Akkadian
"Awk-ay-dee-Uhn"
The creature meets his hard gaze, and instantly mirrors it. His brows tug tighter together just slightly. If he wasn't in such a terrible mood, he might have found it amusing. She was a bit smaller than him, looking about as fragile as a pissed off badger that kicks up dust in furious outrage.
She clipped a snarling little remark at him, calling him princess. With his emotions and thoughts all over the place, he struggled to hide his amusement, the corner of his mouth just barely tightening. Close, but wrong gender. Oh right, and wrong title.
Her eyes openly scrutinize him, and his narrow in response, then she throws another snipping remark at him. He smiles slowly, without mirth, and his brows lift in amused interest.
Are you volunteering yourself? he asked passively, an intrigued pitch to his voice, squaring up to her as if they'd truly spar with one another.
He certainly didn't intend to, but it was refreshing to find someone that did not balk in his presence, or better yet did not even know who he was; what he was. Like heated metal, he'd been hammered and forged for one thing his whole life: A mace to bludgeon. A blade to kill. A shield to protect. A weapon, a tool.
He'd been taken in as an orphan, with false pretenses of being a second-born prince. His sole duty had been to learn all the battle styles and stratagems of all the clans to better protect the true prince. Their only heir. Everyone in his homeland knew of him, most opting not to even greet him, as if he'd suddenly decide they were a threat and kill them. It'd made for a lonely life at times, but it had been best that way, he supposed. No distractions. Only protection for his brother.
He'd failed miserably, but that was another story.
Shall we dance, then? he prompted with a coy little smile and glittering eyes. This will be fun.
She clipped a snarling little remark at him, calling him princess. With his emotions and thoughts all over the place, he struggled to hide his amusement, the corner of his mouth just barely tightening. Close, but wrong gender. Oh right, and wrong title.
Her eyes openly scrutinize him, and his narrow in response, then she throws another snipping remark at him. He smiles slowly, without mirth, and his brows lift in amused interest.
Are you volunteering yourself? he asked passively, an intrigued pitch to his voice, squaring up to her as if they'd truly spar with one another.
He certainly didn't intend to, but it was refreshing to find someone that did not balk in his presence, or better yet did not even know who he was; what he was. Like heated metal, he'd been hammered and forged for one thing his whole life: A mace to bludgeon. A blade to kill. A shield to protect. A weapon, a tool.
He'd been taken in as an orphan, with false pretenses of being a second-born prince. His sole duty had been to learn all the battle styles and stratagems of all the clans to better protect the true prince. Their only heir. Everyone in his homeland knew of him, most opting not to even greet him, as if he'd suddenly decide they were a threat and kill them. It'd made for a lonely life at times, but it had been best that way, he supposed. No distractions. Only protection for his brother.
He'd failed miserably, but that was another story.
Shall we dance, then? he prompted with a coy little smile and glittering eyes. This will be fun.