A Small ConfessionThe candle on the desk was low, its wick drowning in a pool of hot wax. Outside the tent, the camp was mostly silent, save for the rhythmic crunch of boots on gravel as the night sentries made their rounds.

Esmeralda stood at the entrance for a long moment, the tray in her hands feeling heavier than it should. She watched Demetrius. He wasn't the "Iron King" right now. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in three days. His shoulders were tight, and his hair was a mess where ...