Dakor
The cool evening wind whipped across the balcony, but the cold air was not enough to ease the storm raging inside me. Below, the eastern courtyard lay silent and empty, shrouded in shadows just like it had been for years since her death.
Everyone avoided this part of the compound and as much as I knew it was for the best, I still missed when the warriors would train in the courtyard below or when the servants roamed around, whispering and gossiping amongst themselves.
I rested my hands on the cold stone railing. Even now, after scrubbing them raw, I could still smell the blood. Not the fresh, clean scent of a warrior’s kill, but the coppery, rotten smell of an old wound. It was a guilt that soaked into my skin and refused to leave.
My hands, my kingdom, my soul—all of it felt s
