The Kidnapped Prince

Mercia

Lady Alys always thought she was lucky to escape long nights of wine drinking without a headache the following day. She'd always tease her brother and sister about feeling awful the next morning and usually well into the afternoon. But after waking up with a splitting headache, the young lady doesn't think she has a right to tease anymore.

Lady Alys groans as light sears her unopened eyes. The young lady rolls onto her back and groans. To her right, a familiar chuckle shakes her out of her thoughts and into reality. Lady Alys pries her eyes open. She takes a moment to let her eyes adjust. The young lady sits up with ease but not before groaning about feeling nauseous.

Lady Alys squeezes her hands over her temples. The shackles chaining her to the dungeon wall rattle, adding to her achy head. "Is my face dented?"

"Not from a frying pan, if that's what you're asking," Lady Rhoslyn states, a light chuckle on her lips.

"A frying pan hit my face?" Lady Alys turns, horrified, to her sister in the corner.

Lady Rhoslyn doesn't look too worse for wear. A good thing in her sister's eyes. She, too, is chained to the wall. The difference between the shackles detaining the ladies is the short bar between Lady Rhoslyn's. The bar is to keep Lady Rhoslyn from performing several spells.

"That's what a guard told me,"

"No wonder I feel like hell," Lady Alys states, wincing. The young lady examines the shackles. A problem the ladies must overcome before they can figure out where they are. "Do you have a hairpin?"

Lady Rhoslyn grins. "I thought you'd never ask." The young lady produces a hairpin and hands it to her younger sister.

Lady Alys immediately goes to work on the shackles. Within a few minutes, the young lady has her restraints unlocked and on the ground. Then she turns to Lady Rhoslyn. Another few minutes go by, and the sorceress's shackles join Lady Alys's on the ground.

Then the dreaded sound began approaching—footsteps. Two sets.

"You can make it so they see us chained, right?" Lady Alys asks her sister.

"I sure can." Lady Rhoslyn smiles briefly. Now that the shackles no longer inhibit her ability to use her magic, she can make the guards see whatever the young lady wants them to see.

An easy feat for the young sorceress.

Lady Alys sits in the opposite corner of her sister and acts like her head is killing her—not an impossible feat of action. She places her hands back on her temples, groans in pain, eyes firmly shut, and, of course, puts her head in between her knees just for the hell of it.

The footsteps stop in front of the ladies' cell. A deep throaty chuckle echoes into the lady's ears—the young ladies look up. Lady Alys glares at the Mercian guard not so subtly.

"Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of life." A short guard laughs. His taller partner rolls his eyes, not an unusual occurrence.

"At least we have a life," Lady Rhoslyn growls, narrowing her eyes.

"I doubt a lady of our calibre would ever fall for a guard like you," Lady Alys states, proving her wit is sharper than her throbbing head.

The smaller guard grabs the keys from the wall across from the cell. He gets as far as to insert the key in the lock, but his companion stops him with a hand on his wrist. The pair share quick words. It's clear to the ladies that the taller guard won the argument. Instead of opening the door to the cell, the guard returns the keys to their hook.

Then he grabs the bucket filled with drinking water. Without removing the water ladle, he hurls the bucket's contents at the ladies.

Lady Alys and Lady Rhoslyn are left soaked as the guards continue on their route.