The sound of footsteps echoed long before the door opened. Heavy. Deliberate. Regal.
I crossed my arms, twisting around when the cell door finally swung wide. The torchlight framing the King in its flickering glow. His presence filling the small space before his voice ever did.
He didn't even bother taking a seat. He simply stood there, in his black suit, all tall and composed. The picture of control in his black suit. His blond hair caught the faint torchlight, giving it an unnatural silvery glow in the darkness. He looked like an older version of Ravić, with his expression carved from stone.
"How are you feeling, my dear?" he asked, his tone polite.
I dipped my head into a faint curtsy before straightening again. "As good as I can be."
I, too, refused to sit in this filth. Even when I had been standing for hours. The stench of rot clung to the air, old and damp, like it hadn't been clean for centuries. "How's Ravić?"
