The dungeon cell was exactly as I'd ordered—deep beneath the palace, carved from living rock, cold enough that breath formed mist in the air. No windows. No comfort. Just stone walls, iron bars, and the weight of earth above.
Aeric sat on the floor, chains binding his wrists and ankles. He'd been stripped of his fine clothes and given simple prison garb. His legendary composure had returned during the three days since his capture, replaced by an almost serene acceptance.
"Your Highness," he said as I approached, not rising. "I wondered when you'd come."
"Did you?" I remained outside the bars, studying him. "I would have thought you'd expect immediate execution. That's what usually happens to traitors who attack the imperial family."
"Usually, yes. But you're not usual, are you?" He leaned back against the wall. "You kept me alive for a reason. Either you need information, or you want to understand something. So—which is it?"
