"Your father told me you two were estranged," the King began, the moment we entered his office, the heavy door shutting out the rest of the world.
He crossed the room with unhurried grace, pouring a glass of blood from a crystal decanter. Without waiting for an answer, he handed it to me and gestured toward one of the sofas across his large desk.
His office looked like the rest of his castle, with its tall dark walls and a crimson rug sprawled above the blackened wood, its ancient patterns curling like sigils. Above us, an old crystal chandelier loomed, its fractured light glittering like fractured glass.
"We were," I admitted, taking a sip. The metallic sweetness heavily lingered on my tongue.
"How are you feeling, my dear?" he asked, his accent more prominent as he leaned forward in his armchair, elbows braced on his knees.
"Numb," I murmured, fingers tightening on the stem of the glass. "But...I'm getting there."
