The Demon
His clothes were too expensive, his eyes, too malevolent.
“Your Highness?”
I turned with eyes full of tears; I had rubbed them with my sleeve to get that effect. Goldwork was a pretty scratchy material.
“Y-yes...you came?”
“You may call me Servitor Ignacio.”
I nodded. Not a thrall, no, a servitor. That was top brass.
“Servitor Ignacio, I would like to entrust the body of my poor uncle into your care.”
“Yes, child of light. I know that the king is dead, but why—”
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