Disclaimer: Throne of Glass and its characters belong to Sarah J Maas. The plot is my own.
"I have many reasons for doing the things I do," she drawls, readjusting her cuffs as one would silk gloves. "But Hun, your pretty face just ain't one."
His eyeroll is one perfected through years of performance. "If not my 'pretty face,' love, then why do anything at all?"
She huffs a laugh. "Everybody has their own motives."
He arches a brow. "Yes, because it's much easier to kill for a bottle of beer than to steal it."
She just smiles, a smug thing that knows it has information you want.
He realizes she's mirroring him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Of course, he's decorated with war scarred armor, but something tells him she'd be just as comfortable as him in a set of her own.
"Cat got your tongue, Hun?" she asks, saccharine sweetness dripping off every word.
He just can't place that accent. "You wish. Alas, you're stuck here with me."
She snorts, and he finds he quite likes the honesty of the sound. "What'd you do to end up with guard duty?"
"Only the best for our finest prisoners." He flashes her a sly smile.
Her hand flies to her head in mock exclamation. "And you haven't even seen me in my pearls!"
"Why, my lady, how could I ever be sure that they're yours?"
She huffs. "How rude."
"Love, don't be like that."
She laughs again, but this time it's forced. As if she's remembered that they are prisoner and guard, nothing else.
He should make well to remember that, too.
The silence is curious enough that he finally asks. "Why did you kill all those men? Why'd you let yourself get captured?"
She gives him a blank stare, as if asking him which one.
"Your last batch. No one would be enough of a fool to place a price upon the likes of Ioan Jayne and Rourke Farran. And all reports had you just standing there, looking at them."
"Who do you know your queen didn't hire me, only to use me as a scapegoat? She could have had the police on me before the job was done." Her voice is as hard as her eyes.
"If my queen had you kill those men, you'd be dead by now."
A tight smile takes some of that heaviness away. "That's true enough," she allows.
She looks out the barred window. The light has faded to a weak glow. "Rourke Farran tortured my beloved. He drew on his death for hours." Her hands clench at whatever memory is running through her head. "So I slaughtered him and his master like the dogs they were." Her words are little more than a whisper as she continues. "I didn't want to be in a world without him."
She pauses, taking a deep breath as to calm her mind.
"Was he-"
"Sam." Her voice cracks on the name. "He was an assassin, too." Her eyes lock with his. "But he didn't deserve that." She looks away, fiddling with the ever-present cuffs.
"I'm sorry." Sorry didn't cover it.
The silence stews between them.
AN:
How'd ya like it?
My first story of the new year! A one-shot, the thing I know best.
How have your guys' new years been so far! I, for one, have high hopes for 2018.
Also, the Super Bowl was yesterday! LET'S GO EAGLES!
*to everyone who doesn't care about American Football, I apologize.
Random Fact: My puppy has figured out how to undo the latches on his training cage. Much chaos.
Please review!
~ franklyherondale
