I thought of my own mother, who was so like hers, and how my father had always cherished her. My brother's concern for her had been genuine. How could she not understand the agony of losing loved ones?
Our families had been close for years, and the political drama wasn't as I had believed. Maria's father had shaken with fear as he delivered the final blow, and I had turned a blind eye to Maria's suffering as she held that sword. Her father's secretive burning of paper offerings after her death seemed so insincere to me.
The ache in my chest was unbearable, like a thousand ants crawling inside. I coughed, and blood dribbled from the corner of my mouth.
The king demanded that I look up, and I had no choice but to comply. My disheveled appearance was on full display. The king laughed maniacally, his gaze as cold and slithery as a snake. "Minister Thompson, do you hate me?"
With a voice shaking from both fear and regret, I bowed my head again. "I dare not."
"The king demands your death, and you must obey. I'm just a dog at the king's feet, not worthy of hatred."