He was standing in a den of dogs.
Two weeks of false smiles and poisoned words had worn him down more than two years of war ever had. The whole march south had become a farce so elaborate that even the most shameless theater hourses that were sprouting in Yarzat would have blushed at the performance required of him.
"The Lord of Dubrina swears eternal loyalty to the Beholder of the Eternal City, Shepherd of the Faithful, Holder of the Purple."
Another bow. Another trembling voice. Another oath.
Alpheo resisted the urge to spit in the dirt.Lies stacked upon lies. Promises made today only to be broken tomorrow. And these fools expected the gods to listen,expected the heavens to take their third oath seriously, when their first two had already turned to rot weeks ago?
Oaths lost weight when repeated.And one repeated thrice was barely even breath.
