How to Make a Sinner Sleep

81 | together; to the future

Richard Hall's downfall would be the first to occur.

The pink-haired man gazed through the circular cracked window that overlooked the slums and a portion of the town. In Perro, where Kaden had, at one time, roamed the streets and sought for his own hiding spot.

A layer of dust settled over the crumbling and worn floors, uninhabited by the living for a decade and more.

Bolivia had been tasked to spread gossip, and to keep an ear out for any of the listed nobles that were involved with Richard. They were going to raise that man to the skies, for one who got a taste of unimaginable power often became blinded by greed.

He had a meeting to attend to later, gold sitting in his pocket. What better way to feed a greedy man but with money?

His fingers shuffled a few stones in his pocket—recording stones. Evidence of Richard Hall's immeasurable greed, and, if lucky, proof of the other nobles mocking the crown prince behind his back.

The man turned from the desolate view outside, the moody weather reflecting his mind. Starved children on the streets, hustlers looking for a companion for the evening. Every human was struggling in some way, finding their own means of living.

On what scale were emotions measured to determine what was reasonable and what was unreasonable? In reality, every person out there could be as miserable as the other.

Gazing from the view of a bystander, he felt an odd detachment from reality.

As if he were watching from a third perspective, uninvolved with everything around him. And for all the dramatics of his life, it was true. Some of the things he did, notorious or not, would never reach the ears of the people in these slums.

And other things would be recorded in the papers; of that, he was certain.

Humans took pleasure in the theatrics of other people's lives, after all.

He turned, walking down the creaking old stairs. The next time he came, the stairs might finally be collapsed and this secret location would be buried under dust.

Today he was here, and tomorrow 'here' may not exist anymore.

Kaden took a carriage back to the Academy, staring out the window in silence. The driver didn't attempt to make conversation either, sensing it wasn't a good time to. He watched the rain collide against the glass, rolling down.

The water pooled onto the cobbled streets, sinking into dirt paths. The rain nourished the earth, the trees and plants.

He moved his gaze to his hands, covered by black leather.

He peeled off his gloves.

Exposing the multitude of scars, the star-shape one across the back of his hand that he'd gotten in the childhood he hardly remembered. And the burned R printed on top of it, as if overwriting any memory.

The letter would steep in black ink, wisping coils that seized his hand and slowly paralyzed the rest of his arm, forcing him to act even if he refused.

Noah had kissed these marked hands, had held them and told Kaden he wanted to learn him, of every scar and every memory. Kaden knew that he wasn't being fair to that dragon, that there was only so long one could remain patient.

Bolivia had told him that he didn't know Noah Bellamy.

But Kaden knew the stern but lonely back of that man; knew that despite all the glorious things Noah could become, he wanted to live a peaceful life that could satisfy his artistic soul.

Kaden knew that Noah was an artist, and his medium was words.

He knew that Noah liked to cook and bake, skillful in most the things he did. However, the dragon didn't like taking notes in class, often zoning out.