The Chronicles of the Runaway Queen: Escape to Danger

Chapter Five : The Prisoner

The first scream was blood curdling, a cry of true agony. As the hours passed, the screams died down to mere whimpers as the victim lay exhausted at the mercy of his captors. All night the chambers surrounding the dungeons had been echoing the prisoners deranged screams as the guards tortured the young servant. Vivienne lay asleep and unaware in her high tower, but Paddoc, as she anxiously roamed the castle, heard it all.

There was more to Paddoc's insomnia than her worries regarding the Queen's murder and her friend's looming coronation, she had in fact, snuck from her chambers to see their new prisoner herself. A fire of curiosity and duty to the princess had brought her to the stone passageway leading to the dungeons, although she had stood there for hours, frozen by the sound of the boys screams.

Eventually the cries and moans died off completely and the sound of hoarse chatter could be heard from the chambers below, getting increasingly louder as the carriers of the voices approached the staircase that led up to where Paddoc stood. Paddoc, realising that her presence would not be taken lightly, slipped behind a tapestry to her right and waited for the men to pass. In the partial light, made only by the flickering candelabras on the wall, she was invisible, despite the lump her body made in the thick fabric.

The knights who passed were dressed in the royal colours, sporting the red and gold crest she was so familiar with on their chests. The shining uniforms and gold plating on their shoulders gave them away as throne guards, the knights charged with the protection of the royals, although Paddoc knew every one of those specially chosen guards by name and yet these two were unfamiliar. Through the gap between the fabric and the wall she watched the men saunter off, laughing and jovial, before slipping from her hiding place and descending down the dark staircase before her.

In all Paddoc's years of exploring the castle she had only been to the dungeons twice. Once when she and Vivienne had snuck down at a mere 7 years old, and another time when a village boy she had known had been locked away under false pretences. In both instances she had been found and scolded by guards and maids alike, but this time she was determined not to get caught. She crept slowly through the passageway, feeling for the steps with her feet and letting the feel of the icy, damp walls guide her ahead. Far in the distance she could hear quiet whimpering, although the rest of the dungeon was silent as death.

Ahead of her a sole light flickered, creating a bubble of light in the passage in which a soldier sat, eyes closed and breathing heavily. From his hip hung a ring of keys, so Paddoc, with stealth and precision, silently unhooked the ring from his belt and continued along the passage, stopping only to blow out his candle to dull the risk of him finding her if he should wake.

The cell in which the prisoner lay was lit only by a sliver of moonlight which came in through a crack in the roof, although it was enough to see the damage that had been done to the poor boy. He was bound naked to a table by his arms and feet, lying flat on his back, and across his stomach were deep wounds which had clearly been inflicted by the collection of bloody knives that surrounded him. The servant boy looked to Paddoc as she entered and trembled, recognising her from the council chamber earlier that day. It was not until she met his eyes that Paddoc realised one was gone, replaced by a bloody socket.

"Shh," Paddoc whispered as the boy opened his mouth to cry out. She laid a hand on his, the only part of his body un mutilated. "I'm not here to hurt you."

The boy nodded, although his head movement was restricted by the table and his tight bindings, he was clearly still afraid of the beautiful girl who loomed above him, fear livid in his eyes.

Paddoc, noticing the bluish colour of his hands caused by his tight bonds, moved her agile fingers to begin loosening them. The rope was old and coarse and the knots felt like they had been there for years as the boys blood had dried in places, setting the material like stone. After several minutes of struggling, Paddoc finally loosened the ties enough that the prisoner could once more wiggle his fingers, though she was cautious and refused to make them any looser. She left his feet tied as they were and dragged a stool from the corner of the musty room to sit next to him.