POV: Kaelira
He did not look like a killer.
That was the first thing I noticed, standing there in Ronan's study with his wrists bound in front of him, his tunic plain, his face unremarkable in the way that made a man easy to forget in a crowded hallway. I had probably walked past him a dozen times without a second glance.
"Cormac," Ronan said, standing slowly from behind his desk. "Steward of the east archives."
"Your Majesty," Cormac said, and his voice came out steady, almost polite, which somehow unsettled me more than if he had screamed or wept.
"Do you know why you are here? Ronan said.
"I have some ideas," Cormac said.
Dorian pushed him forward slightly, and Cormac stumbled but caught himself, straightening again with a strange, careful dignity that did not match a man caught
