a P

iron badge a cold, he

belle's feigned look of pity or the smirking

was a soldier, dismissed from duty, heading to my new pos

his rage. My composure, my refusal to crumble, was an act of defiance he could not punish but could not tolerate. In t

his, a picture of soothing gra

, the shadows, the cold stone-it all faded into a gray nothi

over a decade, felt alien. It was a c

badge. Then I placed it on the nightstand,

, a mark of ultimate disgrace. They sat side-

much. A few spare black tunics. A whetstone for my dagger. A c

eart was a hollowed-out c

a vast, crush

earned. I remembered tasting his food for poison, standing guard outside his

body, and every single one had a sto

hem as medals. Proof

tally marks. The signs of wea

powerful connections, one that didn't come with the inconven

to bury. A past where he was weak, a second so

be seen to have needed

own. Or at least, chained up fa

It was cold and sharp and utterly devoid of hum

on the iron

going to the

at the edge of his world. I would not l

y breath, every thought, every choice had been

I was cut

nger my king. You are no longe

l rucksack. My gaze went to the window, to the high, dar

o get ou

peration or fear. It was a cold

bsidian Cita

y soul. A single, defiant spark in the darkness. It spre

, long time, I felt a tremor

ing, exhilarating