It was on this balcony he had watched his kingdom crumble. From up high, he had watched Endarius die. Cyrus stared at the gash in the stone the Imperator had made with his shield. No one had ever repaired the damage. Instead, the Usurper King had declared that spot the designated killing ground for all executions made in the ensuing months as Thanet was steadily brought to heel. The stones were stained red, and what had been an empty crack was now a depository of skulls left to rot after a beheading. Such privilege was reserved only for the wealthy and political elite, of course. Commoners and heretics executed during the early purges were hung at the Dead Flags, made an example for the other lowborn in the city. It was only visitors to the castle who would smell the stench of old blood and see the garish pile of jawbones, cracked skulls, and scattered teeth. After all, not all beheadings were kind, nor quick.

“S-sir?”

Cyrus turned to find a small boy staring at him with his head tilted. The door to the balcony remained open behind him. Cyrus recognized him and immediately dashed past. A solid kick slammed the door shut. The boy startled, but he didn’t panic, not at first.

“Sorry,” Cyrus said. “It’s rude to leave doors open like that. It lets in a draft.”

The words were barbs on his tongue. He’d been told the same thing a dozen times in his childhood by various servants brave enough to chastise him. He had never listened.

“Um, all right,” the boy said. “Why are you here? And what’s with your face?”

A grim smile spread behind Cyrus’s mask. Here, alone, was Uriah Goldleaf, the only child of the Usurper King. He had gained a few inches in the years since Cyrus last saw him, his cheeks a bit chubbier, his hair longer and tied in a clumsy braid at the neck. That Cyrus noticed these things, that he reminded himself the boy was barely seven years old, sparked a doubt he tried to ignore.

“The balcony is quiet, good for solitude and silence,” Cyrus explained as if everything were calm and normal. “As for the mask, my face is quite hideous, and I hide behind it in turn. Pay it no mind. Pray tell, why are you here, child?”

Uriah kicked the ground, unsatisfied with the answer but also young and nervous enough that he was unwilling to press the issue.

“I like the gargoyles. And sometimes when… when Mom and Dad are yelling, I go out so I can’t hear them anymore.”

“Then let me tell you a secret. I used to come here as a kid, and I know something that’s really neat to try. Come. I’ll show you.”

He walked to the balustrade, and after a brief hesitation, the boy followed. Cyrus knelt beside its pillars, then gestured for the boy to do the same.