"Not so fast, Prick," said the voice.

"It's Pevrick, you shiny shit," he answered, world still spinning as he did.

That earned him a quick blow to the ribs from a steel greave. He sank further into the filthy ground and smelled blood. His own or someone else's, he wasn't sure. The sound of cheering and laughter rose from the beggar crowd around him and he made a mental note to come back with more river-stones.

"Gods, you're creepy. I never get over it." He felt Rhagre's thick hands set him on his feet again, but the Kingsguard maintained a tight grip on his neck. The knight's armor shined brighter than spit on silver and was edged with gold trim to mark him as special. Highborn. "Isn't right for a grown man to look like a child. Isn't right at all."

Pevrick spat blood. So it was his. "You can thank my mother for it. She being the one who made me." Warm blood dribbled down his chin. "Wouldn't know about that though, eh Rhagre? Coming straight out of the King's arse and all."

That one actually earned a laugh from the Kingsguard. Didn't stop him from bouncing a shiny fist into the side of Pevrick's head, though. His consciousness swam for a moment before snapping back to his current nightmare. More laughter filled the grimy cobbled street.

"So, what do you have for me tonight?"

"I've got feck-all, Rhaggie. Thieving from beggars don't bring much reward." He shot him a skeleton's grin and felt the blood slime coating his crooked teeth.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

With the hand not gripped around his throat, the Kingsguard patted the side of Pevrick's cheek just hard enough to rock his head back and forth. "No, no. I don't believe any of that, little curse. Pevvy the man-boy always has something worth having. Let's see it, now. And Pev?" The man-boy wheezed as the air in his throat grew thinner. "Don't make me ask again. Please."

Rhagre's grip released and Pevrick nearly slumped back to the ground, but caught himself. He hawked a large coppery loogie and spat it to the side. Then—because there was nothing else to do at that point—he emptied the contents of his pockets onto the cobblestones. The soot-colored candle stub, one last chicken bone, a spatter of red dust, and a strange iron coin.

The knife he had safely tucked away in the crack of his ass, a trick his dead father had taught him before he'd become just a voice in his head.

Rhagre looked displeased. This pleased Pevrick.

"And the ass," the Kingsguard said, not even looking at the man-boy as he reached down to grab the iron coin.

"Sorry Rhaggie, that's not for sale." Pevrick replied with less humor than he felt.

Instantly a knee flew into his gut, doubling him over once again. He felt a quick swipe between his cheeks as the blade was removed and felt only relief that he had been savvy enough to face the sharp end outward.

"You're lucky I don't use this to end your little life right now, Pevvy." Then he reached out and gently patted Pevrick on the head. A small bump instantly began to rise where he touched. "Though you do bring me such nice things."

Pevrick, still bent with his hands wrapped around his chest as if he could hug the air into his lungs, only nodded obediently in response. As the Kingsguard walked away, the sound of his shiny boots were drowned out by the laughter of the homeless wretches that lined the King's Compassion.