The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER XI | ILLUSIVE STARS

       AS MAARIT STARED at the dungeon ceiling, she pictured the night sky. She was utterly delirious with stars. They appeared before her eyes—false, illusive, meretricious. She was hallucinating, and she knew it. She would never see stars again. Yet they coruscated for her, like her own personal spectacle.

She found herself grateful for having stared at the night sky long enough to memorize each star's placement in the sky.

Maarit did not have a single clue how long she had been locked in the cell, engulfed in complete darkness. Her perception of time was completely off and she could not be sure what time of day it was. Regardless of how long it had been, it felt absolutely perennial.

She had spent long minutes—hours, perhaps—vigorously scraping her Sorcerer's Tenebrium bracelet against the stone floor, but had given up when it had not so much as scratched.

With nothing left to do, Maarit found herself speaking again. Her mouth simply spewed phrases that she knew by heart, but she later came to the realization that they were slivers of every prophecy she had ever recited.

"Across the mundane world, a feverish darkness will sweep," she whispered, absently running her fingers over the dungeon cell bars. She no longer saw stars. "Those who go out to sea and return not within a day shall return not at all. The empire will collapse with the fourth war to end all wars. The fallen crown will be taken into bloodied hands, which will only be washed and bloodied many more times."

She was hungry and her stomach felt like a hollow pit. Her tongue was dry, and no matter how many times she licked her cracked lips, they remained rough.

The most harrowing part of being locked there was the unknown—not knowing if anyone would let her out, not knowing if she would ever see anything again, not knowing if she would live at all, or be left to rot. If she was to ultimately die of thirst, would it even be worth it at all to drink her own urine? It would only sustain her for so long, but if she did so, would she only be prolonging her suffering? Was it best if she died quickly?

At some point, she curled up on the hard floor, with fragments of stone—small pebbles that had chipped from the ground—jutting her in the back. Her eyelids fluttered closed, like shutters being pulled down. At last, with the chilly air biting at her bones and fear prickling her skin, the embrace of slumber snatched her away.

The sound of a lock clicking awoke her with a start. With a gasp, she immediately sat up from the floor, disregarding how her back ached. She had very clearly been crying, for her eyes were nearly glued shut with dried tears. She squinted in the direction she assumed the door was, and after a few seconds, it was opened.

A sliver of light trickled in through the open door. Someone stepped in and suddenly, the room was flooded with light. Maarit immediately shut her eyes—they were too sensitive to the light. Heart pounding erratically, she carefully eased her eyes open and saw Picard, and, behind him, King Theodoracius standing in the doorway.

"Picard, lift my robes," he ordered. "I do not wish for them to drag on the filthy dungeon floor."

Picard immediately bowed his head and raised his arms, levitating the end of King Theodoracius's red robes to just above his ankles. Seemingly satisfied, he stepped into the dungeons with a grimace. His robe still trailed out behind him, but did not touch the floor—it was as if, just above ground level, there was an invisible ground for it to drag on instead.

He strode over to the last dungeon cell, which Maarit occupied. She was quivering on the ground, but she forced herself to her feet so that he would not be able to look down at her.

"Hello, darling," said King Theodoracius, sickly sweet. "Are you hungry?"

Maarit sucked in a sharp breath at the thought of being able to eat.

The king seemed to notice the starvation in her eyes and how alert she had suddenly become, for he chuckled lightly. Without waiting for a real response from her, he said, "Picard. Food."

Picard trotted over to Maarit's cell. He closed his eyes and a full plate appeared in his arms out of thin air. It was steaming and had an assortment of different gourmet foods. Maarit was not even entirely sure what any of it was, but the redolence reached her nostrils and caused her mouth to water.

Picard lowered the plate to the floor and slid it under the bars of Maarit's cell. Maarit took a step towards it, but then shook her head. What was she doing? Why would the king even be giving her food at all?

"What's the matter, darling?" King Theodoracius asked with a kind, handsome smile. "Did you honestly think that I would let you starve? How cruel do you presume I am?"

Suspicion suddenly clouded over her and she furrowed her eyebrows. She lowered herself to the ground—how she longed to simply gorge herself with food—but she was too prideful and had too much dignity to simply accept it gladly. Regretfully, she took hold of the plate and slid it back under the bars towards the warlock and the king.

"Oh! How could I have forgotten a drink?" said the king, as though her problem was not having something to wash the food down. "Picard, give her a simple goblet of water."

With a snap of his fingers, the warlock conjured up a golden goblet, which appeared on the floor at Maarit's feet. Then Picard slid the food towards her once again. She pushed it back towards him and said nothing.

"Does this food not suit your fancies?" King Theodoracius questioned, raising his eyebrows. "Picard can make you anything you like. He makes absolutely marvellous cheese tarts and his boiled lobster is simply divine."

She remained quiet, glaring at him coldly.

"You must eat, Little Oracle," he said.

"I would rather not, Your Highness," she spat.

"Majesty," he hissed, correcting her.

"As long as you continue calling me 'Little Oracle', I will refer to you as 'Your Highness'." She gritted her teeth.

King Theodoracius had the nerve to laugh, and it echoed across the walls, only making Maarit's hatred of him magnify.

"My dear, you are only hurting yourself. Eat the food. It is very good—I can vouch for that myself. In any case, I do not think that you can be picky about food after having gone a day and a half without it."

A day and a half. That was how long she had been locked in her lonely dungeon cell. Perhaps she had slept most of the time away.

The king kicked the plate back towards the young woman.

"No," she said adamantly, crossing her arms and rising to her feet. "If I am to die, I would rather it happen now. Have me executed, if that is your intention in the end."

"It is not my intention," he insisted. "I do not wish to have you killed."

"Then why are you keeping me here?" she yelled at him. "Why? Do you want to keep me as a mistress? As a slave? As a pet?"

King Theodoracius pursed his perfect pink lips.

"Eat, darling," was all he said in response.