/n/jackal-among-snakes-1520/c-525
chapter-524

Argrave walked into the personal office of Good King Norman. It was strange to look upon the man that he’d just killed, sitting behind his desk in that pristine black velvet. Less than an hour ago, he’d been ribbons. Now, the black energy within him once again raged like an ocean, and the king’s red eyes fixed him with an uncomfortably salacious stare.

“You’re the one? Garbed in black, a breastplate bearing the sun, and the faintest echo that smells of blood…” he narrated as he studied Argrave. “You’re a far cry from the drab white I’ve aligned with your kind.”

“I was the one before you,” Argrave stated vaguely, stopping before the king’s desk. “I’ve come to collect. Sophia will be coming with me. I shall gather the three others, and we’ll reconvene in your castle’s courtyard in two and a half hours. Then, we’ll put an end to things.”

The king nodded, but kept his dead-eyed gaze fixed on Argrave as he ran his thumb across his chin. After a time, he pointed his finger lazily. “You’re picturing me dead. I can see it in your eyes.”

Argrave stayed stone-faced. He had done this before, practicing for the final loop. Never before had the king said this.

“Many people wish me dead. Despite that, I’ve kept my head. But you…” he leaned in and set his elbows upon the desk. “You seem to know how you’d do it. It’s no mere desire; you know how it’d transpire.”

Argrave took a deep, calming breath. “I’ll have to call you a liar.”

The king smiled broadly at his continuation. “You’re darling.”

Argrave suppressed a small shiver, picturing that half-shattered jaw flapping with its loose tongue as the king muttered that last word. In his experience, that word meant the king was interested in him. The last thing that Argrave needed was the king’s interest. He could survive any ambush thanks to the Inerrant Cloak, but that didn’t mean he’d like to suffer any. He wanted this to be clean.

Feeling frustrated, Argrave decided to diverge further from the norm. At worst, he could redo things, making his companions wait five seconds.

“Were you always this strange?”

“Strange?” The king leaned back in his chair. “A king is a unique existence.”

“You weren’t always a king.”

“I was,” King Norman shook his head. “People never called me so, but it was fated, just like my meeting with your organization.”

“Were your parents like you?” Argrave sat on the desk, eyeing the king closely.

“You try and pry, but I am rather shy.” Norman’s attitude was cold, despite his nearly demure words. “Retrieve my daughter, and the others.”

“We have time,” Argrave refused. “You must’ve thought a lot about this. Why would we Heralds come to you, of all people? Why were your children our asking price? I ask again, if only for your own benefit… were your parents like you?”

“Of course not.” King Norman’s fist slammed upon his desk, cracking its hard wood. “No one is like me. I am not a man—I simply am. All the rest are lambs to be damned—my son, my daughter. And they will scream my name until they die.”

Argrave laughed a little. The man was comically evil. He’d hoped there was some source, some genesis… and perhaps there was. But did the ‘why’ of it matter, anyway? He could get no answers from this man who would fight until he became a corpse. Argrave’s focus was better put elsewhere. It was better to right a wrong than spend hours discovering why it came to be, surely.

“Two and a half hours. Remember it.” Argrave said, then left without looking back.