There were reasons to his brothers madness. Things Caerel probably would never, and in all honesty, could never understand. Things that came with running a city with a fist forged in iron, blood seeping between knuckles white with rage. There was so much rage in his eyes -- in all their eyes. All except his own, the soft honeysuckle of his irises dark with concern, a touch of fear that never seemed to fully melt away with the ice along his spine. What did he have to fear when his brother ruled over them all?
Tucking hands that trembled every few moments into his pockets, the last bit of his sanity on stretched across the thin wires of spindly fingers, Cae's eyes swept over the room. Men he'd seen passing through his house on every occasion. Who'd sat at his dinner table more than once, who kissed his mother on the cheek when they saw her. Who were now circled around what would soon be a corpse strung by his wrists, his brother the ring leader having orchestrated every move and crescendo of their malicious jeering cries.
Cae was no better than them, he realized. The fear spilling out of his pores simply from the fear of getting caught, from watching his brother fall. He didn't fear this. Watching a man scream as they stuffed socks in his mouth and carved his stomach like moms Christmas roast was nothing but Tuesday evening. Turning on his heel in search of a breath of fresh air, but into the hard chest of welcoming warmth, Caerel blinked to orient himself, the lie already spilling from his lips before he could see who exactly it was, protecting himself from any ridiculue of leaving. "Sorry - phone was ringing, didn't wanna disturb -- that."
