greed bows to me ;;

shock  is  laced  upon  trickster  prince.  the  aftermath  of  the  vampyr  makes  them  all  uncertain  of  what  actions  to  take.  himself  he  is  filled  with  an  emotion  he  has  never  truly  come  face  to  face  with.  fear.  there  is  just  something  about  seeing  a  creature  alive  which  had  been  told  off  as  folklore,  tales  of  the  common  people  and  part  of  myth.

───there had been whispers, carried through the dead of night, speaking of the existence of these creatures, and yet Kaz had remained skeptical, even when he had chosen to deliver news of such talks. it had gotten him a weird look, or two, but this tonight proved they were very much real; very much a threat. he is not afraid —for what use is fear to a man who has nothing to lose? there is chaos. running, screaming, fighting. and then there is quiet…peace. it seemed like it was over as fast as it started.

Aelin leaned against the rough stone wall, watching the sky shift from a soft violet to the deep gold of the setting sun. The air was thick with the scent of rain, though it hadn't quite fallen yet. “You feel that?” she asked, turning toward her companion with a knowing smile. “The winds are restless tonight—like they're waiting for something. The clouds are gathering, but the storm won’t hit until midnight, if at all. It’s strange, though. A calm before the chaos, perhaps.” She sighed, stretching her arms above her head, her eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and ease.

───his blue eyes sharp as his gaze shifted towards her, softening for a mere moment. “or after,” he pointed out; they had a taste of chaos, lest people had already begun forgetting about it —perhaps he ought not to remind Aelin of all people though, as the princess’ personal guard she would know after all. it was true though; something had shifted, you could feel it in the air, almost tangible. Kaz did not think it was a good thing; it was uneasy, restless —he might not have the gift of foresight, but he sure does have a keen observation, and his instinct is rarely wrong. “you don’t seem too worried though…” he mused, his eyes finally drifting from her to the horizon; still colored in pastel hues as the sun was beginning to set.

    beyond  the  walls  of  the  castle,  these  cobbled  roads  are  everything  which  she  knows,  danya  who  might  follow  their  twists  blindfolded  and  upon  feet  silent  as  the  dawn.  it  is  here  where  they  are  in  the  truest  danger,  for  these  streets  belong  to  the  assassin  who  follows  her  mark  with  stealthy  steps  down  and  into  the  damp  darkness  of  the  road  matase.  the  assignment  is  always  the  same,  to  dispatch  and  ask  no  questions,  but  how  could  she  not  when  the  king  still  slumbers  —  who  is  giving  the  orders  to  the  court  of  assassins  when  he  is  in  such  poor  health?  but,  as  ever,  it  is  not  their  place,  for  there  is  work  to  be  done  and  who  better  to  slip  into  the  night?  to  be  the  shadow  which  haunts,  which  kills  with  tears  in  their  eyes  black  as  the  abyss.

    they  are  distracted,  only,  by  him.  it  is  clear  that  he  is  following  the  same  mark,  but  kazmierz  havers  does  not  belong  to  the  court  of  assassins.  irritation  rumbles  within  her,  and  danya  finds  herself  slipping  from  the  safety  of  the  alleys  and  shadows  to  fall  into  silent  step  by  his  side,  scarf  pulled  down  to  no  longer  conceal  her  features,  to  share  the  feral  look  in  her  gaze  —  she  wants  this  over.  “what  do  you  want  with  him?”  her  voice  is  a  musical  thing,  low  and  silken,  a  sound  which  slithers.  “you've  been  following  him  since  he  left  the  old  town.”

