God, money, I'll do anything for you.

Inside of his dark room, Larkin sat at his desk, a single candle burning. In his hand he gripped a motionless quill and stared blankly at the papers strode about his desk. There was a throbbing pain in the center of his forehead, right between his eyes. With his free hand, he rubbed gently at it.

He sighed and drew a line through several events on his agenda, then wrote three more to carry out.

As Larkin had always been, he was thoughtful. He was oblivious to the girl who desperately wanted to have his blood on her hands, oblivious to the strange man who was taking out his guards left and right, roaming freely about in his castle. His eyes gazed at the paper in front of him, but his mind did not see the words. Instead, it was dreaming of the glory and victory soon to come. Larkin would rid his world of the pests called Sink, and somehow, he would have that slippery girl back in his hands. Along with Tic, whom he already felt as if he owned and controlled. It was Tic's fault; his own submissiveness had given Larkin a sense of authority - which he did have, but not with most prisoners - over him, his very mind and soul.

What would the King do when he heard of Larkin's victories? Would he send Larkin rewards or would he up his status? Both appealed wonderfully, but the second even more. His mouth watered at the idea. Maybe he would be invited to the capitol. Maybe he would see the only man in the world who overpowered him. Maybe... maybe he would sleep on this.

After stretching and yawning, Larkin pushed himself up from his chair and wandered blindly to his bedside. He shed all but his underclothes, pulled back the silk sheets and slid inside. He shivered. It was cold, unwelcoming. Even in his own bed, he didn't feel at home. He felt alone, worried, something at the back of his mind, something he couldn't put his finger on, touch.

No matter, let it alone. Go to sleep.

And he did.