18
Yseult
He’s charming, Tristan had said. Truth be told, I’d never met a more beautiful man. Sharp patrician features. Skin smooth as polished stone, pale and stretched over the fine bones of his face. A face that would turn heads in a market square, even without the aura of power that cloaked the massive figure.
I was used to the strange beauty magic bestowed on its long-time users. After many years my own face took on the otherworldly polish, growing almost inhumanly attractive. I’d forgotten what my own face looked like until I woke up this morning in a field, and looked in the water cup at my old, youthful face.
I expected the Corpse King’s charm. I braced for it. What I did not expect was for him to look so like Tristan. The commander was right. Whatever the Berserker warriors we
