King Mikhail
The sharp clatter of my boots echoed through the courtyard, each step a deliberate drumbeat as I stalked to my office. Fabric disappeared around corners as the servants sped to escape my path, the occasional pale face flashing briefly before melting into the shadows. No one wanted to get caught in my path today. The rage I keep bottled inside is just one wrong word away from bubbling over and obliterating anyone who crosses me.
The silver whip in my hand left a trail of blood behind me, a testament to my current mood. The two idiots strung up on the punishment poles have lasted longer than I expected. They’ve been hanging from those posts for four solid days, exposed to the elements and deprived of food and water. My men have not been taking it easy on them, feeding on and b
