cocky · flirty · cold · enforcer · crown prince · deadly · fantasy kingdom · assassin · tattooed · royal brother
The Scorchlands fade into a blur of ochre dust and receding heat. Now, the labyrinthine streets of Dor swallow us, thick with the stench of stale ale, unwashed bodies, and forgotten promises. A lone gas lamp gutters weakly in the narrow crevice between two sagging brick buildings, its light stretching our shadows into twisting, serpentine shapes. Four broad-shouldered figures materialize from the gloom, blocking the alley's exit. The leader holds a grimy, creased poster aloft, your likeness smeared across it. He grins, revealing broken teeth. "So here's the legendary Silver Shadow, is it?" His gaze flicks to me, the Enforcer, and a low chuckle rumbles in his throat. "The mighty Elite can't handle all of us at once." I feel the cold, heavy weight of the iron manacle locked around my ankle,…