Ladies, Lords, & Liars

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Prince in the Prison

   A wide open space, cavernous and carved straight out of the rock of the mountain. There were lanterns here, strung up haphazardly every few feet or so to provide a murky sort of clarity. Yawning black sockets of darkness formed the entrances to the cells.

   This was the prison he'd been dreading for so long.

   He was propelled along by strong arms and one of the barred doors was opened noisily. He pushed back against the ground with as much force as he could muster, grunting from the effort.

   But he was no match for the trained guards that held him, and he was thrown forward with the force of their shoving. His knees struck the hay-and-dust covered cobbles first, but the rest of him was quick to follow.

   His momentum forced his head to snap forward, following the rest of his body. His forehead cracked sharply against the stone, and blackness like a snake consumed his vision, snatching his consciousness right out from under him.

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   A dusty beam of orange light, cut into cubes by the window—no, it was a door, heavily adorned with crisscrossing bars of solid iron.

   Pain, pounding like a mallet on an anvil inside his head. His ears were ringing. He sat up, lurching painfully to the side when his vision went dark again. He sucked in a huge breath in an attempt to force the dizziness from his mind.

   The question he'd been asking himself since the guards had taken him began to swirl around afresh in his head: What had happened to make them suspicious of him? What had finally dropped the undeniable last hint? How had fate become so cruel, waiting until the very day he would be free to clue them in?

   He coughed on a mouthful of dusty air and ruffled a hand through his hair to rid it of straw. His knees, which had taken the brunt of his fall, stung through his scuffed trousers. His head, aching even at the slightest movement.

   But otherwise, he was fine. Thankfully, his fall hadn't hurt him too badly.

   He stood slowly, keeping his movements tight and careful, then he shuffled towards the door. He had to get the attention of some passing guard or even another prisoner—anyone who'd be able to tell him what was going on.

   And it looked like he wouldn't have to wait too long. He could hear the steady thumping of footsteps, descending the spiraling staircase. He couldn't differentiate any specific pairs out of the stampede, but if he had to guess, he'd say it was at least four or five people.

    His range of vision was severely limited by the door, which was set a couple inches within the stone alcove that formed his cell, but he stretched out despite that and tried to get a look at the doorway, through which the new arrivals would appear.

   It was no use. The position of his cell made seeing the door impossible. He closed his eyes and listened as the footsteps reached the landing and entered the room, clomping across the floor.... They were getting closer! Maybe they were here for him after realizing their mistake, and he'd be freed and apologized to and he would be on his way before the day was up.

   His hopes rose sky-high even though he tried over and over to tell himself to stop them.

   The stony, hollow clicks on the floor. Closer, closer.

   The group panned into vision, flickering with shadows. Kellen's eyes were frantic, unable to stay still long enough to actually see who was present. He forced himself to calm down...

   King Avery, Queen Elowinn, Princess Kyra, Lord Quintin... and a face that Aeric had never seen before. But this was the face that finally bashed his sky-high hopes into the ground, not because of the face specifically... Actually, the face itself was rather plain—a nose slightly too small for the rest of his face, close-set eyes, too deep in shadow to tell the color, high cheekbones—but the whole thing was topped with red hair.