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Shall We Play A Game?

Every decade the rules changed. The powerful became the powerless. The weak became the strong. Anyone could win it, as long as they followed the rules: 1) You cannot kill innocents 2) You must represent a High House 3) Romance is always an option 4) Kills must be made by the participants 5) Poisons are prohibited 6) Kills must be made within the Castle and Tournament grounds 7) Revenge is forbidden The breakage of any rule will result in immediate abdication. Eliminations are final and favours must be won. Win the game. Good luck.

Stormhawk · ファンタジー
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23 Chs

I'm Home

--AZOUF--

One week.

One week until we had to subjugate someone to our will.

Most don't see it that way, but the ability to completely bend another to your will? Use them however you see fit? Siphon their magic to be used for your own gain? Control their freedom?

If that's not subjugation I don't know what is.

Lachlan offered. Of course he did, but I couldn't do that to him. Strip him of his title, his claim on family land or heirlooms. Take him out of the running for King.

I couldn't.

So now I wait. Counting down the days until the Selections. We get a total of one month to find and pick one. Or more, an Heir can wield as many Hands as they so wish as long as they can handle it. We can run public recruitments, test them however we see fit without harm befalling them.

Once the choice is made, we have the next two and a half months to work with them. Hopefully be an ideal partnership. Midway through this time, the Games will officially start. Killings can be made, challenges uttered, families must decide whether they will offer their children help or not.

I do not believe any aid will be given to me from my mother or grandfather. I cannot count on my father's help for we do not know when he will return.

No.

I must win favour with the other Houses, minor families, the works. If I cannot keep the connections I've made, I will have to build new ones. It will be difficult, but possible.

________

There's a knock on my bedroom door. I look up from my seat on the window sill in confusion, then at the clock.

It is precisely two-o-clock in the afternoon and all my siblings are either in training or with the Crafter designing collars for their Hands.

"Come in," I call and swing my legs to the floor.

Soft purple hair appears first, before the rest of its owner. A head then appears, with a roguish grin. I sigh.

"Why are you knocking you fool."

Lachlan's grin widens and he opens the door fully. Then throwing his arms wide he comes strutting in like the showman he is. If only he was in the running. He'd have quite the amount of support, the people love him.

"I have to keep up the appearances darling."

I grace him with an eyeroll, then stare pointedly at the door. He pouts. Shuffling back to the door he closes it. Spinning around, he sweeps a hand towards his achievement.

"Happy now dear?"

I nod. "Quite adequate. It is merely common courtesy Lachlan. Don't be a heathen."

He gasps with exaggerated shock.

"A heathen? A heathen you say? I cannot allow you to sully my good name with the title 'heathen,' it is preposterous."

I'm grinning now, I can't help it. His ridiculous expression coupled with the most horrendous stance known to man is enough to make anyone keel over in laughter.

Legs spread wide and bent in a way that suggests a squat but not quite, one hand on his hip and the other on his chest, fingers splayed out and elbow up as high as he could manage. His head pulled backwards as far as his neck would allow and eyes closed seals the look as he is leaning forwards but also bending backwards.

I believe Pre-Cataclysm society would deem him "meme worthy."

He steals a peek at me before dissolving into a fit of giggles. I shake my head, the smile, unfortunately, still in place.

Standing, I close the window and walk over to him.

As he finishes up his giggling, he straightens. Laying a hand on my cheek he grins mischievously.

"Hey babe, how's it goin'?"

I blink.

"Who taught you that. It sounds ridiculous."

He's laughing again.

"I can leave you know."

This sobers him to some degree and he brings his other hand up to cup my face. His smile softens and his eyes turn gentle.

"Apologies my star. I had to try it out. Just because we learned what others dubbed 'proper English' doesn't mean we have to use it all the time."

"Of course not, but where did you even learn such a sentence? It doesn't seem appropriate to use once you've started a conversation."

He pouts at that.

"Well I was going to use it just now, but you spoke first. Cheater."

I scoff.

"It is not cheating, you knocked which is quite odd."

He leans in for a quick peck before wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I tuck my head into his shoulder and feel him sigh.

"I guess so."

I squeeze him tighter and he does the same in return.

"Welcome home dear heart."

He chuckles softly.

"I'm home my star."

It's soft and sappy I know. But that's just the direction the words went in. No brain just write.

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