wears the crown now again. He doesn't look exceptionally regal to me, because all I see is the bartering boy that lied to everyone, including me. That crown on his head looks pretty, but it is a stolen heirloom. It is placative for power that was supposed to go to someone else. It is placative for the posters and the video feeds of his speeches. And I don't believe any of the lies.
We are similar in that regard, to some degree. I was never supposed to be the leader of House Viper. Loren was raised to take the position. My father was patient just as Elara was.
He catches my eyes. "Are you nervous, Lady Viper?"
I suppress a frown and grit my teeth instead. "Why would I be?"
He barely blinks. "You sat in a cell last year. Will it bring back bad memories?"
I laughed and fought and spit when I was arrested until I had to be restrained with an extra set of manacles. He doesn't need to know that if he doesn't already. "I am on the other side of the bars now."
"You are also responsible for some of those people sitting in those cells," he continues. "Your proposal for hunting New Bloods was eager."
I wonder for a moment, just a moment, and it is purely hypothetical, just as every murder fantasy for Samson and my savage wish to cut a king's hand off in Harbor Bay- if I sicced the dogs on him now, how long would it take everyone to react?
