“With every breath he took, he thanked the skies for descending upon this world a woman like the one who sat on the throne of bones. She had to have come from another world. One his simple mind could not begin to imagine. He stared at her, unable to tear his gaze away from the tyrant leading their empire, sword in hand—one he had taken to sink into her heart at first sight—he found himself with a knee on the ground before he could blink.
Was she a witch? A sorcerer of some sort? Had she done something to him? How was it that he held out his rotting sword with a shaking fist, offering his only possession to the same woman who had slain thousands and devoured hundreds? How could he be swearing loyalty to a monster in the shape of an absolute vision? “Your Majesty,” he had breathed out, his head refusing to bow if it meant looking away from her.”