───orders are not usually given to him directly; he follows leads, whispers. uncovers truths and then chooses, wisely, what information he can share with the King and his advisors. for all accounts he has proven his worth as much as he has his abilities and he has shown that he can be trusted, which allows him a bit of freedom in the targets he follows. nothing new to him as he has his eyes on a new target now, has been gathering information here and there; a word, a rumor —so he follows him closely still until he has the full, better picture.

and that’s when she interrupts him. she moves like a shadow; swift, soundless. and yet he is never surprised when she is there. his blue eyes meet her hard gaze for a moment —she is beautiful, he found himself thinking once, but she is also a pain to him from time to time, which doesn’t make her very easy to get along with. “I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts in a matter-of-fact tone. Meets her eyes once more for a brief moment, an eyebrow arching at the comment. “so you have been following me since then?” now he knows that to be a lie; she has been following him, the same mark he has been after, but he wanted to mess with her a little as well as avoid the question —he is not prone to giving explanations that do not benefit him.

As if throwing his fists and tasting blood could resolve it— and how desperate Thayer been to try, but he did not trust the hammering of his heart. It was the very reason he had forced himself to the sidelines of every mimic of battle and romanticization of the clashing of swords. He simply did not trust himself to not hear a war cry in place of the malicious camaraderie.

───sharp eyes shift to his discussant as he responds to Kaz’s suggestion; the hint of a smirk curls on the corner of his lips, ever so faint to be noticed unless he is looked upon closely —which he does not feel should be the case in this particular moment. “strong opinions you have,” he begins with a slight amusement underlining his tone. “but I’d disagree,” he points out, factly. “it is not ignored, rather…avoided?” and yet, how much can he share of his own opinions and of what he truly holds the knowledge of given his role at court that won’t make him seem like he is either picking sides or expressing opinions that do not seem to favor the king? he cannot do that, not so openly and not speaking to a knighted soldier he is hardly acquainted with —sure he knows him enough for being another court spy, but still, they all have their own motives behind the scenes and facade of crown support.

───his eyes study the man close to him with seemingly polite interest, but there is no real sympathy under the surface; he cannot deny that the mannerism of the other picks at his curiosity as to why the other seems so…affected by…the lack of violence? the mock display of peace? not that he would find the spy otherwise disagreeable, but for all appearances his interests, and his loyalty, lie where they must; as do his opinions —part of why he never speaks of them out loud when not in a trusting company; Kaz is a great manipulator, alas he can be a terrible liar when it comes to what he sides with or what he believes but can play his part when it comes to it.

The word family felt foreign on the princess's tongue. The memory of her childhood remained hazy at best, with each sibling remaining a blurred vision in her mind. How many times had she fallen into their arms after a long day of training? Once? Never? Familial love was a dull ember sealed deeply within her chest, but it burned nonetheless. Perhaps that slight flicker, that light flame, was the reason why she found herself standing outside her brother's chambers.

Her hand lay tight-gripped on the handle to her brother's space, as if a force tethered her to the other side of the door. She hesitated, reluctant to see one of her own in such a sad state, but knew she'd have to endure the sight eventually. Luckily, the sound of footsteps approaching gave her an excuse to avoid the inevitable a bit longer.

"The king is not accepting visitors at the moment." She snapped, hand unsheathing her sword before the interrupter could respond. "I suggest you turn around now, or else I'll be forced to shed your blood all over the hallway."

───no matter how much time he spends staring at the ceiling the fact still remains; he cannot sleep. the court is quiet at this time, but he has always found comfort in silence ( as well as he has in being alone ). perhaps it is against his better judgment that he decided to take a late evening stroll, both in an attempt to escape the restlessness he feels as well as the prospect of stumbling onto something interesting that those of higher ranks would prefer to keep under the false safety of the veil of darkness —and is his, not his job, in a sense, to bring such secret to the crown’s attention when it serves a purpose? he may have left the adapt part out as he walked into one of the long corridors, those that seemed endless and made him question the choice to follow such a path, to begin with.

before he could make up his mind whether to turn around or walk around and find a damn shortcut, a voice, cold as steel, disturbed the silence. his piercing blue eyes appear darker as he heaved a sigh. “and what would your people think,” he scoffed, a smirk curling on his lips though hardly noticeable in the dark, only as it carried through his tone, “of you attacking a cripple who sought a moment’s rest?” how overly dramatic, he thought to himself, but it often worked to portray himself in such manner.