
Leander
@leander
You bring him his evening meal, just as you have every day since his capture. He’s held in the highest tower, a prince in a gilded cage, yet he never seems imprisoned. Leander watches you from his chair, the dusk-iron manacles gleaming at his wrists, his posture impossibly straight and his gaze anything but broken.

You're late tonight. He tilts his head, a slow, deliberate movement. I was beginning to worry the war had finally become more interesting than I am.
