Heir of Beasts

Ch. 6.2- Women and Wolves

"What the fuck was that?" I ask, tripping to keep up with Roze as he practically flees from the courtyard.

"That was me winning your fight, O'otani."

"No," I correct. "That was you using my fight to vent some deep-seated angst. That was melodramatically airing your dirty laundry in public." By now I'm practically running just to match his long strides. "You've already shown your hand to half of the fucking court, so why don't you just skip the preamble and tell me what happened back there?"

Roze looks over, measures me up, and sighs. "Fine." He pauses for a second, gathering his thoughts. "What happened... is that I overestimated my self-control."

"I've met you twice, Ambroz, and both times you had a knife in your hand and violence in your eyes. Where the hell does self-control come into the equation?"

When we step inside the mica-streaked palace walls, Roze finally slows down. Our strides are matched well enough to give me a perfect view of him rolling his eyes so hard I can barely see the bicolored irises beneath his thick, dark lashes. A small movement dripping with disdain. Or maybe it's irony?

He shakes his hair out of his face, some of the ends stiff with dried blood. "Just to be clear, I wasn't really trying to kill you, O'otani."

"Oh, I see," I say with enough sarcasm to drown him. "You just thought that the proper way to greet a queen is a knife to the jugular. Honest mistake. Maybe I should be glad you didn't choose a gun to the temple instead?"

He snorts. "Look, I just wanted you to think I was trying to kill you. It's different."

"And why the hell would you want that?"

"Because fear makes people honest," he replies. "Lays their cards on the table, and you were keeping yours far too close to your chest. I wanted to know if you were loyal to something beyond ambition; like you said, you're the queen. What you stand for matters. We're building something here, something absolutely worth building, and I don't want variables I cannot account for entering into the equation and fucking things up."

"From where I'm standing, Roze, it really looks like you're that variable. But even if you aren't, I know you're a liar."

"I swear on my life," he says, offence and sincerity keeping company in his strange eyes

"'I was going to kill you, O'otani,'" I repeat, trying to adopt his gravelly baritone. "'I would have killed you if you hadn't opened your damned mouth and laughed instead of screamed.'"

Roze grimaces slightly. "You've got a good memory."
"You were absolutely trying to kill me," I tell him authoritatively. "And at the end of that fight, Sholu was trying to kill you. I want to know why."

"Which one? Why I wanted you dead or why Sholu wanted me dead?"

"Both."

Roze puts his hand on my elbow, steering me into a corridor that's swathed in shadow despite the brilliant sun shining outside.

"What is it with you and hallways?" I ask flippantly.

"What is it with you and always fucking talking?" He grunts back, then flashes a half smile that makes the sheer freckles peppering his high cheekbones dance.

"Answer the damn questions, Ambroz," I say, letting every bit of my exasperation leak into my voice. Hoping he doesn't hear the fondness lying beneath it.