"Walk with me," the King of Astras says the second I step out of the infirmary.
I think of all the reasons why I have no interest in doing that, but I decide to. This encounter is inevitable, and I'd much rather get it out of the way as swiftly as possible.
In the years that have passed, my father seems to have grown rapidly older. His usually erect posture is slightly slouched, his shoulders curving inwards as though weighed down by something abysmally heavy and he has more strands of silver in his red hair than usual.
We come to a halt by the terrace.
My feet stops at the threshold as my mind takes me back to that night where I'd first died from poison.
It happened right there.
"I must say, I am quite disappointed in you, Guinevere."
I remain by the threshold, eyebrow arching.
He makes a striking pose of a powerful monarch, staring me down with eyes like shards of ice and that glittering crown. "I didn't think you irresponsible enough to flee from your duties—"
