“As a boy, I tried to hide from him like a coward. I’d beg and cry and break my body in training to be the best. I even went so far as to make him gifts, all in an effort to please him.”

He huffed a breath, lowering his hands to his lap and forcing them to lie flat when all he wanted was to wrap them around Sulian’s neck and twist.

“As a teen, I stooped to the level of a commoner, teaching myself to paint and sew. I exercised and ran, wrote poetic nonsense, read entire libraries, and had so much sex I’m not sure how my cock didn’t fall off my body.”

He laughed at the thought, then laughed harder at the incredulous look on Gibson’s face—a feat given its condition. But his laughter quickly died out as he continued flipping through his memories.

“Nothing worked. Nothing. I could feel my mind fracturing more and more each year, and I just wanted the constant agony to stop. The voices, the pit, the complete and utter misery that ripped at my chest with every breath.”

He exhaled, the only show of emotion he allowed himself to have, and for a split second, he could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of pity in Gibson’s gaze. Just further proof that the guard would never understand.

Eithan shot forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and hovered over Gibson’s face. He thrashed against his restraints, a choked grunt slipping past his cracked lips.

Too lost in his own head to soak up his fear as he usually would, Eithan ignored his panic and continued. “Then one day, an elderly servant bumped into a vase in my room. A vase I’d made as a boy in memory of my mother. I watched it shatter at my feet, feeling as empty and worthless as each broken piece.

“When he returned with a broom and a half-assed apology, I didn’t think it through. I just picked up one of the broken shards and buried it in his pale throat, watching his blood gush out over the pieces. He looked so shocked as he fell, grasping at the flayed skin like he could somehow hold back the flow.”

He remembered the way his heart had sped up, watching the man struggle that day. Each gurgled plea had slithered through his veins like an antidote, bringing him back to life as the man beneath him lost his.

“It was like I could breathe again, Gibson. After that day, I began visiting the dungeon, and found the more bodies I infected with this poison, the less of it lived within me. For the first time since my mother died, I felt alive.”

Gibson swallowed, shaking his head minutely. “What your father did to you doesn’t make any of that okay. It just makes you as bad as he is.”

Eithan shrugged. “I am what I am.”

“Fucked in the head is what you are,” he said, his lip curling as hatred flickered back into his gaze.