Anwar and Daemon face off at the door to Anwar’s cell. Daemon’s certain that he has the upper hand, and he’s only too happy to oblige his queen in bringing her the prisoner.
Anwar eyed the threshold as the door creaked open. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run, that it was now or never. But as Daemon’s massive hulk stepped through the frame, Anwar found himself retreating deeper into the cell. He had failed her yet again.
“Your presence is requested in the Great Hall,” Daemon sneered.
That he derived enjoyment from this exchange did not bode well for Anwar.
“I’m afraid that truly doesn’t fit in with my schedule. Perhaps another time?” Anwar bowed formally, but how his knees did knock. Could he hope to hide his cowardice for long?