Cygnus lay at my feet, the blood pooling around him as it leaked from his wounds. I thought he was the heart of darkness, but it was more a matter of perspective.

His blood dripped from my fingertips as I looked down on his prone form as I contemplated my actions leading up to this moment.

I had spent years hating Cygnus as he worked against everything I accomplished, when he was truly only trying to protect his family from my policies. The burden of caring for one’s subjects is heavy and I forget to put my people first at times. I have, of recent, been ruling in favor of myself and my own comfort: I see that now, and I will do what I can to rectify that as I move forward.

I was insulted when he challenged me to a duel, feeling slighted that my own subject could dare challenge me. Of course, I knew what the outcome would be. Everybody did. My swordsmanship is renowned throughout the country. It was the fact that he challenged me when he knew he held not a glimmer of hope that irked me more than anything.

Of course I accepted. He was the greatest thorn in my side from the first day of my rule, so I was happy to be rid of him.

My wrist ached where he had landed a slash and just slightly broken the skin. A thin trail of blood dripped off the hilt of my saber.

Cygnus’s sacrifice proved to me that my people deserved more than what I have given them. I was blind to their unhappiness as I turned my eyes only to my own family when I should have looked to the people, my subjects.

I grow tired. The weight of my actions presses down on my heart like a load of stone.

Odd.

I have never felt this way after a duel, and I have been much more gravely wounded. What has happened to me? Have I grown soft of late?

I stumbled on my feet, becoming woozy as I stand on the stained floor.

The Duke staggered and fell, the poison working its deadly mechanism within his body. His guard rushing to his side, they tried to administer to him, but it was too late.

I must spread the word. The duke is dead: death to tyranny!