He lowered his blade, the edge of Alexander's sword gleaming with silent menace, and spoke in a voice that was calm, yet cold enough to freeze the marrow in one's bones.
"Now," Nathan said, his tone like iron. "Tell me where Ptolemy is."
Pothinus looked up, teeth clenched in agony, blood staining his robes and pooling at his knees. But in Nathan's eyes, there was no flicker of mercy—only the promise of further pain if the answer did not come quickly.
But then, through the haze of pain clouding his vision, Pothinus clenched his teeth and forced a smile, cracked and desperate like a mask on the verge of shattering. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, yet he found enough strength to raise his trembling voice.
"J…Join me, Septimius!" he rasped, eyes wide with feverish hope. "Kill these traitors! Kill Cleopatra for me! Once I sit on the throne as Pharaoh, I will grant you everything—wealth, women, land—anything your heart desires!"
