Silas’s POV
The girl was broken. Good. Broken tools are easy to reshape. But fear and orders make a resentful servant. What I needed was a devoted weapon. For that, she needed a story. A beautiful, terrible story that was hers alone.
I had the healer fix the worst of her bruises. Let her sleep on a soft bed. Comfort makes the next hit hurt more.
She came into my study when I called. She moved carefully, like her bones might crack. Her eyes were flat. Empty. Perfect.
“Sit,” I said, not looking up from the old ledger on my desk. “We need to talk about why you’re really here.”
She sat. Silent.
“You think I’m a monster,” I began, closing the book. “You think this is about my throne. My power.” I finally looked at her. “It’s not. It’s about your family. And the debt that’s owed.”
A flick
