“It does,” said James. He could feel the craving he had to serve, to give himself over. But the stories were lies. Or else they were the grubby dreams of those who wished to enslave him. It didn’t matter who put the Collar around his neck. The Collar had only ever had one master. A jealous master, who would never allow his possession to belong to another. Why had he thought it would be any different? Always and forever, he was bound to one person. “But the Dark King is its master,” said James. “And I serve Him, not you.” And with a single slash of his sword, he severed John Sloane’s head from
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