The urge to storm into the Pope's quarters and rip his deceitful head from his shoulders clawed at me. My vision burned, narrowing to focus solely on the image of his smug, conniving face and the twisted satisfaction he must have felt while orchestrating this.
"Did that dark mage come to you last night?" I asked, my voice low and edged with barely-contained wrath.
The boy sniffled, his small frame trembling, but he didn't answer. His silence was answer enough.
I exhaled heavily, my breath misting in the unnaturally cold air. The rage swirling within me mixed with an unfamiliar sensation—a tightness in my chest, sharp and unrelenting. It was as though something caged deep within me was rattling against its prison, demanding release.
