He tries to resist, struggling with every ounce of strength he has, but it’s no use. This is a battle he does not know how to fight. When his hand closes around the gilded sword, pulling it from the sheath at his father’s waist, the last piece of the puzzle slips into place. Tears course down his face, steaming against burning-hot skin. “It’s not you,” Tiberias says, his eyes on Cal’s wretched face. He doesn’t bother pleading for his life. “I know it’s not you, son. This is not your fault.”
... No one deserves this. This is cruel beyond comprehension.
