[ WP ] `` It is better to receive than to give ''

There is a creak. 
 
 I am out of the bed and on my feet in seconds, pulling a dagger from my side. In the next moment, I have him pinned against the wall by his neck. I eye the gleam of metal in his hand. `` And just what have you been sent to do?'' 
 
 He is a young boy, no more than eighteen, and his shaggy blond hair falls to his side in locks. He winces as he stammers. `` N-Nobody sent me fer nothin'.'' 
 
 Could it have been the Argen household? Or the Hangrims? Both would certainly love to see a high king dead; it would be a well-timed benevolence for them to be freed from his rule. The damn vultures. They'd be raiding again as soon as I drew my last breath. 
 
 `` Tell me,'' I say, grip tightening, `` and you may live. It is your choice, scum.'' 
 
 His neck is cramping underneath my fingers, the airway begging to be opened. He ca n't speak. I loosen my grip just the tiniest bit and knock his dagger to the ground with my own. `` Tell me.'' 
 
 `` Th-Thas' loada,'' he stammers, `` loada shit. I dead either way.'' 
 
 His accent is all too recognizable. It's a wonder I did n't catch it from his first word. Hangrim. They'll have to answer to me on the morrow. The damn *ruffians. * Could n't they go a year without edging towards the old way? 
 
 I give him a smile. It horrifies him, and I can tell. `` You're not wrong,'' I say, then shake my head. `` Tell me this, then. Do you enjoy little mottos? Phrases? Idioms?'' 
 
 `` I-I-Idiots?'' Confusion is written plain on his face. He does n't even know what an idiom *is. * 
 
 `` You do not, then. Here's one for you; it's one of my favorites: It is better to receive than to give.'' 
 
 I let that sink in. It does n't. He stares dumbly back at me. 
 
 `` You wish to give me death, do you not?'' I tighten my grip, and his eyes bug out wildly. Whether it is from understanding or the pressure pounding on his head, I can not tell. 
 
 `` It would be much better for you to receive it.'' 
 
 I move my hand away from his throat and slit it in almost the same moment, moving imperceptibly fast. Light fades from his eyes as he slides to the floor. There is blood on my nightgown. Pity. 
 
 Hangrim will answer.
