The sickly sounds of laughter from the homeless beggars of King's Compassion echoed around Rhagre like haunting wraiths. A twinge of guilt formed a tight knot in his stomach as he left the man-boy to writhe in pain on the cobblestone floor.
"Ye should've killed em, Rhag," Grey Jael said. The tall highknight leaned lazily against a stone wall and stared at him with vacant eyes as Rhagre approached. "Should've made an example of him."
He forced a chuckle. "It wasn't worth the stain on my greaves. Besides, the man-boy's suffering entertains me. It would be a shame if that entertainment had to end," he said, hoping the lie didn't sound as pale as he felt.
Grey Jael persisted to stare at him with his cold, lifeless gaze. The eyes had been a gift from a witch, it'd been rumored, but Rhagre had always considered them a curse.
"Aye," Jael finally said. "Aye, that would be a shame." His lip twisted into a knowing smirk. "Shame as well to grow soft. To grow weak. To forget the Old Laws." The words hung in the air like a stale fart.
Rhagre felt his fists clench and forced himself to relax. He didn't know. He couldn't know. "Aye, that too would be shame."
It may have been a trick of the night, but Rhagre saw something like shadows move inside those eyes. Those cursed eyes. And then Grey Jael's smile was gone.
"Don't forget yourself, Rhagre. It's a long way for a Highborn to fall." His tone was just short of a growl.
Silence followed, though a silence that were anything but. "Is there something you want to sa—?"
"We should return. Shift's nigh over." Without so much as a word or backwards glance, Grey Jael nudged himself off of the wall and began to walk towards the direction of Physiker's Path. Rhagre watched him go, unsettled by his words. Unsettled by those eyes. Unsettled by his own actions.
When he was sure his brethren was out of range, Rhagre pulled the man-boy's iron coin out of the leather purse that hung at his side, slipped another iron coin and a copper beside it, and beckoned to a poor, raggedy child to come over. Fearfully, the little girl slunk her way over to the Highborn Kingsguard.
He bent down slowly, one last glance to make sure Jael was gone, and said, "Make sure the iron gets to the man-boy. Do that and you can keep the copper. Try to keep both and I'll know. Do you understand?"
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The girl's eyes lit up with unequal portions of fear and excitement. She bobbed her head vigorously and clenched the coins tightly in her hand before running towards the direction of the unfortunate thief. Afterfact he thought it'd been best had he warned her not to speak of it, but the waif was beyond earsight before he had gotten the chance.
Oh well. The smoke would rise where it pleased, as they said, and damn all the rest.
Business done, he made his way towards the Halls. The labyrinth of interwoven alleys spurred off in several sporadic directions so that no defined path was evident. A critical tactic for the city's defense, and a pain in the ass for anyone who had not memorized the maze's roads. Rhagre had.
As he made his way towards the castle—fingering the shaft of his newly acquired blade—the poverty and desperation of King's Compassion faded. Rickety shacks filled with filthy beggars tiptoed into respectable homesteads of hard-working citizens. Those same quaint homes soon grew into healthy mercantile establishments, and eventually crescendoed into wealthy estates elevating men and women born of riches or stolen into them. With each step towards opulence, Rhagre felt his guilt fade.
He was Highborn after all, wasn't he?
"Anything to report from your patrol, soldier?" The Captain of the Gate asked.
"Nothing but the usual displays of debauchery, captain." Same as any aristocrat inside the castle, only with less extravagance or pomp. "Just the petty crimes of the poor."
The Captain placed his finger on one side of his nose and shot a pale green glob of snot out the other. It landed on the smooth marbled surface of the castle's entryway. The gate guard sniffed and wiped the remainder away with the back of his hand. "Aye, filthy miscreants, all of em. It'd be just as good if the King made rid of the lot, I'd suppose. Best for the city."
Rhagre only nodded pathetically.
The Captain, sensing the conversation growing stale, nodded in return and stepped aside to let Rhagre pass. "Best make your way in then. The Bloodless will be starting soon," he said, rubbing his knuckles with the other hand. A strange serene look passed over the man's gnarled face. "No matter how many times I see it, still chills my bones. Lucky we are, you and I. Would hate to be on the wrong side of him is all."
"Aye. From now til e'er."
"From now til e'er," the Captain replied as Rhagre opened the door.
The castle was as lively and garish as it were most nights. Highborn from every end of the realm supped and drank together as maids and servants—cursed with being born outside of royal bloodlines—made sure that each plate was full and each cup overflowing. Distractions were plentiful, and Rhagre avoided the notice of any of his companions as he made his way up the steps, down the highhall, and towards the solace of his chambers.
Where she'd been waiting.