“Don’t let them see it bother you,” someone whispered. I looked over. One of the black-clad royals had spoken. The bald one. “They thrive on the pain they cause,” he said. “It feeds them. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”11 “They? Aren’t you one of them?” His mouth quirked. “I’m nothing like them.” He wasn’t looking at me. The voices around us created a din. Yet somehow, I still heard his whisper. “My name is Thurvishar D’Lorus. I’ll try to help if I can, but don’t rely on it. My hands are tied in many ways.”
