The guards shoved Rhaegal through the cell's gate, the iron groaning under its own weight. The sharp clack of the lock followed, then the echo of retreating footsteps. He stood still for a moment, golden eyes adjusting to the dim flicker of the torches.
"Well, well… look who's decided to join the useless." Cedric's voice drawled from the far side. He leaned against the cold wall, bound hands resting loosely on his lap. "I thought you were her favorite now."
Rhaegal said nothing. He crossed the cell and sat opposite him, his expression unreadable.
Cedric smirked. "So the grand alliance lasted what—two hours? I expected more, Lord Blackthorn." The mockery in his voice curled like smoke.
"I suppose you underestimated my talent for being disliked," Rhaegal murmured. "It's one of the few things I happen to excel at."
The Duke gave a theatrical nod and lifted his tied hands in a clapping motion. "Must've taken years of practice to get that good."
