Neoxie

“My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords

“Don’t grieve for me!” He glanced about the audience, brows high. “No? No one? The truth is, at my best, I’ve been a barely adequate king. My father’s son, I daresay. Though allow me to take just a little pride in my victory against the odds at Stoffenbeck. Unfortunate timing, to take the throne with not one but two bloody revolts on the way, but that’s no excuse, really. There’s always something horrible on the way, after all. You’ll see. Not that I bear any of you ill will, you understand. Ill will is too heavy a thing to carry through life, let alone up onto a scaffold, and it’s useless in a fight in any case.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the executioner wrap his hands around the lever.
“Well! I think I’m being given the signal to finish up. To my sister, Savine…” He grinned over at her. The way he used to, when they were together, in Sworbreck’s office. When he had just thought of the best joke. One he knew she would love. That was how he wanted her to think of him. As he had been. As they had been. “I take some comfort in knowing you’ll be a far better ruler than I ever was. We have had our differences, but you remain the woman I most admire. And, let’s be honest, the only one I’ve ever loved.” He was gratified to see a tear slide down her cheek. It was not as if it had all been worth it, for one tear, but it was something. He grinned at the Lord Regent. “To her husband, Leo dan Brock, I can only say… how’s your leg?”
He gave one last chuckle, and it became a sigh. “Let’s get on with it,” he said.
There was a clatter as the trap dropped open.”
― Joe Abercrombie, The Wisdom of Crowds