The Red Throne | TUQ Book Two

25 | vengeance

The dark, damp dungeons were exactly the same as I  remembered them to be. The grimy floor is wet underneath my exquisite Amarisian embroidered shoe, presumably water dripping down from the sewage pipes.

          "Where is she, Lillianna ?" I asked, and she led me down a flight of stairs, bringing us to the very same dungeon cell that once held me and my mother-in-law captive.

It was Edmund who initially ordered for Jane Ainsworth to be locked up, and now I know that he is a rather petty man indeed.

The cell door was ajar, and I could see a young physician kneeling on the floor, his head bent down as the deposed queen scolded him for not bringing a whole retinue of royal physicians and healers along with him.

Truly, some people never change. Even at her final moments, Jane Ainsworth never failed to flaunt her status and bite off more than she could chew.
 
          "I hope this cell is comfortable enough for you," I say as I walk through the open door, my neck and chest bedecked with precious jewels, the Crown of the Phoenix resting on the top of my head.

The deposed queen was lying flat on the ground, her arms and legs oddly stiff, as if they were paralysed.
The dress that she wore looked as if it were made from stitched up rags, and her hair that once resembled woven gold was now dirty and knotted, its colour a mixture of dull yellow and an ugly grey.

           "Are you mad ?" she croaks pathetically.
          "You treat me as if I am an animal! Just you wait, Anne Winterbourne! My brother Thomas and my husband, the King will return to reclaim the throne! And when that day comes, I will ensure that you suffer a fate worse that death!"

I let out a loud, ear-piercing chuckle.

           "Thomas Ainsworth ?" I drawled lazily. "I haven't heard of that name in quite a while. Which might be because of the fact that he is dead."

The cynical grin on Jane Ainsworth's face faded, and all that remained was dread. "Dead ?" she repeated, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

          "Dead," I confirmed with a sardonic smile.
          "The exact same day my husband claimed his rightful place on the throne, your brother, Thomas Ainsworth, met his end on the chopping block."

Jane Ainsworth was silent, her eyes blankly staring at the ceiling, her lips pale and wordless. I had expected her to cry, to wail like a madwoman, but instead she began to laugh.

Her peals of laughter were like daggers that stabbed my ears, but eventhough she was laughing, I could sense no joy whatsoever, only immeasurable grief and helplessness.

              "So you've won!" she spat, her blue eyes sharply boring into mine, and I subsequently froze. Those eyes, so dead and lonely, reminiscent of the dead Grace Ainsworth.

              "But never you forget, Anne Winterbourne, that you once served me!" she continued.
             "Those bejeweled hands of yours once touched my feet and scrubbed them clean! You are my servant, and that is all that you'll ever be!"

I recovered from my initial shock, and all that was left in me was malice.
           
            "And you must never forget that you wouldn't have become queen if it were not for me."

         Jane Ainsworth frowned in confusion. "W-what do you mean by that ?" she sputtered.

With a malevolent grin on my lips, I step into the cell, my hands daintily lifting up my damask skirt so that it would not be stained by the sewage water. Gently, I knelt by her side.

               "Do you want to know how your sister, Grace, died ?" I ask her.

Her pale, cloudy blue eyes widened with fear as they wordlessly stared at me. Her breaths had quickened, and beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.