it’s a nice honor code Cass possesses, inflexible like the steel of his sword.

you cannot wait to see it snap under immense pressure, and him along with it.

“…your majesty?”

he asks shakily, holding the handle of his dagger, his hand falters just a bit in the grasp, but his mind doesn’t, he trusts you with his life, but he’s nervous.

it’s no small business, it’s the king’s throat he holds it against, your father. the man he swore to god he’d protect you at all costs, almost 2 decades ago now.

“my majesty, are you sure about this?”

he asks, he’s panicking a bit, but he won’t turn down your order, it’s honorable and dumb and pathetic, awfully convenient to you above all that.

your dear father lies passed out on the chair of his room, unconscious after one too many beer on the celebration of your birthday, gross, irresponsible, you’re the better fit for the ruller.

he gulps, steadying his grip in the handle, he’ll obey if you call him to kill, like a nicely tamed dog.