"Why do you look so nervous?"

The air smelled sweet, a byproduct of all the flowers scattered strategically through the room decorated to mimic a temple of some sorts or something. The failed attempt at music carried easily through the air, lacking all depth and feeling that I had come to depend on. But there was a harsh, frenzied feeling that permeated through the atmosphere, touching everybody gathered at the table.

"Do I?" I returned underneath my breath while one of his generals went on and on about something that hardly mattered. I forced myself to meet the King's gaze.

He seemed unimpressed by my attempt to shrug it off. "Yes. You do. Is everything okay?" His hand slid across the arm of his chair slightly, but I had no doubts he had every intention of doing it. I shifted, moving my own closer. It didn't mean anything, but the more he believed me, the better. It was a game, a dance, and if I didn't win, my blood would stain the marble floor underneath our feet.

"It's just another meeting," he said, shaking his head firmly as if trying to work it out himself. "You didn't seem so upset at the last one."

I shrugged, caving in on myself. "My apologies, Your Ma—"

"Don't."

"Pardon me?"

"You know I hate it when you call me that, Thomas," he said, leaning his face on his hand. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Are we?"

"I'd like to think so."

I held a sigh and glanced up at the ceiling. The stars shimmered in through the window, but I wasn't sure if I felt relieved and safe or scrutinized by their presence. Their stares certainly seemed to burn into my skin. A cloud rolled in front of the moon, and my jaw tightened.

A hand on my back. I flinched as though the touch had burned me, a hand flying to the dagger belted at my side even before I knew what I was doing.

"Sorry, sorry!" George exclaimed immediately, and it was perhaps the first time I heard a genuine apology from him in quite some time. "I forgot."

I nodded, folding my hands behind my back, and returned to observing the meeting.

"Thomas, is there something you want to talk to me about?"

"Of course not," I returned sharply. The small object sitting in my pocket felt as though I was carrying a stone. It was cool to the touch, somewhat of a reminder of what my mission here was. Not unpleasant, but not entirely comfortable either.

But the vine wrapped around my wrist was all I needed to relax.

At the other side of the table, somebody cleared their throat, making me jump in surprise. "Uh, My King?"

"Yes?" George returned, waving a hand in sheer boredom.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, yes. Please, continue."

"Well, I—"

"Oh, enough!" exclaimed Cornwallis, throwing his fist against the table and practically leaping to his feet. "Are we really going to dance past the elephant in the room? One of our most valuable prisoners is missing, and the man standing right next to you is the person who did it!" He let out a huff of air, meeting my gaze with an angry scowl. "If you can even call it a man."

The words sunk in, ripping at my flesh, but I only tilted my head questioningly, waiting for an order.

"Oh," George said, not bothered in the slightest. "Is that all?"

"Is—how can you be taking his side?" Cornwallis sputtered. "He is a known criminal and traitor to the crown, and here you are gallivanting him around only because you managed to bring him back from the dead. He's a monster, Your Majesty, and he deserves to be treated as such."

I bit down on my jaw, seconds away from an outburst breaking free. Anger, hatred, all mixed in with a little bit of doubt ignited a fire in my chest.

"Sit down, Cornwallis."

"He's nothing more than a threat and should have stayed dead!"

"Sit down, Cornwallis!"

In all of my life, I had never heard George yell. A sly remark, sure. An angry scowl, fine. But yelling? Never. And here he was, his words echoing through the room, standing on his feet with his fists splintering the wooden table. Cornwallis rapidly fell to his chair, mumbling an apology that would never have come if not for the consequences of staying silent.

"I didn't want to discuss this," George said, pushing his chair back. Slowly and deliberately, he made his way over to the window overlooking the castle grounds below, back to us. "But it appears you've left me no choice. One of us has indeed allowed our prisoner to escape. And we will not be leaving this room until we figure out who it is."

It would have been so easy to stick a dagger in the back of his neck right then and there. Sure, I'd be killed almost instantly, but so what? It would end the war, let us finally escape his grasp, and isn't that the same thing I've been fighting for for almost ten million years of my life? And it wasn't like I had anything waiting for me, anyway.

The words of Alexander's letter played over and over in my mind until I forced them silent.

My hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, eyes staring at the spot on his back. All I'd need was one good, fatal strike. I could practically feel the warmth of his blood gushing down my hands, smell the thick, putrid scent of iron and death hit the air. A searing hot pain shot through my hand, and I glanced down at the metal dagger I was gripping with all my strength, then back up at the King.

Stifling a sigh, I let my hand fall to my side. "Who do you think it is, sir?" I asked, breaking the heavy silence that had drifted down on us like snow. The gazes of the other gathered generals bore into my skin, and I knew instantly who each one of them suspected. A pause. Surely, you don't think I helped that  traitor escape?

"Of course I know you didn't do it, Thomas." The thought came as a breathy sigh, but I couldn't bring myself to relax. He finally turned to face us. "But that still leaves a dozen more suspects."

Nodding to myself, I let my gaze sweep over the room. Who looked the most nervous? Of course, most of them were staring at their plates, and one or two were even shaking. But then there was Clinton, who had conveniently lost all memory of the night before. He kept his chin held uncharacteristically high, unafraid of George's challenge. His gaze was bearing into me, as if trying to search for something the same way I was trying to search for something in him.

"It'll be easier for all of us if whoever did it were to confess now," George said, folding his hands behind his back as he returned to his seat. He drew a finger lazily across the table, right where he had split a hole into it, feigning an air of nonchalance. But I knew he was calculating while his eyes swept from person to person, trying to worm out their fear, their worry.

"Oh, come on," he said with a little laugh. "I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're so afraid of."

No? I broadcasted the question out to him, hiding as much as I dared.

"Of course not. That's what you're for."

Figures.

I let my hand fall to the dagger at my side, feeling its burning metal skid along the length of my fingers. It took everything I had to hide my shaking. One little step out of line, and I was dead. One misspoken word, and my blood would stain the floor.

"Well?" the King prompted, drawing the word out. It was clear he was enjoying this, making the men under his direct control squirm like snails in the sun. "We truly don't have all day. I just want to know who set her free and where that bitch went."

I prickled at the word, locking my jaw as tight as I could to prevent an argument or word or admonishment to rise out of my throat. Never before had I wanted to stab someone as much as I did now.

But I was a rabbit amongst sleeping wolves.

A long silence met his words, and he let out a cluck of disappointment. "Fine, if none of you will come forward, then I'll have to figure it out myself. I'll check all of your memories, your thoughts, your feelings. And if I see something I don't like, well...I can't say that you're going to like what I'm going to do."

Fear. He was relying on fear to get them to do what he wanted. My head perked up, heart beating so loud I could hear the blood roaring through my ears. That's what seemed so different since I've been here. He's had to resort to fear.

"Isn't it obvious?" Cornwallis asked, finally finding the courage to look up at George after his outburst. "I know you don't want to believe it, but our dungeons have always been impossible to escape or even get into if you don't know the layout. Who else has been in the dungeon with you as much as you have? Damn, Your Majesty, he has his own cell in there. The Tenebrie is obviously the traitor."

"He has a name, you know. And how quick you are to point the finger..." The King paused, his grin sharpening while he let the realization stew. "Cornwallis, do you have something to hide from us?"

I stood there silently, watching, even as they descended into madness and arguing. I hummed a song underneath my breath, one to counteract the music that had already died. A familiar song that brought nothing but a steady ease. Without really realizing it, my hand snaked over to my wrist, where the wreath of vines was growing more flowers as the days passed on, and twirled it around a few times. As long as I had that constant reminder wrapped around my arm, nothing else in the world could touch me.

"It was Clinton."

Silence fell immediately, Cornwallis even pausing mid-word. I swallowed, clasped my hands behind my back, and pinned an unblinking stare on the man I accused, who was now sitting wide-eyed and speechless. The clouds in front of the moon dissipated, and the whispering of the stars' quiet judgement echoed through my ears.

"You have no proof," Cornwallis said, the first to speak.

"I have my memories," I offered. "And I would be willing to share them with you if you wanted." It was mostly a bluff, but perhaps I could manage to spin them into a story that didn't exist. Or I was doomed.

"Oh? Show—"

"Wait," George said, flicking his hand. Cornwallis, much to his annoyance, fell silent. "What happened?"

I shifted slightly, hoping they didn't notice the tick of worry that swept over me in a single wave. "Last night, after I heard the prisoner escaped, I tracked her to the garden. Clinton was there, showing her how to get out."

