Chrysalis Ch8: The Spectral Suites

He can smell it before he sees it.

Winter, whispering over him like a hungry January wind, shivering into all the spaces between his clothes and his skin.   Creeping along his side and thighs and feet, prickling along his fingertips. Underneath his hoodie, Lloyd’s antennae quiver. Even concealed, they can’t avoid the stinging chill of iron.

Even at a distance, the Spectral Suites is an imposing, beautiful building. Lloyd leans against a wall, observing it. Nestled along the river just past London Bridge, looming  like some kind of glass and metal monolith over the bustling Southwark streets. Metal girding spreads across the facade, trailing in delicate cobweb tangles. Decorative and practical, from the right perspective.

How had he never wondered about it? It’s so prominent that it’s almost obnoxious.

"So where’s this place again?"  Ian chimes. Lloyd starts, giving him an incredulous look. Ian's looking casually at a small newstand offering stacks of tabloid.  The bored attendant adds another crumbling cigarette to the ashtray at his elbow.

Lloyd rolls his eyes. Being out around this many people is making him anxious, even if he is hidden away in the hoodie. That’s a problem all on its own. The air’s too damp and warm to stand around playing games.

"Don't piss about. The hotel right there."

He waves his arm across the river, withdrawing slightly against the wall as a happily chattering group of tourists pass by.

"Yer really narrowin’ it down, mate."   Ian grumbles. He makes a show of looking in the direction Lloyd’s waving, but his eyes slide right past the Suites.  "Point at it and we’ll go from there, yeah?"

Lloyd groans in exasperation, his hand wavering as he tries to direct Ian.

"I am pointing at it. Turn your head - no, too far, it's - now you're looking completely the wrong way."

He frowns. Ian had seemed so serious about this, and now he was taking the chance for one of his cheap jokes.  A sudden thought strikes him. Lloyd's face clears, irritation replaced by unnerved suspicion.

"Hold on, let’s try this way. What's the building to the right of that bank? The one right next to it, right over the bridge."

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Ian drags his gaze past the bank and toward the elegant bulk of the Suites. He grimaces, his eyes twitching back and forth, like two magnets being pushed together wrong side up.  He squints, then squeezes his eyes closed and touches his temple.

"... mate, I'm sorry.  Must be coming down with somethin’. My head, it’s...."

He looks again, his eyes watering for a few seconds before he’s forced to turn them away again. "I... I don't know.   Doesn't seem to be much of anythin' that way. Just a bit of skyline, innit?"

"It's right there!" Lloyd hisses excitedly, bouncing up and down on his feet. "Right where you were looking when you made that face like you stepped on a tack!"

Lloyd looks around, then grabs Ian's sleeve and tugs him in the direction of the Suites.

"I bet you have to... I don't know. Go there before you know it's there.

Let's get you in the door and see if that's it!"

Ian chuckles, then rests his hand on Lloyd’s head, tousling the hood as he allows himself to be led down the street.  "Well, you perked up, didn’t you?"  He looks up and down rapidly, as if he can surprise the building into appearing  "... so something’s just… magically hiding it?"

"You don't believe me." Lloyd huffs, tugging harder. He weaves through the crowds, a lifetime of avoiding people helping him navigate the two of them where he wants to go.

“Didn’t say that, did I?” Ian replies mildly, striding easily after him. “Just letting my mate lead me into what I’m sure isn’t an abandoned car park.”

Lloyd smirks, walking faster, but doesn’t respond.

The iron lattice around the hotel draws closer and closer with every step, sending cold slivers through Lloyd’s bones. It's...not pleasant, but the lattice really only covers the middle section and skylights. So long as he stays on the ground, he can manage. He casts a curious eye back at Ian.

"We’re here. Still can't see anything?"

A sudden bark of laughter escapes Ian. He gives Lloyd a playful shove.

"Yer full of it, you know that?  Place looks like it's under construction or...nah, wait, looks like it was under construction, then the money ran out. This is yer five-star?"

The building’s looming right over them, a towering spire of glass and stone and gossamer-slim metal. Balconies and terraces dot the upper floors, and columned walkways peer from behind crystalline, spotless windows. It stretches up above the skyline, casting a wide dark shadow over the street.

Ian squints at it, his eyes unfocusing and jittering back and forth.

"Lloyd, I think yer gonna get asbestos poisoning if we go in here."

"Is that so."  Lloyd’s voice goes deadpan. He puts a foot on the wide granite steps, then hops up entirely.

"So, what do you see now?

