Azriel's Point Of View
"Oh, come now, Arthur," Lucian cooed softly, resting a hand on his hip, his voice carrying the false warmth of an old friend greeting another. "Did you really think you could hide from the Trident?"
Arthur's eyes bulged right out of his head, his chest heaving so fast he looked like he was about to have a heart attack right there in the heated water. He scrambled backward through the bubbling jet streams, his arms splashing frantically, his pale, flabby skin shivering despite the steam filling the room.
Every ounce of the arrogance he'd worn like armor for decades had evaporated, leaving behind something small and pitiful, something that barely resembled the man who'd once ruled half the underworld with an iron fist.
