Midoria's Heart

Midoria's Heart 38 - Irial's Plan

Hey guys. I know it's been a while. I've been having writer's block with this story, which really sucks, 'cause I'm almost done it. >.<

Anyway. I'm not entirely happy with all of this chapter, I may end up going back to re-write some of it.

But enjoy?

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Chapter 38 - Irial's Plan

 

Only seconds after Jay left, we heard footsteps sounding down the stairs. Glancing at each other in alarm, we threw ourselves back down onto the ground. I scrambled back into the far corner of my cell and pressed my face against the bars, closing my eyes and pretending to be sleeping.



I kept my eyes shut tightly as I heard the metal door of the dungeons being thrown open, mentally cringing as their footsteps came closer. A loud clang! on the bars of my cell made me jump, and I opened my eyes to glare at the two men standing before me.



“Get up,” the guard called Ashton growled, reaching to unlock my cell. “Lord Irial wishes to speak with you,” he informed me with a cruel grin. I narrowed my eyes at him, but did as he asked, knowing that I’d only get myself in more trouble if I refused.



I dragged my feet as we walked, forcing the two men to move more slowly, so that I could pay more attention to my surroundings. Though many of the halls we passed through looked the same, I was happy when I recognized a painting that we had passed earlier on our way in from the entrance hall.

We turned down an ornately decorated corridor that I was certain I hadn’t been in yet, and a few doors later I was thrust into a large room. I stumbled forwards, and heard the door close and lock behind me before I had a chance to catch my balance.



“Really, what doesn’t that man understand about the words ‘be careful’?” An irritated voice sounded from across the room. Irial was standing in front of a pair of French doors, looking out at what I’m sure would have been a nice view if we were anywhere other than Knoxlan. He turned to face me and smiled, his eyes seeming to appraise every minute detail of my appearance. “You look very much like your mother,” he told me, offering the words as one might offer a compliment.



I shifted awkwardly and looked away, uncomfortable with his eyes on me. Instead, I studied the room we were in. It appeared to be some form of bedroom suite, with an enormous king sized bed in the far corner beside the French doors, a small living room area to my left and to my right, a small dining table. The table was covered in food, the smell of it made my mouth water and my stomach growl in hunger.

“Do sit down, Princess,” he walked over to the table and pulled a chair out for me to sit in. When I didn’t move, he lost his appearance of chivalry and glared at me. “Sit,” he ordered, and I sighed but did as he bid me.



“Please, eat something. You must be famished,” he told me, smiling broadly now that I was obeying him. “I’m fine,” I replied shortly.

“Nonsense! You haven’t had a proper meal in months.”