The Stormcrow Cycle [Slow-burn Slice-of-Life Tragic Fantasy Romance]

Interlude: A Conclusion, Part I

Note

Guh, missed the update date by *checks* an hour! Unfortunately, the interlude was (as I'm sure you've predicted) longer than planned. Despite cutting reams of material, it's definitely still too long for a single update. But don't worry! You won't have to wait a week. I'll be updating the next two parts in the next few days once I'm done editing. If I can collapse the last two POVs into one update, I will, but uh...don't hold your breath, lol.

Warning: Swearing and bad language. Very derogatory...everything toward our golden boy, lol.

Edit: A kantharos is a type of Greek drinking vessel. Basically a cup with two handles. 

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"Don't be so glum, Retty", he said, but with his broken nose it sounded more like, 'Mmph bleg so glom, Rheeti.'

"Landy," said Arete, voice was perfectly serious, "don't talk." One of the slave girls took this as her cue to gently press a cool, wet cloth over his nose. Leandros slapped her away with a yelp, cursing.

"Was your mother a crippled ox, you worthless—"

"Landy." Arete crossed her arms. "Don't bully my slaves. We're not ten." Then she added, "And she's just doing what the surgeons said." His twin sister waved her hand at the slave girl, who cautiously lay another cloth over his nose.

It fucking hurt.

Leandros grimaced and lay back on the bed, breathing through his mouth. The surgeons had set his nose the best they could, but then they'd gone and stuck gauze inside it to 'keep its shape' as it healed. It was somehow ingenious and sadistic at once, and he half-thought that fat little turd, Galen, had done it to torment him.

Arete ordered a new bowl with fresh, cool water from the fountain. They'd been at this for hours now, but the pain and swelling hadn't abated. The draught of dreamseed had hardly made a dent, most especially because the very same fat little turd had refused to leave the entire bottle. If that uppity cripple hadn't belonged to House Astros, Leandros would have taught him some proper manners, but no; dear, sweet Niki had been oh-so-concerned enough to send Landy his personal physician.

It was the stupidest fucking thing Leandros had ever heard. A fat cripple who hadn't managed to fix himself was Sandy-boy's personal physician?

It was obviously one of those ridiculous, publicity-loving appointments that House Astros so loved: Oh, look at us! We're House Astros! We're so just and smart and rich and perfectly perfect in every way! Bring us your cripples, your poors, your useless fucking slaves. We're perfectly moral moralists moralizing out our asses every moral fucking day.

It was revolting, particularly because everyone knew: those fuckers liked their slaves and rent money the same way everyone else did. They were just pretending, just like precious Niki was pretending he wasn't some half-Sander get dressed up in fancy clothes who'd been taught to mouth pretty words.

Everyone knew Nidemus had his hand shoved up his baby boy's ass, wriggling Niki's head here, there, anywhere, whenever and wherever he wanted to parade that bastard son of his around as some kind of genius. Leandros already knew the man had hired some slaves to write the boy's theses—all twenty of them, which was a waste of fine parchment—for the last ten years.

Like Hā́idēs Leandros believed that cuck had managed a border-skirmish at fifteen. That was bullshit. Fifteen was barely enough to grow chin-fuzz or get your dick wet. In fact, Leandros was pretty sure that little Niki still didn't understand what women were for, and that was exactly why Heiode had cucked him for some big-dick slave.