Sin City: Broken Crown

The Black Daggers, Golden pearls, Blood talons, The Dark Valors, and the Guilded Thunder gangs had been at each other's throats for years—seeking one another's power until there was only one left standing to challenge the king of D'treroh's position and seat.

They all wanted the thousand years of strength that founded the nation. Some praised it. Others cursed it and couldn't wait for the chance to see it crumble in the dust, but Ragnar Aldain swore on the gods and his deceased father he'd take every head that opposed him.

His family name wrote this nation in blood. They wouldn't get in the way of him bringing more gods down to their knees until he was holding the sun in the palm of his hand. No. Until he became the only God himself. These scally wakers didn't know what was ahead of them.

His old greying eyes stared down at the paper on his table; his seal held firmly within his grasp. So his no good son was in the lead of all the gangs, Razmyr Krestov lapping at his heels like some hungry, wild unfed dog. Using his opposite hand, he ran his fingers through his short beard. Ja'ule attacked his food storage again to turn the people against him, and Razmyr struck the royal weaponry last week.

He could send in the Eternal Hunters, led by Ja'harra, the ruin witch, herself. Though she didn't get involved unless there was extreme chaos. However….if he took her daughter and son, she wouldn't exactly have the choice.

"Sir, king, How do you wish for the Obsidian guard to proceed?" The man asked with his head bowed.

Ragnar rose one scarred brow and slammed the stamp down on the paper. "I don't care if he's my son. Him and his half breed won't ruin everything I stand for. This nation will not burn in flames because he wants to prove a point that'll get everyone he loves slaughtered."

"Yes sir." The guard bowed his head and turned.

Before he could leave the gloomy room, Ragnar said, "And bring me Ja'harra's daughter and son. Immediately." Ragnar slammed his hand down on the table, cracking it right down the middle in a line shaped like lightning.

***

"Remain still, don't move," Came the deep and guttural words fit for someone born to be a leader, all that was shimmering and gold. The woman was shaking, holding a tray in her hands with an apple sitting atop her head.

Across from her sat Ja'ule Aldain, a monocle linked to a diamond chain that was sitting on one narrowed eye. He kept his gaze lowered to his paperwork, trusted butler to his right and son to his left. Not looking, he shot three arrows into the apple. One after another. Each time it struck the wall, the maid jumped.

"Did you receive the letter back Ray'ven?" Ja'ule asked, a hardened gaze like fire burning through coal landed on her—still he kept firing arrows all around the trembling woman. His son's eyes, Bynx Aldain, kept staring straight ahead. He swallowed hard, sweat beading his forehead. "But that wasn't your job, was it? It was Bynx's, and he decided to what?"

Finally, those grey eyes caste towards the maid like a stone, waiting for an answer.

She remained silent until he aimed the arrow towards her chest, pulling back the drawstring. "He was sleeping with me, Lord." She yelped out, closing her eyes with tears pooling down her face.

"She's lying. I'd rather sleep with a," Ja'ule whirled around in his chair and fired the arrow. Before Bynx could even deflect it, it grazed his cheek, knocking his top hat off at the same time as Ja'ule's flew off his head from the swift motion.

"Lie again and you'll walk through the streets with two arrows through your kneecaps. I'll tell your mother, you got into another fight at a Tavern and Pub. We are at war, and here you are, a disappointment that can't keep his cock in his pants. Boy," He warned. "Let it not happen again."

Bynx's gaze roamed to Ray'ven's, then he smiled, picking up his hat. "Of course father. I mean, Lord." He left out the door, slamming it behind him.

"Ray'ven, flog her in the streets. Hang her from the lamppost for the other clans to understand. Whores won't infiltrate us via my son. He doesn't understand there is no love here. They want secrets. Not his foolish heart."

The woman shook her head. "Please, no." The woman cried out.

The door burst open. In a flash of blazing colors of red and silver, two swords were drawn. A woman's leg, booted and black was rested atop his table, a feathered hat sitting atop her head as she bared her teeth; dreadlocks coiffed with feathers and gold pieces in them. Her sword was at his neck and his was at hers.

Ja'ule lips remained in a line, face emotionless. "Ja'harra."

"Ja'ule." She hissed, her brown eyes gleaming with tears of fury.

Ray'ven watched the arrows fly in disinterest, her thoughts wandering. Had she forgotten to polish the coffee pot earlier? No, she had finished it shortly before cutting off the hand of the thief that had been sneaking through the window above the cupboard.

