The rain fell outside the castle, dripping, dripping, starting endless rhythms in all of their hearts. It would turn into snow, but it's held back by an untold number of things- the number of the winds, the warmth dark can sometimes bring, the reign of the King, scorching so much that Winter bowed is head under its King, submitted back to its duties.

No one expected the rifts of conversation to start billowing into Susie and Lancer's heads as they tromped up the stairs, but they did anyway.

Your dad's a jerk, Lance.

I know he is, but he's my dad.

Your dad's a jerk, Lance. And that's an understatement.

But that doesn't mean we have to hurt him, right?

He's hurt you. But I mean, I won't. I promised. But that's it.

That's it?

That's it. An' as for everyone else? That'll be left up to them.

But we'll still talk to him, right?

She stopped. She put her hand against the wall, the last few steps calling out to her, stone stares in the middle of the night, The torches flickered like the stars undulating outside, her eyes maddening, the rest of the castle walls going insane whenever she stared at them. From the left, there was an alcove to where they could see parts of the balcony outside, but the window was scant and they could only see the King's hand. It was an ugly thing, and a thing that harbinged of something more than the sum of his parts. It was an ugly thing, and the glove was stained despite the perfume of the roses du roi sprayed on it. It was stayed with colors that bounced back and forth, bullets in Lancer's brain. Stains of red. Stains of rust. Stains of royalty. It was an ugly thing, and each of the members of the gang almost shuddered, almost, and climbed up the stairs...

Yeah, Lance. We'll talk to him. Alright?

It was a subtle, subtler than the rocks moving through the castle moats with each bounding swim-sprint of a crocodile, but Lancer had found his way to the front, and by the time he was out of sight, Susie and the rest of them were left to ponder, left to stretch their hands out in vain, left to their silent screams.

Dad.

His father turned, and the right side of Susie's body shriveled, shuddered. As Lancer spoke, spoke brave, spoke bold, spoke bellicose, nights echoed through the castle. They were monsters, echoing, echoing, nights in the King's bed, nights in his own dread, nights nursing cuts that only foundation could fix. They echoed, and they fueled, and they fuled him, and they gave him voice.

Looking back, Susie flapped her hand, urging the rest of them in the throne room. Ralsei was left trembling, trembling… it was all Susie could do to not look back, to keep her eyes on the King, the King, the King… Kris patted Ralsei on the shoulder, walked with him to the throne room, to the very bitter end…

Lancer was standing almost on his tiptoes now. Staring right into the pits in his father's hood, hell-slits where his eyes should have been. Not looking down. Not looking down. More than ever, Susie wanted to bolt towards him, to live, to laugh, to cry, to scream, to tell Lancer how he was braver than even the kids in Susie's school who laughed at her for having such a "deadbeat mom and dad." Braver than maybe, just maybe, Susie was.

He was brave, and he was beautiful, and he gasped, choked. He was flying in the air. Flying over the castle floor. Ralsei shrieked, Kris' almost-shaking hand atop Ralsei's mouth. The King whipped back around towards them, his laugh still echoing, a funnel. One word. Whipping off of his teeth.

"Kneel."

But Susie didn't kneel, although the others around her did. Submission. Unforgivable. Susie took hold of her axe, ready- she was ready- her eyes were an inferno, his eyes were Hell, her eyes were mystery- she was ready- she wouldn't, couldn't kneel- she was ready- the world was silent- she was ready-

The King gave Lancer enough time to wince before he hit the floor.