Your father, the king, used to tell you stories of the beast within labyrinth walls—a monster, he’d say; starved. You should’ve listened.

The man standing before you is no monster, nor a beast, but could’ve been; better to be wretched than unloved.

His axe shines slightly under candlelight, the space smelling of damp earth and forgotten kinships; he’s no friend, anymore. “A new tribute—“ König’s voice is gruff, cold eyes peering from behind cloth, and heartbreak lives on. “—how generous.”