“And what would you gain from it? Sheogorath,” the assassin’s words made the Prince shift on his Staff. His cat-like eyes seemed to stare into her, analyzing her, finally he spoke.
“Why not?”
Rose’s blood began to boil, her annoyances with Sheogorath only ended when she was asleep. He gently poked her stomach with his Staff, “ye seem like the nice enough sort. Unless that wasn’t the answer ye wanted… Think of it this way, lass. Ye die, and there’s still two little lovelies to take on the Greymarch!”
Sapphire eyes widened, pushing away the macabre cane, muttering a ‘don’t touch me.’ She glared up at him, arms folded over her chest. The idea of it all made her feel even more sick.
“Rosie, I trust ye. Ye know that. Ye’re my lass. My lass,” Sheogorath shifted on his feet, expression still just as satisfied. “Now, they,” he poked her stomach again, “they are our lassies. And while, aye, ye might die horribly… I remember ye saying, they were something from love? Aye?”
The assassin felt the nausea rip through her once more, a sense of guilt hitting her on the head. She nodded slowly, “I… I guess I did. What of it?”
Sheogorath shrugged, hand gently tipping her chin to look back at him. Their eyes met, a warm feeling rushing through the young woman’s veins.
“I assumed ye’d be a bit more… Excited. Though, I suppose I could always keep the lassies and let ye die. But I won’t. Not ye…”
Their gaze never broke, the seriousness in his accent making a chill run down Rose’s spine.
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