My body turns hollow. I don't know what he means. Yet I have a feeling I do - deep down, somewhere, that I knew something was wrong. But gods forbid it with Azael. Gods forbid. The dead of the night weighs down on me, covering my face with a poison-stained cloth.

I don't bother to breathe. I just hold it in my lungs. "What do you mean by all of this? I don't understand any of it."

Elwin leans forward, his eyes darker now, yet wider, more alive. "The rebels are not your enemy, dear prince. They are your fathers'. And your father is your enemy. He killed your mother in cold blood, don't you remember? He stole the very life that seeped through her veins. He was the one that -"

I shoot onto my feet, shoving the table away. The old man staggers with it, but it still stands. My heart pounds like a galloping hoof in my chest. "What is the meaning of this?" I retort, my voice rising in anger. In fear.

It's all so absurd.

It cannot be true.

Elwin rises to his feet, shakily, with unsteadiness rather than fear. "Your father has made a pact with a god, an evil one, and it is not Erebus, but -"

I grasp my hair with my trembling hand. Squint my eyes shut. Squeeze the throb in my head away. "This is nonsense," I remark, my eyes snapping back open - back to him. "You're a rebel, aren't you? Trying to trick me. This is why you speak such foolishness!"

He braces his hands on the table, leaning towards me. "I have no reason to lie to you. I only speak the truth - your father is a murderer, slaughtering thousands of innocent lives of women, children and -"

I storm over to him. I snag his collar, my fists white with rage. "You do not get to speak of my father in such a way - your KING."

"Do you not see it, boy?" he half-hisses, half-gurgles, his worn fingers wrapping around my wrist.

I keep him against the wall, his weight nothing against the force of my anger. "I am no boy," I growl. "And my father is no murderer. You are the murderer - all of you rebels. I felt sorrow when my shadow slaughtered you all, but now I know that the sorrow is not worth having."

His chest rises and falls against my grip, heavy and rapid. "Your shadow now? Not Azael? Not your brother?" he prompts, raising a brow despite the tightening of my fist.

I flinch the confusion off my face. "What is it to you? I came here for answers and all you've given me more questions."

Elwin stops struggling against my grasp, back flattened against the wall now, surrendering to my strength. "I gave you the answers, prince," he tells me, his face somber and softened. "You are merely refusing to listen."

I release him and take a couple steps back, my boots thudding against the wood. Hard. My blood beats against my skin, faster than my heart. "So where is he then?" I demand, fighting the urge to draw my sword. To use more intimidating means.

His breath shakes still, and his lips falter. "You're not listening to what matters. How can you not see it? Your father, what does he think of your brother?"

I shake my head, frustration wrapping around it like a vice. I start to pace, unsure what to do with myself. "He -" I begin, but pause, thinking of how my father reacted when Azael was missing, how he acted when I first found him. "He doesn't like him. I suppose he... he merely tolerates him, because he protects me, and he is good at it."

Elwin stays close to the wall, watching me, waiting for me to snap or to realise the lies he presses forth. "Your father is evil," he insists, though his voice is tame. "And he will be your undoing if you do not accept this truth."

His words rack the very centre of my skull. Hard, like a pointed hammer. Except all that cracks out is vengeance. My boots thunder against the wooden floor.

Tsss as my sword slips from its scabbard.

He flattens himself against the wall. I thrust my blade into his belly, until my hand wrapped around the hilt sits against the wound. Scarlet gurgles at his mouth, dark eyes wide and fading. That glint going. His bloodied lips quiver, as if he's trying to speak.

I don't care to listen.

And I don't have to. I pull my sword from his flesh. His body slumps to the ground. He lays there, dead with his mouth open, eyes skyward to a heaven he'll never reach.