Aaron’s POV
I stood in the center of the armory, my boots clicking against the cold concrete floor. The air down here was different...thick with the smell of gun oil, CLP, and the dry scent of stored nylon. It was a basement, tucked away beneath the north wing, far from the polished marble and the expensive paintings of the upper floors. Up there, I was a failing king. Down here, I was just a man with a job to do.
I started by stripping off my shirt. The mud from Maeve’s farm had dried into a crusty grey film, and it flaked off onto the floor. I looked at my reflection in a cracked mirror leaning against a rack of plate carriers. I looked like hell. My eyes were bloodshot, my skin was pale under the dirt, and the bite mark on my shoulder from a rogue fight a few nights ago was still a ja
