Samuel Smith

I had been nothing more than a peasant in the western reaches of the kingdom — a forgotten corner ruled by a Duke whose lands had once been synonymous with hunger and dust. When he inherited the title, his dukedom was the poorest in the realm. Now, it was the richest. The transformation came at a cost. New farming laws reshaped the land with an iron hand. Fields were seized, traditions erased, and men like me were left with blistered palms and empty bellies. Resentment grew in the soil faster than any crop ever had. So we rebelled. It was over almost before it began. We were dragged in chains to the dungeons beneath his estate, where the air tasted of rust and damp stone. That was where I first saw him. The Duke. He stood above us like a figure carved from shadow and moonlight — be