Dael lifted his head sharply, and there, sprawled across the stone bench was none other than the soldier who’d captured him. He was without cape and armor, grinning. He looked almost like a prince.
Tertius kneed Dael in the spine, and he remembered himself, lowered his head. As much as the other servants were nice, they were fiercely loyal. Dael would have sworn they could read his mind and sense the moments rebellion rose in him, urging him to flee or disobey or drop everything he was doing and cry out –
“Lift your head. I want to see your eyes.”
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