Am I about to walk into an open manhole?"

Ian’s amusement vanishes immediately, replaced with sudden panic.

"L-LLOYD, WHAT ARE YOU-"

He lashes out, grabbing hold of Lloyd’s arm and pulls him back. Lloyd yelps as he stumbles off the stairs, too surprised by the suddenness of the action to resist. Ian drops his voice to a nervous whisper, still clinging tight.

“We cannot go in there! I… it’s… I can’t explain it, but we gotta go, okay? There’s something wrong with it.”

"Ian! L-leggo!"  Lloyd tugs his arm loose, an edge of worry in his voice.  "It's... it's just messing with your head, mate. I promise, the hotel is right there."

He grabs Ian's arm again, pulling him gently toward the steps.  "Just walk where I walk. It'll get better once you're in."

Ian grabs Lloyd by the arm again, halting stubbornly in place. Lloyd stumbles.

It’s like trying to pull an anchor.

"Nope. Nuh uh. Absolutely not."

Before Lloyd realizes what’s happening, Ian’s scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder, marching aggressively away from the building. Lloyd squawks in indignation, watching the gleaming doors recede.

"IAN!"

Ian gives his head a firm shake.

"I ain’t letting either of us get within five meters of that.. That…
Place."

Lloyd lifts his head, his heart in his mouth. The street is just as crowded as before, but no one seems to be taking any notice of the fuss. Whatever the building’s doing, it’s strong.

Which means...

"Sorry mate, but you’re the one who won't let go!"

Lloyd pulls his hood back, lets his antennae free, and twists to flick them in Ian's face.  The sensation from his antennae is abrasive - like a muffled popping microphone, but Lloyd’s prepared for it.

Ian however, is not.
Snorting in surprise, Ian fumbles for Lloyd’s jacket.

"Lloyd, wha - pff -  what are ya thinkin?  We’re still in public!” He sputters, snatching the edge of the hood and trying to pull it back over Lloyd’s exposed head. Rather than fight back, Lloyd tucks his arms and slips inside, wriggles, then slides out of the oversized jacket.  He half falls onto the stairs below.

Both of the boys freeze.  Lloyd’s binder and antennae are fully exposed, the edges of his wings rippling.  He’s in broad daylight. They’re in crowded downtown London.  Staring, they wait  to see who of the surrounding crowd will be the first to notice.

Despite everything the passersby keep moving with barely a second glance.  Whether it’s the Spectral Suites or just the hustle of modern life, everyone is too busy with their phones and destinations to care to notice.

Everyone except for one.  A middle-aged woman with large round glasses and a briefcase stops. Turns.

Stares.

Lloyd feels a crash of cold panic as his eyes meet hers.  Spinning, he scrambles, hands over knees, and bolts for the hotel doors. Caught by the burst of motion Ian whirls and tears after his friend, grasping a half second too late to grab hold of him.

"Lloyd, STOP, you can’t - "  Ian protests.  Lloyd bursts through the doors to the Suites, disappearing inside.   A moment later, Ian slams into the door and flings it open, charging in after his.

The woman simply watches the spectacle unfold, adjusting her glasses with mild interest. After the doors clatter shut behind the two, she gives a light chuckle

then turns and walks away.


Inside the suites,  Lloyd skids on the polished marble floor of the empty lobby, overbalances, and lands with an oomph on a richly leather upholstered bench.  Catching his breath he looks back to catch sight of his friend barelling after him.

The air thickens oddly around him,
like he’s pressing against an invisible curtain.

“ - be in HERE - “  Come’s Ian’s jumbled words, who has slowed to only a slightly less aggressive pace.   Lloyd puts his hands up and tries to object but-

Something strains...then snaps. Lloyd’s ears pop, and his antennae fly backwards, scrambled signals of motion and pressure zigzagging through his head. Ian stumbles forward, his voice trailing off. His eyes widen as he looks around, back to the door and  the street beyond, then up at the high-vaulted ceiling.

He coughs in embarrassment, running a hand through his hair.
"I...Lloyd, I don’t know what that was. Other than a proper cock up.
You… alright?   Here lemme.."  Ian looks to the hoodie in his hands, then jabs it forward towards his friend.   “... sorry mate.”

Lloyd stands, rubbing his hand gently over his antennae as they recover. The air tastes of iron and - oddly enough - lavender. Like some sort of cleaning solvent.

"I-it's okay. It was the hotel. Sort of...protecting itself. It's gone now."

He takes the hoodie from Ian and holds it to himself like a safety blanket.   Peering around, he approaches the doors they entered through and squints.

