Boartusk Heights fires are made for dancing in

The short king had woken up on precisely thewrong side of the bed and had gone to clear his head. Well, ‘clearing his head’ was a fun way to say stalking the land for someone to growl at for whatever length of time they would stand and take it.

Fliathrí had to grumble as he went along, as well. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was adjusting to a purely nocturnal lifestyle. He’d hunt a boar for his new Highness, though the thought of it drove claws of sick through his belly. He shouldn’t be cowering at a queen’s feet, he should be stealing her from her throne in the dead of night and using her to bargain her own land away from her. Or something. 

He wasn’t particularly clever when he woke up angry.

And there was no one around thus far to growl at! So he’d taken to growling at nearby hares and chasing them down for their inability to sit still and listen. Served them right, honestly.

You missed, Nivis spoke, approaching. Actually, for a while he had been staring at the show in the front:—one of those particular chosen wolves Reyna supposedly pledged. He smelled like her; he belonged to her, meaning one of those Reyna apparently liked. A tiny bit of jealousy boiled his blood and got his pressure high, though Reyna was not interested in any other. Reyna dreamed of a kingdom and craved for one with Nivis, the devil, as her lover. She wasn’t looking for a man so foul to just serve a purpose and so Nivis yawned, not bothering to lift himself up from the cold hard rock.

The man reminded him of a rat: small, annoying, fast… No, no, it was bad to think of those of lower class as of some to get rid off like his mother would do. He was no longer a part of that hell of a pack born into, after all.

I suppose you are practicing for my lady to kill… if you smell sooo like her. Keep going, you are close. One last push. He added to provoke—couldn’t help it but starve for the offended response.