Chapter 306: Sugar-Coated Larceny
The apple was red.
Like, obscenely red. Glossy. Sticky. A perfect little orb of sin on a stick.
I leaned against the crumbling sun-baked wall of some side alley in some forgettable little town whose name I’d already decided not to remember. The kind with more goats than teeth. One sandal off, foot cooling on the dusty cobbles. Candy apple in one hand. Smirk in the other.
Gods, it tasted like syrup and childhood. Not that I had one of those. Not a real one, anyway. But if I did? Pretty sure it would’ve tasted like this. Burn-your-tongue sugar coating, something suspiciously like cinnamon, and guilt. Always guilt.
The dragon would’ve laughed his scaly ass off if he saw me now. Said it was a “juvenile indulgence.” Or “infantile snack selection.” Or some other pretentious way of calling me a toddler with tits.
Also, he’d ask the obvious.
“Why risk stealing it?” he'd say, coiling smugly on some rooftop, tail flicking in judgment. “You had coin.”
I did. I do. I could’ve bought five. Ten. Paid for every apple in the damn stall and tipped the crone double.
But where’s the thrill in that?
Stolen ones taste better. Always have. Always will. It’s not the sugar. It’s the gamble. The stupid little risk. The sticky-fingered victory.
Gods, even now, I could still feel the old woman’s shout behind me—voice like a wet bellows—as I swiped the apple mid-slow chew and darted between two laundry lines like a barefoot breeze. Half the street saw me. Nobody caught me. Because nobody ever does.
That’s the rule.
You eat it slow. You enjoy every lick. Because victory should be savored.
I twirled the stick between my fingers and took another bite. The crack of caramel under my teeth was better than any bard’s applause. Better than Odran’s thighs. Maybe.
Okay, fine, not better than thighs, but a close second.
The dragon wouldn’t understand. He never does.
Which is why I’ll leave the stick where he’ll definitely step on it.
Barefoot.
Because I’m a petty little gremlin, and this is who I am.
Sweet-toothed. Sticky-lipped. Brat supreme.
Long may I reign.