“I… didn’t make that up did I?   That woman, she saw us.
Do you think she-”

"First time at the Suites?"  Someone snickers from the desk. The sound is smooth and liquid, the audible equivalent of maple syrup. Lloyd stifles a yelp, spinning round.

It's the concierge, watching from behind the reception desk. Or… what Lloyd can only assume is the concierge. The person addressing them is a vaguely equine shadow, with a pair of burning coals for eyes and dressed in a pitch suit and tie. One of the coals flicker, going dark for a moment.

A playful wink.

"Well, for one of you, at least.
Vendors?  Customers?"

The concierge leans over the counter until he’s only a few centimeters from Lloyd, his mouth splitting into a grin of too-many white teeth, glittering and sharp.

"... or merchandise?"

Lloyd flinches back in alarm.
"No. N-no. Absolutely n-not."

He offers the concierge a weak smile, putting his hand on Ian's arm.  "I'm… I'm just showing him around. S-see if anything catches our eye. Never know when you want a
mandrake root or… adder stone or..."

"...magic...candy...?”  Lloyd adds hopefully.  “That kind of thing.
We'll just h-head on in, then?"

Ian’s frozen in place, dumbfounded.
Lloyd can feel himself sweating.

"Ah."   Says the creature, leaning back behind the counter and tapping the countertop with two cloven hooves.  There’s a rustle of motion. Incongruously, a small grey cat hops up from behind the desk, watching the encounter with mild disinterest. The concierge raises an arm to let it get comfortable.

"Customers.   Then of course you’ll know the dress code. Seeing as neither of you are wearing the right colors, I’m assuming you’re here to take out one of our jackets?”

Lloyd's grip on Ian's arm tightens. He can still remember the figures wafting through the market. All of them dressed in...

"Y...yes. The jackets, sure."

The concierge squints at Ian, sizing him up.
“Your friend seems to be a... hmmmm..."

He reaches forward, his hooves splitting into long sinuous fingers.   He takes Ian's face and makes an impromptu measurement before lifting his arms out and drawing a line from one cuff to the other.

"... I would say a thirty-two.
Yes.  A thirty two should do nicely.”

Satisfied with his assessment, the shadow turns his attention to Lloyd.
“As for you, my little nymph friend..."

Lloyd twitches at the word.  The concierge’s eyes sharpen at the motion, twinkling with delight.

A nymph.

Was that what... Lyra had been? What he is, at least in part? The word conjures up images of young women living in springs, but that’s about it, as far as he knows. They’re not something that made an appearance alongside his favorite childhood stories of boggarts and nixies. What did that mean?

He doesn’t ask, and the concierge doesn’t volunteer the information, still flickering around them like a candle-flame’s shadow.

"... quite a bit smaller.   Possibly a twenty? An eighteen?   Will you be wanting your wings to be out, or do you prefer to be..."

His smile grows impossibly wider.
"... bound?"

"Covered."
Lloyd says, putting emphasis on the word, his face flushing and his antennae folding. Even if he felt comfortable with his wings out, It's too easy to remember Neith grabbing them. Or the… thing... scraping off a thin sheen of scales.   Or worse yet...

...what if someone else recognized the markings?
"Covered, please."

"Of course, little neighbor. One moment while I retrieve those for you."   The figure stands, then shifts, equine features melting into something smaller and more lithe, a pair of rabbit-like ears sprouting from his head.

“And will you be checking your coats today?"

"Y-yes, thank you." Lloyd manages. Lowering one arm, he takes the hoodie from Ian's other arm, offering it to the concierge. There’s no word from Ian. He’s still watching the concierge in stunned silence.

After a moment, Lloyd nudges him in the side.
"Tell him 'thank you'." Lloyd hisses urgently, flapping an antennae for emphasis.

"T-thanks, mate."   Ian stutters, quickly sliding out of his own jacket and handing it over. The concierge folds into an elaborate bow, taking both garments with a flourish, and practically flows into the back room.

The cat, still seated on the counter, begins to clean itself. Ian watches it, apparently fascinated, his eyes still unfocused.

"So... fairies... yeah?"  Ian manages, finally. Lloyd nods.

"I think he's a púca." He says, a little numbly. "One of them tweaked my wing last time I was here. At least this one’s visible."  He pauses, watching the cat start to wash behind its ears.  "Keep being polite with him. They’re supposed to be...capricious, but maybe we can stay on his good side."

Silence settles over the lobby. Lloyd sidelong at Ian.
"...you okay, mate?"

