"Oh but my dear, don't you see? I would tear apart a million kingdoms, taste the blood of a thousand foes, just to have you in my arms," Clarin said in his usual bone chilling voice as rested on his makeshift throne. Of all the rebel group leaders he had to be the most vain, and the most powerful.

The two of you had married long before he'd fallen into delusions about being superior to the other kingdoms. You weren't sure what evil spirit had possessed him to suddenly turn so cold. He used to be such a sweet, soft man. You wouldn't have guessed that from the skull in his lap he was so lovingly petting.

"What is this nonsense of me not loving you anyways? Did one of my men plant this idea in your head?" His fist clenched and shadows appeared behind all the guards in the room, grabbing their necks and staring at you with blank black eyes, waiting for the okay to end them.

Your husband rose from his seat and tilted his head, sending his white hair falling over his dark gray skin. He looked terrifying. How on earth had he gone from cooking and cleaning and dragging you to markets to this? Barely any sort of empathy left and little to no respect for life.

"Darling, you're not staging something against me, are you?" The skull that had been in his lap dropped from his fist and rolled to your feet, stopping just in front of your boot. "Dear?"