Page 27 of The Ballad of a Bard

An excuse was already loaded and ready to go. “I was out enjoying thepleasures and pretty things that life has to offer us.” West retorted, perhaps a bit more sour than it should have been but he seemed to not notice.

“Oh?” A sly thing of a smirk slid into place.

To sell the sentence, he’d tousled his hair before returning to him and popped open the top button of his sapphire doublet, letting his chest peek out. Even his pants looked as though they’d been messed with but that was a result from Crimson pressed against him instead of one of his own making.

Something he wouldn’t soon forget.

Altivar left the view of the Pits, turning to see the captain instead. It seemed as if nothing else would divide his attention now. “What delightful little thing tempted the righteous, rigid Westley Saint to let loose?”

“The redhead from the other night. The pretty one that you purchased a drink from, that I caught before the tray could splash her.” West sat on the other side of the couch, crossing one leg over the other as he adjusted his tunic and pushed the golden button back into place.

The decadently painted man let out a low rumble of a laugh. “Never would I have pegged you for the sort who enjoys pale girls, or tall ones.”

West scrunched his face into a mask of confusion, mixed with a slight of disgust at his already loaded prejudices. “Now I’m curious to know what kind of girls you think I would be attracted to?”

“None, if I’m being perfectly honest. I thought you weren’t the sort to be interested in anything like that, at all.” He shuffled on the seat, leaning back until his arm was flat against the top portion of the pert cushions. “Imagine my deep surprise to hear that you went off, missing one of the most spectacular matches that I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life, to live a little. To loosen up, even. Congratulations, Captain!” He snickered like an impotent child. “Was this your first time?”

“No.” West stoically said as vexation ignited in his chestlike a brand new star. “I’ve been with girls before. It’s just been a while since any caught my eye.”

“See what interesting facts we learn about each other when we’re bonded by the way of life in the Pits?” The Prince patted him twice on the back, and it was the most sarcastic, snarky touch that he’d ever felt before. “When do you see your scarlet woman again?”

“Tonight.”

The heir stared at him in shock. “Already?”

“You’ve convinced me.” He explained simply enough. “So I invited her back to my rooms with me at the palace, to stay until I grow bored of her company.”

“Oh, you dog!” Altivar gaped, slapping his chest with a hand and laughing loudly enough for a couple heads around them to turn in their direction. “Now this,thisis the kind of fun I expected from you when my mother insisted that you stay by my side!”

“As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to theboringpiece of wooden plank that I assumed you to be. So straightforward and uninteresting with your ways and rules when it comes to the way you live. You’re aSaint.A god, to these plebeians. Act like it, for Saint’s sake.” There was a hissing undertone that rode out the end of his statement, one that West wanted to grab his stupid forked tongue out by and shove it back down his throat if it meant shutting him up for once.

Altivar’s power was far different from his mother’s.

Muse was an artist of all talents, ways of life.

She could sing as lovely as a sea-foam siren, play any instrument as stunningly as the creators who made them, paint and draw better than any of the greats. With a single humming note, she could send a song into someone’s head forever, orinspire them to play at any given notice. In the wrong hands, if her intent was not that of good, she could play the pied piper and send mortal men to their deaths.

But her son was a devious creature of darkness.

Which caused his power to be that of transformation. He could shift his skin into another, or into an animal or beast as long as he could picture it inside his head. The snake tattoo around his arm was a prime example of that, as Altivar loved the slippery serpents. He hardly ever became one, but he had three of them in a glass terrarium inside his chambers of the palace. Venomous creatures that could bite, maim and kill with a single bite. He admired the way they could easily shed their skin and gain a new one, as if it were nothing.

“Perhaps you should be more cautious with how often you flaunt your Saint-hood over others.” West warned him, ignoring the urge to punch his smug face. Settling for wiping it off would suffice, for now. “You forget that the mortals can control us if they find our talismans.”

Altivar huffed out a dry sound of amusement. “Which is why they’ll never get their hands on mine. It’s with my darling serpents, and unless they want to risk death in order to obtain my bone talisman, then it’s perfectly harmless to speak about it all.”

Their talismans, their charms, their objects.

Each Saint had one, as did each lesser Saint.

Most times the items in question were discovered completely by accident by the half Saints though, considering they didn’t forge their own. Each of the immortals was overprotective with their tools, as they should have been. As they all should be since being under another’s influence wasn’t something to take lightly.

His was a compass, which is why he named his establishment after it. One that always pointed to the true north of the personholding it, regardless of whatever they might try to convince it otherwise. Battered and beaten, with a dingy metal rim around the outside of it and tucked in a secret drawer with a false bottom, back at the apartment he owned.

Never in his entire life, had any managed to find it and hold its power over him before. West was grateful for that, considering many searched for it and to harness the power of the Northern Star. The most bright and brilliant light in the sky, said to lead its patrons true on every task, a faithful sign till the very end.

If unleashed, West could glow.

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