Unable to stand without assistance, Miklos fell to the ground. Pride ignited rapidly though, and, bracing himself against the marble floor, he struggled upright. Agony lanced through him when the sweat caused by his efforts dripped into the open gashes on his back. Somehow he made it to his feet, and raised his head to stare into the eyes of the tyrant who had destroyed his life. The loud rasping of Miklos's breath filled the motionless silence. As one, the courtiers turned to the man on the throne, waiting for his reaction.
"Somehow, I don't think this was how you wanted to be remembered, my king."