The duke’s men had entered the palace. We fought them hand-to-hand with flashing blades and single-shot pistols, our organized lines dissolving into a chaotic melee through the corridors and ballrooms.
I had no love for the king, but the duke was no more palatable. I’d sworn oaths, and I would uphold them.
But as the day wore on, I watched good men die. I killed good men. For what? The vanity of a throne? A title? Their bodies lay among the smashed marbles and torn tapestries, and I swore a new oath.
Whoever won would have to deal with me.

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