Prince George’s Point of View
Cold dew clung to my skin, soaking through the fabric of my already torn shirt. I awoke lying against the stone of my parents’ grave, the air damp with morning mist. For a long moment, I could not move because of shame, exhaustion, and the acrid tang of blood which kept me pinned where I was.
The metallic scent of it hung thick in the air, the stench mixed with earth and the faint fragrance of lilies left by grieving subjects. I lifted a trembling hand to my mouth, and the sticky smear that met my fingers confirmed what I already feared. My body had betrayed me again.
Hunger. Always hunger and thirst .
I had left my chambers last night with one purpose to retrace the steps of where Sindy had been found, to follow the trail of her scent, the memory of her p
