“You are boring me,” said Maire, flashing her fangs as a warning. Oh yes, she knew him well by now. Through some absurd mischance, she’d snared the most arrogant pirate in Arda. No other servant stabbed holes in her plans and then presumed to charm her while she fumed. He flung her the same damned flattery every time he irked her, expecting her mercy to be infinite. It might have amused her once, when he was young and foolish and had no idea who she was. She might even have let him seduce her, the better to lure him down into undeath. An Age had passed since then. Now that she had him, his ploys were doomed.
“Save your breath. I know your lines so well that I’ll spare you the trouble. ‘Forgive me, my Lady! You wound me, my Lady! Fate forced my hand, my Lady, and my crimes were all for you! I’m a slave to your might and wisdom! Spare me, most ravishing Maire, and I’ll shower you with praises! And with kisses, if you’ll let me! Oh, you enthrall me so!’” She paraded like a courtier, throwing back her shoulders (which might bedazzle Ji a little, given her low neckline) and gesturing dramatically. Without a Maia’s grace, she would have looked ridiculous. If Ji’s theatrical fits were half so daft, and if a wraith could blush, he might turn a very shamefaced shade of grey. With her last words, she blew him a kiss and dropped the act.
“Before you sing me lauds, reformed ex-butcher of the seas, let me remind you that kings command their fleets. You might have irked the Haradrim no more than a whining gnat, but your subjects plagued them. Are you shocked that they blame you? If I don’t give them your head, they’ll ask for a hundred others.”
Of course she wouldn’t hack it from his shoulders. A few mewling warlords weren’t worth the effort it took to dismember a wraith. She might fling them witless thieves, but none so clever as Ji. She wouldn’t let him know it, though. Not yet. He deserved to tremble.
“You fraud of a monarch,” she snapped, “I hardly care what you call yourself. You’re not the first Nazgûl to wear a crown, and it won’t be why I gut you. When the Northern Kingdoms shuddered and spoke of a Witch King of Angmar, Murazor embraced the title. He never enraged me. I smiled upon his schemes. If you have any sense, you’ll know why. Tell me. Now.”
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