Windsor Zion commanded the center of the clearing like he owned every inch of ground beneath his feet.
Even with guards restraining me and a hostile circle of onlookers surrounding him, he refused to show weakness. His shoulders remained squared, his chin lifted in defiance.
Nothing would break him. Not today.
The determination radiating from his stance told me everything. He had reached his decision. No more hiding. No more silence.
He would make them listen.
Watching the crowd's reaction shattered something deep in my chest. These same people had once hung on his every word. They had bowed when he passed, spoken his name with reverence, treated him like their salvation.
Now they stared at him like he was poison.
All because of bloodlines. All because of a name that wasn't his by birth.
