Don't fear the reaper.

Lovely stood dumfounded for a moment, then screamed at the top of his lungs. The cell was empty! His torch shone on stone and there was no girl inside. Terror gripped him and he turned to the guards who would have escorted Stelon to the Shrike, should she have been where she was suppose to be. This would be the last straw for Larkin. Oh, Hisheme. He was going to kill them all, and Lovely too.

“Find her, you idiots! Sssearch the entire place!” he screamed at them. She couldn’t have gotten far. The men turned and hurried away, and Lovely flew after them. More concerned for Larkin than himself, Lovely shouted orders at the guards, his speech impediment unhindered in his panic. When the guards were completely dispersed, he scrambled to hide and lock himself in his room. This was not the day to be fucking up something so important. This was not the day to be ruining Larkin’s plans.

---

This was the day.

Larkin leaned back in his chair, the pain spreading from the front of his chest to his back, his hips. This made him no less content. The movement was casual; the others couldn’t see any trace of the pain on his face. His expression was pleasantly blank. He sat at the head of the table, his back to the windows in the room. The light of the moons shown around him, almost blindingly to the others seated around the table. They wouldn’t have been able to his expression either way, only his silhouette against the light.

“I will be King. It is not a hard concept to grasp,” he said, staring into the eyes of the man that would have been heir to Governor Cora, had Larkin not decided to strip the heirs of their rights. “You are on your way to be nothing, should you question me in that manner once more.”

The man shifted in his seat, squinted to try and see Larkin’s face. It was only black. The rest in the room, half of them heirs and the other half Larkin’s new court. They were short a man; Larkin had him executed not an hour earlier for refusing to go along with his plans. Aside from fear of dying, everyone seemed completely confident in this radical change Larkin was proposing to them. They watched with curious eyes, listened to him eagerly. And why not? They would be in his favor. They would be second only to Larkin, and this was satisfactory.

“Forgive me, your highness,” he whispered, casting his eyes downward.

“This will be the last time.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Larkin turned his face, closing his eyes against the bright light. A servant stood to the side, near the door. Gesturing for the man to come near, Larkin murmured for him to close the curtains. When they were shut, the room was eerily dim and Larkin’s eyes were simmering coals. He had only just finished explaining that the heirs would become part of his court or, if they chose to, they could fight him and lose. Though they had all agreed to accompany him in his plan, Larkin was not entirely sure of their loyalty. He would weed out the unreliable and the untrustworthy in time. Until then, he would have an assembly of guardsmen to stay with him around the clock. To say he could take care of possible assassins on his own was foolish. He did not have eyes in the back of his head, though some might argue.

As Larkin stood, the others stood with him. The simplicity of Larkin’s plan was amazing; all there was to do now was show the people. The heirs, no longer, would return to their cities, the corpse of their dead Governor with them. There would be the funerals first. Then the there would be the mourning. And then, Larkin did not want to wait, he would emerge as the King of all men, human men. That was his trick - the humans would be his people. The others, the elves and the fey and the deformed, would not. When he was sure that he had the trust and faith (and fear) of his people, the cleansing would begin. He would wash his cities of the impure.

When the door slammed, all but Larkin were startled. Larkin only lifted his eyes to stare across the room, past the men and at the worn girl, her back slumped against the door. His smile was forced, yet convincing. The pain in his body was increasing. He wanted to sit back down. But he could take something for his pain now; he didn’t need to be clear of his mind for the rest of the day. He rounded the table, his hand outstretched to Stelon. It was not noon. This was not his office. Someone had not listened clearly to his orders. But this was all right. It was fine. He would think about them later. Stelon did not need to be frightened with his anger.

“Stelon,” he said softly, close enough to place his hand gently on her shoulder, “I was not expecting you this early. Come, I’m sure you’ve had a rough night. Let me apologize and we’ll have you fixed up.”