The darkness of the Autumn Court's dungeon lay ahead of them as the guards dragged King Casimir and the Winter Court General, Theron down a dimly lit narrow flight of stairs.
The air was pungent with the rotting smell of earth and flesh. Casimir's hands were bound tightly behind his back in shackles that dug into his skin but his head remained high and his eyes burned with anger.
His armor was streaked with mud and blood but his countenance bore the resemblance of a king who may have fallen from power but whose spirit was still resilient.
Beside him, Theron was bound as well. His footsteps were heavy as he was pushed to walk on the cold stone floor. His shoulders were slumped from exhaustion, but there was no mistaking the determination in his eyes. He was not one to admit defeat despite being forced to surrender.
