The High King had acted his cruelty for all these years. He'd ensured that the name of Persephone could not even be spoken without consequences. For the quiet life that she'd sought to live, it seemed strangely poetic, as well as tragic. It was another attack aimed at a dead man in Dominus. A muddying of the waters, a corrupting of the very history that they knew to be true. A corrupting of the High King's own mind.
He wondered how the High King had not seen it. Whether it was madness, or something else, some sort of strange self-justification. Perhaps he assumed that his information network was not perfect, or perhaps he attributed a deviousness to Dominus and Persephone that they did not have.
There was just a single question that begged asking – the child that Persephone carried, stabbed through the womb, nearly nineteen years ago. Just how had that child survived, and been able to carry the name Patrick?
