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The moment Kenneth became aware of the world around him, he wished he was still unconscious. Torn, beaten, and weakened, his world had shrunk to one of misery and regret. He had led thousands of brave men and women to their demise . . . all dead because of him, because of his hubris and lust for revenge. All the pain that wracked him now, choking his breath, was nothing near what he deserved.
He opened his eyes and surveyed his cell. An onyx stone cube with one wall of bars surrounded him. It was foul, dirty, and had no amenities, not even straw to ease the hardness of the ground. Kenneth shivered from the chill of the stone. Across the hall from his bars, a very small window looked out into a bleak and dark sky full of churning clouds and flecks of freezing rain. No sun. Kenneth smirked at the irony. With everything that his body had endured, he wouldn't die from his wounds. His body would starve for the sun and fail long before that. It was probably the most gruesome death Jellen could have chosen for him.
Kenneth rested his head against the stone, his shame and bitter regret almost too much to bear. He wanted to die. Kenneth cringed, thinking of Sammie's pain when she heard of his defeat. He would undoubtedly be reported dead. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his harsh world. It was better that she thought him dead, fallen by arrow or sword, then imagined his fate after capture.
Kenneth had failed her, too. His loss would take something from her, something she might never get back. Kenneth remembered her face the last time he'd kissed her. She had begged him to stay, and he'd brushed her tears aside and promised to return. He'd promised that he would free them all, and he had failed. Oh, how he wanted to die.
Kenneth closed his eyes and let himself slip into unconsciousness again. Maybe there was some mercy left in the world. Maybe he would never wake again.