chapter 8

Gannon The rogue boy’s little arm has a deep, purplish bruise, causing him to wail in fear as I take hold of him, making me wonder if it is fresh since my grip appears to hurt him. “Shh, shh. What’s your name?” I whisper, attempting to soothe him. His gaze shifts anxiously toward Mrs. Daley, who sits nearby, emanating an air of intimidation directed at the child. The boy appears fragile, his emaciated frame attesting to a lack of proper care. Hollow cheeks and sunken eyes accentuated his desolate countenance, while his matted, knotted black curls cascaded down his shoulders. “He doesn’t speak,” a young girl named Kimmy interjects, emerging from the dimly lit room in her tattered pajamas. She seems to be one of the older children here, a fact that struck me as peculiar because where are the older children? However, seeing a rogue child is more bizarre, and I have a feeling it is just for show in case the king stops by. One thing is apparent—none of these children are cared for properly,