Arthur’s POV
The dungeon smelled of iron, rotten stuff, and fear.
It always did.
I descended the stone steps slowly, each step echoing like a drumbeat of judgment. The torches flickered against the damp walls, casting long shadows that twisted like living things.
Chains rattled somewhere ahead. A man screamed—and then went silent.
Good.
They were being tortured and screamed for fear.
They should be.
The guards straightened when they saw me. One of them swallowed hard.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing quickly. “The assassins are secured.”
I did not answer.
My hands were clenched so tightly that my knuckles burned. The image of Daniel pale and bleeding in his bed would not leave my mind aside from her deception.
The wound. The blood. The sound of pain he now ‘she’ tried to hide
