On the morrow, Altair glared at the King's Guards at his doors, shooting daggers at him. They seemed surprised, as if what he had done went against everything they stood for. But what did they expect?
"Will you not kneel before the Royal Decree?" the tall man in the golden frame breastplate uttered rather incredulously, his half-cloak fluttering gently in the stringent air.
"Unless you'd rather me cut your cocks off and feed them to our bloody dogs, you will speak the decree." Altair snapped, in no mood for such nonsense. What king knelt before another? Even if he was disguised, kneeling before another was no different than drinking piss. "If you've nothing to say, then leave. I'm a busy man."
