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Summary
"Did you know," Varric said, "that they still call you Prince?"
He looked toward the windows and Abel followed his gaze. Beyond them, Abel could see the sprawling city, the buildings that curled up into the sky. Lights were blinking to life on the streets as the purple of dusk bled into the sky.
He felt the control slip, just enough to let him speak.
"It's almost as if murder doesn't make you a king," Abel said.
He wanted to sound fierce. Angry. Resentful.
So it was all the more frustrating that he couldn't keep the tremble out of his voice.
--
A prisoner is brought before his captor, and he will be made to kneel, one way or another.