Maybe she had forgotten to set away the teapot. At the call of her name and Ja'ule's question, Ray'ven pulled the letter in question from the top of the knee high black boots she wore before placing it on Ja'ule's desk.

She said nothing as Ja'ule continued shooting arrow after arrow towards the woman, admiring the skill. It reminded her that she still needed to work on her aim. She didn't even bat a lash as the arrow that narrowly missed Bynx embedded itself in the wall beside her head.

Her head tilted as Bynx stormed from the room, a frown of distaste forming on her lips as her gaze landed on the woman who was cowering against the wall. "Must it be the lamppost? Those are terribly inconvenient to cli-" Her words cut off as the doors flew open and her blade was in her hand before she could think about it.

The obsidian blade glinted in the light sconces as she pressed the tip to Jaharra's neck with a raised brow.

"Really now, must you enter a room so rudely. My master requires an appointment for his visits." She said dryly.

"Hello to you too, Ray'ven." Ja'harra spoke just as nonchalantly as Ray'ven was, but there was an audible shake in her voice that didn't reach the hand that clutched the pommel of her sword.

Fluidly, and as graceful as her people from the southern isles, Ja'harra shifted the sword an inch away with a flick of her wrist. "I remember when you were a frail battered girl. Unable to hold a sword. I helped him train you and you show no respect. I guess you stray from my teachings the longer you stay under the wing of a man."

Her honey gaze remained on Ja'ule. He slowly lowered his sword. She could see the obsidian sheen inside the blades craftsmanship; where the metal ripple where it had folded over a handful of times beneath the heat of fire. Fine work it was. Though not for someone like her, who still used the magic flowing inside her veins.

"I have no interest in seeing you. Take your leave." Ja'ule's tone was like metal grinding against metal to her ears, grating her nerves down to nothing.

Ja'harra didn't lower her blade, nor did she divert her eyes from his that were just as silvery as his words. She'd stared into his eyes nearly a thousand times. This was the first time she glimpsed into his gaze and wished to shred his entire life. "I will not."

Ja'ule slammed his hand down on the table and moved forward where the steel bit into his neck, drawing a line of blood. There was a dragon that shadowed the evergreen hues of its eyes, spitting molten metal and the flames which melted them. "Don't come in here and wield a sword at me without the desire to slay me where I sit. It's an insult. I told you whatever we had in the past,"

Her nose flared. She twisted the blade and turned her arm at an angle. The sword flipped around, the pommel slapping him across the face like a backhand before it was held in her grasp once more the way it had moments before. "I don't care what we had in the past, Ja'ule Aldain. I don't miss your warmth in my bed. I miss my children. My entire world. That's something your cock can't fill."

The leader of the Gilded Thunder clan gripped the blade. It cut deep into his palm as he rose and pushed it away. "I don't have your children. If they were taken, blame how weak your borders were. You chose not to ally with clans. This is where it got you." With a push, he released the blade, cold eyes unwavering. His other hand raised, signaling to Ray'ven to hold her position and not interfere.

"And you know why I had no choice to do that. No, you didn't take my children. Your father did. Because you want to live some fairytale not fit for a prince. Keep living your life like this, you'll never be king."

Placing a bloody hand on Ja'harra's shoulder, Ja'ule lifted his ringed hand and slapped her twice one way and twice the other, making sure it was harder than the last.

One raise of his knee, he sent it against her stomach, knocking the air so harshly from her stomach she fainted forward. "Take her to the lower rooms. Chain her up, send men out to see what happened. I want to know why my father did what he did. Then," His gaze was on Ray'ven's now. "Go to the Prison of Ushar and see who released my brother."

Ray'ven sheathed her blade gracefully and caught the woman before she could fully hit the table. She had just polished that after all. She offered Ja'ule a smirk, bowing. "It will be done, master." A snap of her fingers and the woman from earlier who had slid down the wall looking pale was suddenly snatched through the floor by black shadowy hands, her screams cut off before they could even leave her lips, the same hands came and grasped hold of Jaharra, much more gently.

"I will send you a raven once I acquire information for you." She said as she began to make her way towards the door.

"Make sure, it is a slow death. You haven't disobeyed my orders once or disappointed me. I don't expect it to happen now. They call you bastard because you were fathered by me. I gave you a name that conquered such titles. The black death." He didn't look at her, his gaze was on the book that was still open atop his table.

"Of course, papa." It was a name she rarely called him, but it always left her feeling proud that she could get away with it.