~ DAVID ~
It was a strange sensation walking down the long, stone stairways at the bottom of the castle, towards the dungeons.
The dungeon of the palace was no place for a woman. I knew that. But somehow... I didn't care. Emory wasn't just any woman. She was a traitor, and a spy, and a liar. And she'd been a tool in the plot to remove my wife. My wife who I could not grieve, because I wasn't even sure who she was, or what she'd felt for me.
As I reached the lowest level and could hear the moans echoing in this dank chamber, as I stepped around a putrid, dark puddle I couldn't identify, or maybe didn't want to, I should have cared. I should have felt something knowing I had reduced Emory to this.
But I didn't.
I was numb.
Stark was disgusted with me for sending her down here, insisting that there were other ways to crack through her shell.
But I couldn't find it in myself to even ask what they were.