Ian rubs at his face, then pulls together a reassuring smile.
"Never better."  He shakes his head, looking up and around.   "Guess it's all just, y'know... bit surreal, innit? Not sure what I expected. More great flappy wings and less teeth.”

Lloyd stifles a half-chuckle, giving his arm a gentle push. A tinge of concern seeps into the edge of Ian’s smile.

"How about yerself? Is this...I mean, the last time you were here...I just want you to know if it comes to it, I can pull it together, yeah? If we get in a pinch."

Lloyd nods slowly.

"Yeah. I believe you. I'm still not sure what we're supposed to do when we get down there, though. Like...it's not a job fair."

Lloyd folds his arms, his feet planted firmly as he leans closer to Ian.
"We’ll figure it out.  Just stay close?"

"Right here."   Ian confirms, resting his hand on Lloyd’s shoulder.

The door behind the counter swings open, another gust of flowery cleaning-solution wafting in with it. The cat wrinkles its nose and mews in annoyance as the concierge emerges, carrying a neatly-folded bundle in his arms. He whips the first one off neatly, presenting Ian with a dark, hooded coat.

"For our human.  And this, I believe...
... belongs to you?"

The púca raises a jacket in both arms, displaying it for Lloyd with a smug smile. To Lloyd’s antennae, it reeks of lavender detergent.   It’s much smaller than Ian’s.
smaller,

and white.

The concierge smiles smugly, giving the white jacket a little wave as two goat horns spiral out of the shadowy forehead.  The color drains from Lloyd’s face.

"You were the last one to wear this, were you not?  Unless I am very much mistaken?"  The pooka chuckles mischievously. Lloyd takes a quick step back, shaking his head.

They knew after all.
Who he was,
where he’d been.

"I...I've never seen that before in my life.” Lloyd stammers, faltering for a way to deny it. “You're probably thinking of s-someone else."

The burning coals flare brightly, and the concierge’s voice takes on a slight crackle.
"Mmm. Perhaps. After all, the person I inspected the day before had a few differences."

The pooka emerges from behind the counter, billowing out and filling the space.   He was quite large, standing up, and he encircled the two boys as he spoke, continuing, unrelenting.  Ian shifts, always trying to stay a little between Lloyd and the fae.

“What did our lady do to you, little neighbor?
The room was quite a spectacle you know.   Shattered glass.  Torn hardwood and splintered cabinetry.   Quite a sight, albeit housekeeping was most unamused.”

Lloyd’s heart makes a break for his throat. The counter wavers as his vision wobbles slightly, fading out at the edges.

He has to hold on.   Despite everything his instincts are screaming he has to hold on.  Instincts be damned, this is where he’ll find safety.  He just needs to hold on.

He just needed to push forward.

"I'd like a different jacket"  he blurts out, his nails cutting into his palms.

The concierge looks him up and down, as if trying to decide whether to eat him alive.  He opens his mouth and-

The desk phone rings, a jangling copper bell breaking the tension.

"Excuse me a moment, if you would."   the concierge says, holding up a finger and setting the white jacket on the counter.  The cat pads over to it, kneading the fabric before settling down on folded legs.

"Mmm...Spectral Suites, this is your concierge speaking. Oh...yes... yes, of course.   Just having a little fun. Should I reserve a... right now? Yes, I understand. I'll escort them personally. One moment, we'll be there straight away."

He hangs up the phone with a cheery click, then presses his fingers together and leans forward again, grinning down at the two boys. Lloyd suppresses a shudder, his stomach twisting into knots.

"The King would like to speak with you, little neighbor.  Assuming you don’t have any previous engagements...?"

Lloyd’s eyes flick nervously between the pookah’s smile and the white jacket.

“The… king?”  Lloyd asks, his nerves freezing one by one.  “Wants to speak with me?“

“Unless you’d rather keep them waiting?”

“N-no that’s alright.”
Lloyd looks down in thought.  What had the note said? It hadn't told them to trust the king… but it had mentioned not to cross him.

A thought eventually crosses his mind, and he speaks it aloud.
“Would I be able to ask the king for a job?”

“I suppose you could.”  The concierge continues unhelpfully. “You could ask the king for a great many things.  If you’re willing to risk it, that is.”

Lloyd struggles to get control of his breathing. It doesn't sound like they have much choice. "Are you okay with this?" He murmurs to Ian.

"Are you?"  Ian mutters back, glancing to the doors behind them.  "It's not too late.  We can make a break for it."

The concierge hums cheerfully to himself, pretending not to notice the whispered conversation as he taps out a melody on the counter.

Lloyd shakes his head.
"I think...I think our last chance for that was five minutes ago.”

Ian nods.
"Then we do this. But if things break bad, don't be afraid to cut and run."

"You too." Lloyd says, smiling grimly.

Ian gives him a queasy smirk. “Told you not to come in, didn’t I?”
Lloyd’s face wrinkles in annoyance as Ian’s smirk grows stronger.

He clears his throat and looks up, antennae waving suspiciously.  "Can I have that different jacket please?"

"If you insist."  The concierge says, his cheerful smile whirling into a frown. He stretches out a shadowy arm and pulls open the little door without leaving the counter, coming back with a smaller version of Ian’s jacket. Lloyd grabs it hurriedly, shrugging into it as Ian does the same.

his antennae twitching, all but smothered in the jacket’s floral scent. He pulls the hood on tighter anyway.

The small victory is a comfort, at least. Lloyd pokes his head out of the garment as the concierge sidles out from behind the counter, shifting and billowing in his suit. Within a few steps, the humanlike figure has become a horse with bright yellow eyes, velvety mane flowing down his back. He pokes his nose at a long hallway on the far end of the reception desk, leading past a door - the door - and disappearing out of sight.

"Follow me, then. Unless you would like to ride, perhaps...?"

Lloyd gives his head a hurried shake, a dozen different fairy stories about the mischievous pooka flashing through Lloyd’s mind.  "I-I think we'll walk, thanks."

"Another time, then."   The concierge says cheerfully, guiding them down the hall and ducking under an overhanging palm.  Lloyd follows closely along, but Ian hangs back one moment. His attention is caught by something at the counter.

The cat’s gone from the desk, leaving only the neatly folded jacket. Something about the cat’s absence bothers him, but he can’t figure out what.  He shrugs, then quickens his pace, moving to catch up with Lloyd and their guide.

A moment later a little grey cat emerges from behind the counter. A pair of tabbies ease out from under a chair, walking side-by-side to join it. Two more cats. Then three. Then four. As silence settles over the deserted lobby, a dozen different pairs of eyes stare after the receding party, settling into a watchful semicircle by the desk.

The concierge leads them down the hallway, past a low pool of water glittering with sunken coins and a row of artfully carved wooden doors. He turns, stopping in front of an otherwise unobtrusive room. Instead of a door, this one sports a thick black curtain, soft and velvety black, with little glimmering flecks of starlight. The concierge shifts back into a more humanoid form and executes a formal bow, gesturing towards the aperture.

"The King of the Market awaits.   Good luck, little neighbor."
The concierge gives one last wink.
“I hope it goes well.”

Lloyd manages a shaky smile.
"...thank you."

Ian hesitantly pulls aside the curtain, and the two boys tuck inside.

The office is austere, richly decorated and dominated by a heavy mahogany desk.  The desk is accompanied by a chair, large and plush, upholstered in black cured leather. To either side are curtained doors, and centered directly behind the desk is a wide-silled window.  It emits a splash of fluorescent blues and greens from far below - lights dancing and shimmering on the ceiling.

The Market.

Another cat, this one tan and sleek with a pair of icey blue eyes, sits on the corner of the sill busily cleaning its front paw.

The remaining wall space is lined with shelves, crammed full of books - old books, the smell of dusty leather and well-thumbed paper wrapping around Lloyd like a blanket.

Less reassuring, a row of skulls have been carefully arranged along the window sill, empty sockets staring out at any would-be guest to the king.  They consist of a wild assortment of shapes and sizes - large and hefty, small and delicate, multiple rows of jagged fangs.   One has too many eyes.  Another has no eyes at all.  At least one is human.

The only thing consistent across all of them is a razor thin coat of decorative silvering.

The office is empty, the desk abandoned except for one thing: prominently displayed in the middle of the desk is a glass jar, tiny holes pin pricking the metal lid. And curled at the bottom is…

"What the fuck!"

Lloyd leaps back, nearly toppling over Ian, as a thin orange-and-black worm rears up against the glass. It turns in a rapid circle around the bottom of the jar, coiling against the bottom before thumping against the side hard enough to make the container rock.

All the while, its single orange eye stares ravenously at Lloyd.
"It's one of those bloody things." He breathes out, watching it squirm frantically.

Satisfied it’s actually trapped, he takes a few cautious steps closer.
"The… Alp Luachra.   Or at least part of it.  I guess they caught this one."

Ian kneels down beside him, looking at the little worm eye level. It glares back at him, drooling on the glass.

Ian makes a face.
"...tell me this ain’t the king.”

"No. No way." Lloyd shakes his head, edging away from the creature. "I don't think they would have let Astraea stay upstairs if she’d incinerated most of the king."

He wanders around the desk, carefully checking for any more bottled surprises, looking uneasily at the row of skulls. The silvering is beautifully done, but it's still a macabre display.

Lloyd shakes his head.
"I don’t know, mate. It's just us, that little monster, and this cat. Maybe we’re supposed to wait. Like it’s a...a royal thing or something."

He stops when he reaches the cat, gently reaching down and scratches at its ears. Looking out the window he surveys the Market far below.

"How forward of you."
The cat says in a small, clear voice.

Lloyd gives out a startled yelp and, his foot catching on the rug, topples backwards. The cat stretches, yawns, and leaps effortlessly to the desktop.

The cat stops at the edge, tilting its head to observe.
"You have a nice skull."  The cat says, as if making polite conversation.

Ian hurries over to help Lloyd back up, who scrambles into his arms. Helping his friend  get settled, Ian gives the cat a nervous smile and whispers through his teeth.
“Good job. Think you found him.”

"’Found her’, if you please."   The cat says, licking her paw and scrubbing her ear.

Lloyd interjects in a flurry of apologies.
"S-s-sorry, miss. Ma'am. Your...Majesty?  I didn't realize you were… that is, I shouldn’t have scratched you like... I wasn't…”

His voice trails off, and just as suddenly he bows forward with desperate deference.
“Sorry. Sorry about that."

"We’ll overlook it."   The cat says, smiling.   "It's not often we receive people as... unaware as you in our office. It’s charming, in its way. Mr. Morgan, we presume.    And your friend...?"

"Ian Evans, sir.  Ma'am. M'lady". Ian replies with a shaky salute.

"Mr. Evans, then."  She says, circling the jar.   The worm hisses at her as she settles down in front of it, idly tapping it with her paw.  "We asked to speak with you, Mr. Morgan, because we have a bit of a situation on our hands."

She tips the jar forward.  Immediately, the worm crouches back, trying to weigh the bottom of the container down again.  Lloyd watches it move in morbid fascination.

"O...oh."
Lloyd clears his throat.
"I'm terribly sorry if I've caused any trouble...?"

"Not you,"  the king says; her tail waving dismissively, "The Lady Astraea.  She brought harm to one of our vendors in pursuit of this little... worm."

The king circles the jar again, scraping a claw against the glass.
"Now, under normal circumstances, we would extract reparations by incinerating the perpetrator..."

Lloyd flinches at the word. The king leans her shoulder against the jar, rocking it. It slides closer and closer to the edge of the desk.

"But unfortunately, Lady Astraea is one of those types. You are familiar, we are sure. Connected. Above us."

The jar tilts, overbalancing as the worm rears back in alarm.  Before it can tumble to the tile floor, though, she hooks a paw around the far end and pulls it back into place.

Lloyd looks away, nodding hesitantly.
"I'm not really… sure I can help with that."

Lloyd takes a deep breath, as if he's about to jump into icy water. If he’s already been forward...maybe he should just make the most of it.

"To be honest, I was told the Market would be able to protect me from her.   From lady Astraea I mean.  Assuming I were able to find a place here... if you had need of me, Your majesty.”

The king blinks quizzically.

“You came to us, seeking our protection?  How deliciously ironic.”
She curls around the jar, the tip of her tail tapping against the glass.

“Unfortunately, we are a bit in a bind at the moment.  As you seem to know, we promise protection to all of our vendors.  And yet... here one of them has suffered the most egregious insult: her life unwillingly taken.”

“We cannot fix what has been done, and we cannot reciprocate the transgression. It is quite a puzzle, wouldn’t you agree?”

"However."  The king starts, lifting her head. Her pupils expand into wide black orbs, eclipsing the rest of her eyes. “Despite your thoughts otherwise, there is one way you can be of use to us.  Lady Astraea took a life in pursuit of you, after all.  And here you are, with us, having a rather nice skull.”

Lloyd’s mouth goes dry. The king gets to her paws, tiny clawtips tapping at the polished mahogany as they extend. Shadows dance in the corners of the room, growing darker as she advances to the edge of the desk.

“We must wonder if adding it to our collection would alleviate some of the… imbalance, of the situation.  Wouldn’t are your thoughts on that,

Mr. Morgan."