Kingslayer

He had known this day would come. No man could escape the entire might of the Sovran forever. He just found it humorous that it was an enemy of the Sovran that had caught him instead.

Bound, kneeling before a queen whom he had hounded for a straight year, he should have been anxious. Or at least a little worried. Instead, a strange sense of relief filled him. It was over. His mad escape from Brindisi’s justice was over.

“That is a very calm expression on your face, General Darius Bresalier,” she observed. Her tone was idle, but her eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s. “Are you not worried?”

“I knew what the punishment would be, Your Most High Majesty,” he answered respectfully. “I have had a year to resign myself to my fate. I cannot complain.”

She gave a low, musical hum of approval. “Well said. I have heard many reports on what you did but never once did I believe I could have the full tale.” She leaned forward, causing the silk pillows behind her to slide in every direction. “Kingslayer, tell me. Why did you kill your king?”

© 2021 Raconteur House LLC (Hljóðbók): 9781667053622

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Hljóðbók: 26 augusti 2021