Don't Mine At Night

VII

"One day I asked a wingless bird what will she do now. She replied, "If I can't fly than I shall run. If I can't run I shall walk. If I can't walk I shall crawl. But I will never be stuck in a cage." 

― Joyce Guo

The King's arrival was not one that was surprising. In fact, it was expected. There was a giant fiasco and an item of great importance was stolen- who wouldn't go see the man behind the action for themselves? Many a guard had walked by whilst making their rounds and peered into the cell that bore Jaleel for the crowd. It was as if he were a white tiger- an oddity on display. He was exposed before the king like a blistering wound and every second he was kept caged was one of elongated agony. He wasn't in pain- but it felt as if he sat any longer without a hearing, he would become glued to the brine of the floor, his legs encrusted in bacteria and plague. 

Only a moment passed until the king spoke up. His voice was soft, and Jaleel wasn't entirely sure he was being addressed until- to his utter surprise- the cell door swung open and the man stepped inside, followed by another man who was only a few inches shorter. Possibly why he wasn't noticed earlier. Candle-light flickered off his suit of armour, illuminating the deep gauges and small dents in the metal from what Jaleel could only guess were tell-tale signs of large-scale battles. 

He thought for a moment to stand- to make a run for it- but his gaze fell on the man in armour's hand; it rested on a large broadsword. One that Jaleel could not contest with bare-handed. He was a large man, but muscle was not a formidable weapon against sharpened steel. 

So instead, he simply sat, elbows resting on his knees as he stared up at the two. Did they expect him to be the first one to speak? They visited him- and if they wanted a conversation, they surely would have to make their aims clear in this one, else he wasn't opening his mouth for anything. 

The king moved to one side as if sensing his intentions, and cleared his throat after glancing around the shoddy cell with a look that could only be described as absolute disgust. The man in armour, a knight, he supposed, moved to the other- both men blocking the exit. One with a sword, and one with the power to move a pinky and have Jaleel decapitated within seconds.

"These circumstances are....unfortunate. To say the least." The king finally said- though the remorse in his voice was heavily concentrated with seeping sarcasm.

Was that supposed to make him feel comfortable enough to talk? Jaleel could only scoff and turn his eyes away. No respects would be paid to this king's feet in this cell. 

The knight made a move to step closer, his hand gripping the handle of the blade- perhaps offended by the disregard to the royalty in the room. It made Jaleel tense, if nothing more. Yet the king motioned for him to stall. What great compassion.

"You could be released, with conditions, of course." 

That piqued his interest, and he gifted the king with his concentrated gaze- question poised over his features. 

"We only need a few answers, and an arrangement for your release could be made."

It was a lie, and Jaleel knew it. But what other choice did he have? That witch drew him in, right towards an open trap. It was all to test security- all her words, all her promises. They were all for nought. 

"I'm listening," Jaleel nodded.

The king motioned to the knight, and he stepped forward- just enough for his features to become illuminated by the light seeping into the cell. He was no more a silhouette against the stone walls. Now, Jaleel could see, sharp cheekbones, brown hair slicked back, a beard. A face to hold a grudge against if things went south.