A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 4 - "It was a mistake to come here."

Alwyn

Alwyn heard the click of the second tumbler a second before she heard approaching footsteps. Swearing under her breath, she removed her thin metal picks from the prison's lock and crossed to the bench against the wall.

The smooth wood felt comfortable, worn down by wear and weather. The tan stone she rested against still held warmth from the day's heat counteracting the night's chill. Above her, a small barred window let in the moonlight and the scent of fruit trees which dispersed any rank smell the prison might have. As far as jail cells went, this was one of the more pleasant ones Alwyn had visited.

When a frowning guard and Cyrus appeared at Alwyn's cell, she stayed in her lounging position as if she could fall asleep like without a thought. The edge of Cyrus's mouth quirked upward, not at all fooled. Tugging off her boot, Alwyn tipped it upside down.

"Cyrus," she said, letting a waterfall of sand cascade out of her shoe. "I think it's time to leave the West Isles. The sand is getting to me."

Cyrus took his time eyeing the metal bars trapping Alwyn in the cell before meeting her gaze.

"Yes, I can see that the sand is what's irritating you."

As Alwyn pulled her boot back on, the guard opened the cell door and Alwyn strode out, nodding her head to the portly man.

"You're too kind," she said.

The guard frowned harder, lines cutting into his tan face. Cyrus grasped Alwyn's arm and steered her away.

"Let's not taunt the man," he whispered. "He was harder to bribe than most."

Alwyn lowered her voice aware of how the stone hallway carried sound.

"How much did it take?"

Cyrus pressed his lips together and Alwyn felt a tinge of regret. But only a tinge, the situation couldn't have been helped.

"It's time to leave anyway," she said.

They passed through the gate to the jail and out into a paradise. Buildings made of beige, tan and white stone acted as a backdrop to the pearl white trees topped with vibrant leaves in shades of royal blue, maroon, and lime. On a ridge overlooking the city sat the palace with its gold domes and archways.

"It was a mistake to come here," Alwyn said, staring out on the city, but never looking to the palace.

Cyrus glanced from her to the palace and back, saying nothing and yet able to say more than anyone with his silence.

"I appreciate you not saying it," Alwyn said.

"It's enough for me that you know that I can say it. Since you planning on leaving, how do you propose we do that with no crew?"

A brusk breeze whipped around the buildings and brushed against Alwyn, sending a chill down her arms. She halted in her tracks. "All of them left?"

Cyrus's superior manner fell away, leaving behind a hard countenance. "What did you expect to happen when you challenged Tor to a fight inside a tavern crammed with the rest of the crew?"

"I wasn't going to stand for him mocking my authority one more time."

"Don't," her twin said, taking a step towards her, eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend like you haven't been looking to pick a fight with Tor for a long time."

Cyrus was wrong. It wasn't Tor Alwyn wanted to fight with, she would have been happy fighting anyone. Needed to fight with someone because this place was getting to her, worming its way under her skin until she feared she'd go mad. A mistake. That's what coming here had been. She'd known that all along, but still she'd persuaded Cyrus to sail to the West Isles. She wished he had never agreed. But she could not admit this to him. So she let him think Tor's comments were the reason.