EPILOGUE
Slaide glared at Magnus, his amber eyes ablaze. If looks alone could kill, the High King would be a pile of ash on the throne room floor.
“Well, well, well,” Magnus began, “look what the cat dragged in. A filthy, lying, half-breed.” He gestured to the Raven Blade Knight on Slaide’s right. “Remove the gag. I’m curious to hear what he has to say for himself.”
The knight did as he was told, unbuckling the muzzle-like contraption that kept Slaide’s mouth shut. As it fell away, Slaide spat toward the King.
He took a swig of wine, the deep purple staining his upper lip and teeth. “Watch it, boy. I haven’t killed you yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”
Slaide seethed. “You’ve been keeping me in the dark, Your Majesty,” he growled. For so long, and on so many things.
Magnus only smirked, setting down his goblet.
He stood and descended the dais. “On the contrary,” he sneered as he approached the spot where Slaide kneeled, “I’ve been keeping you right where you belong.
You’re not my son. You’re not my friend.
You’re my weapon, and it’s past time you start acting like it.
But I’ll make you a deal. I have a task of utmost importance that, if completed, will earn you a spot back by my side. ”
As if I would want a spot by his side again. “Which is?”
“It’s simple, really. Bring the girl back.”
Slaide frowned. “Can you not just accept that she slipped out of your grasp? Why do you want her so badly?”
Magnus’s expression darkened in a way even Slaide had never seen. He inhaled deeply, bringing his face close to Slaide’s.
“She’s my daughter.”