Because that makes perfect sense, I thought to myself, inwardly cursing my own stupidity.

"That isn't true!" Clinton exclaimed.

"Oh?" I asked, tilting my head. "Then what were you doing last night?"

"I—" He froze, eyes aghast. "Uh, I—"

"She charmed him. She found his spot of weakness and exploited it," I pressed onwards, not leaving time for anyone to question the holes in the story. "And though it may not be his fault, we cannot have that kind of hesitation in our army."

"Sir," Cornwallis exclaimed as Clinton desperately tried to find an explanation. "You can't honestly believe him!"

"Were you working with him?" I asked.

"Of course not! But General Clinton did not—"

"Enough."

I swallowed, trying not to choke.

Well? I broadcasted to him. I can show you my memories if you want.

"That won't be necessary. Of course I believe you, Thomas."

His arrogance was the best card I had in my deck.

He turned to Clinton, eyes as sharp as a hawk's. A long, deliberate pause that filled each of us with worry. With anticipation. With fear. "Well, General Clinton?" he asked, slowly. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Clinton currently looked as though he wished a hole would open up in the ground and take him away. "I—I have no recollection of helping the prisoner, Your Majesty."

At least he was honest. I glanced elsewhere, knowing what was about to come. I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of green. My head shot up at once as I scanned the doorway, but it was gone. I must be losing my mind.

"He is lying, Your Majesty," Clinton said. "I would never do anything to jeopardize the future of the Kingdom."

The King sighed. "I must comb through your memories, then. Perhaps there is something that we are missing."

I folded my hands behind my back to keep them from shaking, and forced myself to watch Clinton's reaction. It only took a minute, but when George's eyes fluttered open again, he didn't have to say anything.

I withdrew my scythe.

"I'm sorry, General Clinton," he said. "You've been a loyal friend of mine. But Thomas is right, and we cannot afford to have that kind of carelessness on our staff." He waved his hand. "Kill him."

It was over before it had even begun.

I shot across the table in a single, fluid movement, and brought my scythe hurtling down. A scream split the air, but died abruptly.

Dark crimson stained the white, marble floor. It didn't take long for the smell of death to lift through the air. I stood for a moment, staring over what I had done, unable to swallow the sand in my mouth.

I turned away and retreated to my spot standing to the right of the King's chair, trying not to let my trembling be visible.

George sighed. "Well, since we have that sorted out, I suppose we're done for the day."

"But, sir—"

"I said we are done for the day," he said, and any argument tampered off. "Somebody get this mess cleaned up."

The generals gathered at the table rose and escaped quickly. Once the last one was gone, I made to follow them, but a hand wrapped around my wrist.

"Wait a second," George ordered. "You seem upset. Is everything okay?"

"I didn't realize I was acting different than I usually do," I returned sharply, turning so my back was pressed against one of the columns against the wall. Something indecipherable flashed in his gaze, and sighing, he drew closer to me.

"Come on, Thomas. I'm not an idiot. What's wrong?"

I risked a glance over at the center of the room, my stomach churning. The world swayed around me, my breath stolen straight from my mouth without any hopes of being recovered. I quickly looked away, down at my hands, which were stained with blood.

"Hey," George said, softer than he had any right to be. He took my hands in his, and it took everything I had to not flinch away from the touch of his warm, smooth skin. "It's okay, Thomas. You said it yourself, we cannot afford to have such weakness."

Alarm bells were ringing inside my head, but I swallowed down the knot of panic in my throat. "I know," I murmured, playing the part he had cast me as. "It's just—they're right, you know. I am a monster." I pulled my hands away from him, worried he would feel the bump on my arm where the flowering vine wrapped around my wrist. "What if I don't want to be the monster anymore?"

"Thomas," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You are not a monster." He brought his hand up to caress my face, but before I had to push him away, the doors were thrown open and a yell ricocheted off of the walls. George jumped away from me as though he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do, and I let out a sigh of relief that was just barely audible over the clatter.

"What's going on here?" George demanded, making no attempts to mask the anger and irritation in his voice.

"We found him listening at the door, Your Majesty."

I took a few steps forward, folding my wings behind my back, and angled my head so I could look down at the person thrown on the ground carelessly. Every part of me froze all at once as I immediately recognized that beautiful face.

Alexander?