Money and Coconuts

A look into the fears, thoughts and obsessions of a Rittevon

K. Ryan, 2003.

PG-13 for language

Author's Notes: My first Trickster's Choice-centric piece. Read the book before the fic.

So many coconuts…

King Hazarin, son of Oron Rittevon--may he never have an incarnate--of the Copper Isles lay back on exquisite damask pillows and wished that he was three again. He missed being three. Dunevon, right then, seemed to have all the luck. He had everything his fat little fingers could grasp, save the crown, the lucky bastard. Though, of course, Imajane's the one supplying everything, so I could be doing him an injustice.


Dunevon could eat all the coconuts he wanted, and stand up straight afterwards. Imajane could buy all the coconuts, and know they wouldn't explode as she took them. More's the pity. And as for Rubinyan…He could have as much money, sex and coconuts as he wanted because he wasn't sitting on a cursed throne. Until Oron had died, the only person who was going to kill Hazarin was himself. Everyone knew that. The only thing remotely special about him was that he was a complete non-entity, not even a threat in his father's eyes. Hazarin was, as it happened, rather proud of that. But now…now everyone wanted to kill him. To depose him; to trick him. To cheat him; to destroy him.

And with all his heart, Hazarin wished he could just wake up from this living nightmare and die before he was killed. Anything to get some proper sleep, and get rid of his headache.

With a sigh, he reached for a cup. Coconut milk filled his mouth, slipping down his throat. Sweet and thick, it had to be the best thing in his life, at that moment.

The headache flared, and something 'clicked'.

When King Hazarin blinked away the starbursts in his eyes, he looked at the girl with the crooked nose and bewildered expression, at the man in his black cowl, and he smiled.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. So there.