This was absolutely childish. Verena couldn't believe she was already locked up in a cage with no evidence to back up these ridiculous claims. But then again, this was the kind of power the Imperial Family wielded.
Damn these clichés...
The novel was really proving itself to be written by some angsty, fifteen-year-old with a flair for drama.
Her body, of course, betrayed her first. She had no idea how many hours had passed, but it definitely wasn't a good sign.
The rope around her wrists was rough, and her skin was beginning to burn from the friction.
Then came the smell, damp, fetid air that reeked of human waste and decay.
It was the kind of scent that made you question your life choices.
A door creaked open at the far end of the room, followed by the dull clinking of footsteps. Torchlight filtered in, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch forever.
And there, standing in the doorway, was a tall, slim figure with a sword on his side.
"Planning to kill me?"
