[open] a new king will rise from the ashes; everyone

[sochi]

Sochi

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

Sochi herself has never truly hungered for power.

She’s a predator with base instincts and needs and desires, after all, but she still understands the dynamic and the need to wear a crown. She still sees the need for it and if it was what Castile desired, if laying claim to this land was his desire, then she would support. Support it because he was part of her family and her daughter would not grow up beaten down or kicked out of a home he had claimed.

As the family begins to come close, she turns slowly, her dark head slanting toward them, her silver eyes mercurial and her lips peeling back from her suddenly predatory teeth.

She isn’t afraid or swayed by the displays of power.

The sudden emergence of the child dragon does nothing but stir hunger.

It would be easy, she thinks, to take down the mare—the matriarch. She could practically feel her throat between her jaws, the windpipe crushing, the body beneath her heavy paws.

It’s enough to spark her eyes, a slow growl under her breath, her scarred body poised.

But Castile doesn’t take the bait, and this is his fight so she follows his lead. She doesn’t charge, doesn’t act impulsively, even though it would be so easy to hand herself over to it. Instead, she remains still, the muscles locking under her coat, body frozen in that moment before the pounce.

One ear tilts toward Castile, waiting for his signal—whatever it is to be. Should he choose to continue down this path of diplomacy, she will support him but should he take the route of force, she would be there to back him up, to back her family up, to let the flood of bloodlust overtake her once more.

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf