Alara
"Very few..." Alara let a small smirk curl her lips. "I guess that you use fear to rule your... kingdom?" She was just humoring him. There were no kingdoms anymore. Not that she knew of anyway.
"What would you have me do, dress like a jester and dance around while telling humorous jokes? Play a myriad of instruments to the judges content? Perhaps throw my self onto the floor and ask for eternal forgiveness." Narek said bitterly and she rolled her eyes.
"There isn't a need to be so melodramatic." She leaned over to him, her eyes piercing his own. Her fingers pressed into the table. "However, you are obviously in the wrong. When it is your turn to speak, you will ask forgiveness. No matter the offense, violence is usually not the answer." Alara spoke in a low, cold tone. "I don't know where you come from, but here, if you hit someone, they have the total right to press charges."
Either Narek wasn't from here or he was one of those super rich boys that got away with everything because of their parents money. Maybe they both applied to him. Narek definitly seemed spoiled to the core. A rich brat. Alara sighed and flicked away a piece of her black hair.
"Are you willing to do as I say? Or should I leave right now and leave you to defend yourself?" Alara asked, she was getting impatient. "I have no wish to work with someone who will ruin my reputation."
Yeremy
Her soft voice was in his ears. Yeremy almost didn't understand what she had said. He had expected her voice ot shake, to tremble... to be filled with fear as it usually was. This time it was filled with curiosity and maybe sincerity. Should he be honest with her. His pale face was tight and weary but his full pink lips cracked into a blank, bitter grin.
"No, my lord." She said quietly, shrugging slightly. Her eyes still watched him and he raised his head to peer back at her brown eyes. "But... I'm... curious as to why you brought me here. Why you took me with you. And... I'd like to know how I can help."
"Let's see..." Yeremy trailed off, his right index finger tracing a pattern in the dirt. What should he say? Should he return her sincerity with his own? Why not? It isn't as if what she thought mattered. Even if she told people what he said to her, no one would believe a word she said. He was Yeremy Markovich after all. The Demon King's faithful advisor.
"It feels like I'm losing myself," He spoke softly, it was the first time he spoke the dreaded words aloud, and it almost made him lash out. At what... at who.. he didn't know but the urge was still there. "Nothing seems to matter anymore. I don't find anything about life enjoyable. It's almost as if I'm already dead." Yeremy stood up, feeling the need to stretch his long legs. "That thought alone makes me crazier than I already am." He smiled up at the sky. But it was an empty motion.
"As for what you could do for me...." Yeremy turned and looked down at Lena, making direct eye contact. He reached into his coat pocet and pulled out a small gleaming knife. Despite its size, the weapon was obviously sharp and deadly. "Slit my throat,"
He repeated it in a whisper. "Slit my throat with this if you feel anything for me." It shouldn't be too hard. Lena, he was aware of, had always hated him. She probably dreamed of stabbing him at night. Yeremy knew he was desipicable. But the thing was, he wasn't sure if he wanted to live or die.
This... test would show if he had any will to live. If he still had some, Yeremy's instincts would kick in and he would be able to disarm Lena in a heart beat. If not... then he would die.