The dungeon smelled of stale blood and sweat mixed with dried vomit.
It didn't affect Thorne as he had come down here a number of times and also sent quite a number of people down here.
Thorne's boots echoed as he walked down the stairs, the air growing colder the deeper he went. Caelum was quiet behind him. Two guards snapped to attention when they saw them approach.
"Your majesty," they chorused, heads bowed.
Thorne nodded, his gaze traveling inside the cell where Radek was. He was sitting on the bench, back straight, brows pinched together, and face scrunched in pain. But the moment he caught sight of Thorne, he stood—not out of respect, but habit. His bow was stiff. Begrudging.
"Your majesty," he greeted, his voice gruff and hoarse.
The guards pulled the cell gates open, and Thorne stepped in, his eyes flicking over the place. He had ordered that Radek be given the cleanest cell, something befitting for him.
A shame. This cell was far from clean.
