Not A Tame Prisoner

The man chuckled, slow and deep. "And? What do you want me to do about it?" he asked, turning back slightly. "I'm the one who did it, after all."

Salviana flinched at his sheer indifference.

"Why are you doing this?" she couldn't help but ask again, pushing past her fear. "Who are you?"

The hooded man tilted his head as if amused. "You ask too many questions, princess." His tone darkened. "But fine. Since you seem so eager to know—"

He stepped closer, and for the first time, Salviana could see the glint of his eyes under the hood. Cold. Unforgiving.

"I hate your husband," he said plainly. "I hate his mother. I hate the king. I hate you."

Salviana's throat tightened.

"Why?" she whispered.

The man let out a bitter laugh. "Why?" he echoed mockingly. "Why does the weak envy the strong? Why does the overlooked despise the privileged? Why does a starving man hate the one with a feast before him?"

Salviana remained silent.