key.
He knew how the collars would feel against
his skin. The icy bite of the Wyrdstone.
Kaltain had fought it. Destroyed the demon
within.
He could still feel the weight of his father’s
knee digging into his chest as he’d pinned him
to the marble floor in a glass castle that no
longer existed. Still feel the slick stone of the
collar against his neck as it sealed. Still see
Sorscha’s limp hand as he tried to reach for
her one last time.
The room spun and spun, his blood
throbbing with it.
Not a prince, not a king.
The collars reached for him with invisible,
clawing fingers.
He was no better than them. Had learned to
enjoy what the Valg prince had shown him.
Had shredded apart good men, and let the
lily
(lily)
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