Skaarin watched Latrus walk through the courtyard, his guards eying him intently as he sat on a stone slab. He placed his hand on a blue flower gently, fingering the petals. Skaarin pranced in, bowing his head to everyone he strode by. He kneeled in front of Latrus.

     “What’s with the formalities?” Latrus asked. “You’re bowing. Is someone special around?”

     “I just thought I’d be kind,” Skaarin smiled.

     Latrus picked the flower. He ripped off the petals slowly. “How do kings please gods, Skaarin?” Latrus put up his hand before Skaarin could answer. “How do men please kings?”

     “I don’t know,” Skaarin replied. “I’m the friend of a king. And I’m not much of a man. I wouldn’t presume to know how others would please you. But I doubt any gods would concern themselves with any of you mortal bastards.”

     “Are you calling yourself a god?”

     “I’m concerning myself with a mortal bastard. Why? Do you praise me, young king?”

     “I don’t praise anyone. I see you as a friend. I don’t even praise that god I’m helping.”

     “Staara?” Skaarin asked. “He’s old anyway. Existed long before me, or anyone else that lives around your kingdom.” He stood and brushed his knee, then sat beside Latrus. “It wouldn’t make any sense to praise some dead freak. So there’s no reason to praise a wretch that some fuck brought back into the world.”

     “Could you not remind me of where he came from? I trust Staara well enough. But I don’t need to remember my father, Skaarin.” He picked another flower.

     “Would you have my tongue pulled?” Skaarin said, chuckling. He turned to the flowers and waved his hand melodically. A flower swayed, and then lifted from the soil, its stem slowly tearing. “You’ve got these things spreading across the kingdom, you know.”

     “Are they ugly?” Latrus moped, placing the flower to his lips. “You seem nervous. It’s not like you to use magnius. You usually save that for your personal projects, not for tearing apart pretty flowers.”

     “How many flowers have you torn into, then?” Skaarin countered as the petals drifted to the ground. “You’re off almost every night searching for a girl. I don’t envy your adolescence. It comes with arrogance, little king.”

     “Don’t give me another talk. Your jealousy can’t make you king.”

     Skaarin smiled and stood, patting Latrus on the head. “I hate royalty,” he said.

     “Good. You’ll serve it well then. Now tell me about the twisted slaught you brought away yesterday. Did you learn anything about him? Or was he just off in his own mind the whole night?”

     “I learned a word from him. But you won’t like it.” Skaarin smiled wryly to Latrus and turned away, humming. He tapped his leg softly to the tune in his head.

     “What was it?” Latrus asked. Skaarin kept silent. After a quiet moment, Latrus grew impatient. “Spit it out, mutt,” he said.

     Skaarin cocked his head back to look at Latrus, and then danced a few steps away. He smirked and held out his palms with an apologetic shrug. His silver eyes locked onto Latrus, catching him fast in his game. “Devour,” he replied.