CLARABEL’S POV

As soon as Malakai ordered that his trousers be stripped and his thighs be checked, my lungs hung in my throat.

Hopefully, I was right. Hopefully, this man was innocent as he claimed to be.

A guard stepped forward, grabbed the ragged edge of the man’s left trouser leg, and yanked it open with a rip.

I leaned past Malakai’s arm, my eyes fixed on the man's pale skin as the torchlight hit his thigh. Dirt was caked around his knee, and dark purple bruises lined his shin, but the skin on his thigh was completely smooth. There was no iron brand. No jagged scar. No mark of...