Bexley
She stood out the front of the packhouse with the King’s Eyes an hour before the full moon was to set and looked down at Allister. “Have you made your choice; will be it option 1 or option 2?” Bexley asked him.
He was black and blue all over and was tall enough to sit there on the ground and lean back on that shaming post, but she knew his arms had been held up all day long, and they must either be aching with pain or be completely numb by now.
She could see that there were bloodied marks and more bruising on his wrists, which indicated that at some point he’d stopped or been unable to hold them up, and they’d become weighted and lifeless, dragged down by gravity, but still held up by the cuffs themselves, and so they’d bitten into his skin.
“Option 2,” Allister stated as he lo
