"Nobility is just poverty with better PR. Strip away the titles and you'll find the same ugly instincts underneath."
***
Rhys's jaw tightened. A muscle jumped in his cheek. His green eyes held Blackthorne's gaze with a steadiness most nobles twice his age couldn't manage.
"My father worked the border villages, sir. Blackwood Glade. Sometimes the monsters came too close to home. Sometimes they breached the palisade."
Simple words. Delivered like he was talking about the weather. But those of us close enough could hear what lurked underneath. The memories. The sounds. The screams that words couldn't capture.
Blackthorne nodded. Slow. Heavy. "Good. Real violence teaches lessons these practice yards can't. The fear. The desperation. The moment you realize it's your life or theirs and there's no third option."
