Hector snarls at the warlock. “It’s been days,” he says. “You claimed you would cease to guard this room that has been serving as my prison sooner rather than later. Is this fun for you, watching a man scour in fear, and wonder if he will ever get to see his loved ones again? Are you sick in your head to that extent, witch?”

“Please,” Finnian waves him off. “I have been taking good care of you.”

“Yes, exactly!” the knight snaps. “I thought we were good now! What more do you want? Is this how you treat your comrades?” he shouts. “When are you going to let me leave?”

“And what about you, Sir Knight?” Finnian snaps, as he crosses his arms and looks across to where Hector is standing, at the opposite end of the room. “Do you always claim to be friends with people toward whom you hold murderous intents?”

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“What?” The knight stomps his foot. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not—”

Finnian snorts. “You are,” he says. “And I know it! I just know it! But,” the warlock sighs, shrugs, then casually twirls his pointed hat around his finger. “No matter. Perhaps, I am wrong.” Finnian smirk, as he thinks, Even though I never make mistakes like these. “I’ll let you go,” he tells the knight.

Hector smiles. “I… I knew you’d come to your senses eventually! I suppose your kind isn’t as wicked as they claimed.” He holds out his hand, that Finnian willingly shakes. And what a fool! Hector thinks. He believes me! He’s going to let me go! But, oh, I, on the other hand, will never go—next time, I will return; with his head in my hands. And how my people will praise me for having risen above the trickery of a witch! I will be a hero!