Our Dark Prince (The Scottish Play)

XLV. Silver or Lead (Plata o Plomo)

A/N: The dialogue below was originally written in Spanish. If you would like to follow along in Spanish, I have included in-line comments below!

❦❧♱❦❧

Lolita heard nightly prayers.

Embellished in ornery and scorn, the night called to Lolita. Ghosts whispering in the wind. A bell tolled in Aquinasʼ Tower, fashioned in the center of the Rose Gardens, and as Robin stepped on the golden rimmed balcony – gripping Lafayette Royceʼs forty thousand dollar check tightly – the richness of the bellʼs pristine chimes grew intoxicating. Enticing as song: effervescent, innocuous. The bells were musical, serenading the Sirensʼ Moat and the cold opulence of Prince Manor with a carnality. Robin closed her eyes as the carnality of the darkness laced her into the Nightʼs arms. Intricately, artfully. The bells chimed, the Motherʼs Moon glistened with silvery omnipotence.

When the Motherʼs light donned on Aquinasʼ
Tower, gracing it with tears from the Nightʼs
sky, the wailing of the Faith's Sisters brought upon an angelic sorrow to the Order of the Dragon. Aquinasʼ Tower strung together its pearly dress with the lasciviousness of a French courtesan, and as its powdery hair glistened in the night, the Tower's head still had fallen. Death, that was the source of the screams. The Faithʼs Sisters – the Orderʼs nuns – they were grieving the death of someone in the tower Robin was entranced by. Mourning someone important. Incense billowed from the windows of Aquinasʼ Tower, the Mists from Hevene kissed the perimeter of Prince Manor, and they screamed just as loudly as the Faithʼs Sisters did.

Thatʼs where Lolita heard nightly prayers.

And in the decadence, thatʼs where Lolita heard a raspy chuckle, too. Low and lush in its Catalan roughness.

"Mmm, this oneʼs greedy."

There was a Japanese lilt in this manʼs tongue – lusty and forceful. Predatory, the man looked down at Lolita, with Herculean arms and tattoos that were grotesquely carved into his arms with a grisly, violent edge. Remedios DeMarcus, Robinʼs brother, he was a man with a risqué hunger. His eyes were shiny as pools of coal oil, venomous as a viperʼs, and he was intimidatingly built. His skin had spent its youth baking in the Japanese sun, his body worn with the fleshy, pulpy scars Mexican freemasons sawed into his body, and when he touched her chin, she practically heated up at the delicacy, the intimacy.

"She prefers girls, Remedios."

Greed was the gratifying feeling of Remediosʼ
kisses. With a feverish need, it consumed her. Remedios tore at her dress, freeing her breasts from the Valhallan fabric with an animalistic hunger, and plundered. Sprawled on his lap, Lolita felt his stubble brush her face with intoxicating fervor and gasped. Their lips kissed one anotherʼs
with bruising intent, their grunts addictive, their writhing bodies and her pornographic whines absolutely insatiable. ​His kisses were so rage-filled, so ravenous, so rambunctious and rough that it whipped him into control. Gliding her fingers into his hair, Lolita gripped the silky black curls with a hungry hatred, and yanked by the roots. Greed was the gratifying feeling of Remediosʼ kisses, but Lolita, too, was greedy.

So, so, greedy.

"She prefers political power. Like I said; greedy."

And with that, Remedios brushed his fingers against Lolitaʼs abdomen. Trailing inside her slowly, suddenly, capturing her gaze with the carnal, carnivorous look in his eyes. Remedios DeMarcus was poison, a fruitful red wine that was as toxic as it was tart, and when she gasped against his mouth, the poison felt delicious. The friction of his fingers heaven incarnate. He moved with the grace of a pianist, with the precision of one, and his precision are addictive. Her breath hitched, her back arched, his fingers filled to the brim, to the hilt, and she lost herself in the poisonous delight. Wrapping her lips around a Swedish strawberry, Robin leaned back and listened to her brother pleasure Lolita, licking the chocolate clean. She stared at the two of them subtly, frowning, her voice laced with anger.