Hawks With Sins

Last Spark

The Hangman's Daughter fought to suppress a laugh as her husband, Tim Michaels, trailed soft kisses along the delicate curve of her neck. She turned to meet his gaze, her heart racing at the sight of him still donning his polished Guard Captain's uniform, the deep navy fabric accentuating his strong frame and the gleaming insignia gleaming against the evening light.

“Why haven’t you changed out of your uniform?” she teased, an amused smile playing on her lips. “We have only 45 tolls before we need to head to the palace for dinner.” Her life had inexplicably begun with that very kiss, a moment that erased all memory of her past. It felt as if she had awakened from a long, dreamless slumber, her mind a blank canvas except for the echo of her name—The Hangman's Daughter—a title that left her both intrigued and confused about her origin.

Tim had discovered her during the haunting hour of twilight, the streets cloaked in shadows as she slept soundly on a cold, weathered bench in the bustling city square. When he asked where she was staying, she had gazed up at him, her eyes reflecting a vulnerable honesty as she admitted she had nowhere to go. He explained that all the inns had been booked solid for the Feast of Flames, a vibrant and chaotic celebration during which priests would burn the king's effigy to appease the vengeful sea gods in hopes of securing a bountiful harvest for the coming year. “You can stay with me until we find a more permanent solution,” he offered, a sense of warmth and safety radiating from him.

Just two days after their fortuitous meeting, swept up in the whirlwind of emotions that had blossomed between them, Tim had suggested they marry—an idea filled with both urgency and the intoxicating promise of love that had begun to weave their lives together in unexpected ways.