Thread: Two Households, Both Alike in Dignity (Findarato and Lemon)

Zlatan listened to her lecture, more or less, but when she called him a fool, he did not respond to it well. One eye flashed at her in anger, part of his face exposed to her, and it snarled opening it at her, his nose scrunching up as his teeth bared at her. The only reason there is an alliance at all between our two houses, is because you cannot defeat my might. You have given up. His head turned, and spat down the balcony. Zlatan knew full well the reason of the alliance. He did not want to believe it, he could not. It was against everything he had lived for, and what his comrades had died for. Accepting this would be pissing on their graves, as well as his ancestors. It was better to lie to himself, and appear smug about it all. Fool, he added, childishly, trying to get the upper hand. Her concern over their child was laughable. It showed her weakness as a woman. It was better to leave a child to fend for themselves, they would grow stronger that way. And if they failed, they were weak, and it was never meant to be. He laughed openly in her face. Oh, believe me, woman, he said, leaning against the railing with his side touching against his, his arms folding. I won't want anything to do with your silly child. My perfect genes ruined by a blood sucking leech.. do you really think I am going to stick around to watch over him? To see what a perfect could have been like, only to be tainted with the blackness of your soul. I will do my duty for my people. You do yours, and do not trouble me with your concern over a child. If he is anything like his father, such trivial things will make little to no difference to him. If he is anything like you... well... I don't blame him for wanting to clutch his mother's skirts. It propped the question of whether the child would even be a boy. Zlatan, in his pride and arrogance, only assumed that his first born would be a male. A female would not come from his loins until a son had been produced, and he would not touch this woman after he had done his duty. The subject of his brother prompted a sigh. He looked away again, off at the far distance, his elbows and forearms supporting his weight as he leaned forward, his body hulking over the edge of the wall. He is everything I am not, he said, speaking more to himself, than to her. A fool, a coward, weak. He only relies on his cunning to get what he wants. There is not an ounce of man within his soul. He should have been born a woman. Zlatan's loyalty to his house was great. It would be a great disservice to his whole lineage and family if someone like his brother was the heir, and not himself. If Zlatan did not do what his father required of him, he would be disowned, and possibly killed, even if his brother was incompetent. Of course he could always try to wrestle ownership of the family from his father, but that would mean leaving in exile, and ripping his family to pieces. He did not have the stomach for even that. The pressure is worse, to know that you have some stupid fuck up to follow your act if you fail. At least you have nothing. He knew of her reputation, she was her people's prized gem. She was regarded very highly like a princess. It was much like himself, his own people had affectionately nick named him the golden prince, while his enemies called him the golden dog, which he did not like nearly as much. Those who truly feared, and respected him, associated him with the Sun rising in the night. It went along with his house's words of, The Night is Ours. It was a direct slap in the face to the vampire race, and their long ancient history of each other stemmed from controlling the night.