Blood splattered across the stone walls of the dungeon cells, immediately causing the familiar coppery scent to perfume the air.
Atticus heavily exhaled, flicking his hand to rid it of the red stains that had sullied his skin. Slowly, he crouched down so that he could face the man who was lying on the ground face-first in a pool of his own blood. The king sneered menacingly, using the back of his index finger to knock on the man's head.
"I suggest you speak up before I decide to relieve you of your tongue," Atticus warned. "You seem to not like using it much, after all. I doubt you'll miss it too much."
Lucien Seibert spat out the mouthful of blood before revealing a scarlet grin. One of his teeth had been knocked out by Atticus, now rolling in the pool of blood by a side.
"I might not," he said, "but the ladies definitely will."
