The guard who had done the killing wiped his blade on the sleeve of his shirt, with no more emotion than a butcher dispatching a hog. The smell of human blood cut through the mildew of damp stones and turned my stomach.
“Mark my words. That’s what loyalty to King Rowan will get you, girl.”
If loyalty to the man that might be my father could get a guard killed, then what fate awaited me? With sudden realization, I knew I had to get out of here; my present and my future depended on it.
“Help me! I am the lost princess!” I screamed as loud as I could, my words echoing back from the cold, damp stone as I hoped against hope that some sympathetic ear would hear me.
The guard clapped his chainmail-covered hand over my mouth, silencing me. The metal grated against my teeth and pinched my lips so hard that tears sprung to my eyes.
“Stop your damn screaming, you little bitch,” he said, and then maneuvered my face down to the dead guard at our feet. “Unless you fancy your blood pooling with his.”
I shook as terror silenced me. There was a time, not so long ago, when my life was of far less value to me than it was now. Bors had changed that.
He had shown me another possible future, a future about which I had begun to dream. And now I was watching that future turn cold and dead, just like that first guard.
As I tried to keep control of my senses, another man joined us from around the corner, holding me captive while his companion finally unlatched the ancient wooden door.
Then, with a kick and a shove, I landed on the wet stone floor. The impact winded me and I gasped for air. As I struggled to get my breath, the door slammed shut and I heard skittering s rats scampered away and the foul scent of human waste turned my stomach.
Bors. Please, Bors…
His face spun in my mind as the clench of flesh, and the dried mixture of our lovemaking between my legs reminded me that only hours ago, I was in bliss. A man I loved, a man I believed would keep me safe, took me on the forest floor and I believed we would find our own happy ending.
“We need to find the queen,” said a voice outside my cell. “Before the king gets word.”
Once I calmed myself and slowed my breathing, I listened for any sign of life outside the hole in the bricks. I heard no human voices, but far in the distance I heard the sound of crashing waves and seagulls.
Though I knew little of life in the capital—and still less of the layout of the castle itself—I had once seen a drawing of it at a traveling magic lantern show that came to Weschail when I was very small.
I remembered the castle was built up against the sheer, steep cliffs that ran down into the sea.
“No man can scale those walls,” the magic lantern man had said. “Not if he wishes to come out alive.”
The old oak door was the only way in or out of my prison. I yanked on the handle until my palm was raw, but it didn’t budge; the door didn’t even rattle. The only light came from a tiny window near the ceiling, where two bricks were replaced with a thick iron grating that allowed a small amount of fresh air inside.
I slumped down on the wet stones and rested my forehead on my knees. Part of me felt like screaming until I was hoarse, but the guards had made my fate clear if I chose to scream for help. They’d return to kill me, I was positive. It was up to me to find another way to freedom and back into Bors’ arms where I belonged.
I shook my head to clear away the thought of what his fate must have awaited Bors after I was taken away. I wouldn’t think of that. I couldn’t. I had to believe he was all right, even if he believed me lost.
Crawling on my hands and knees, I searched for any loose rocks, either as a way to escape or as a weapon to defend myself should they return. But I had hardly begun my search before the noisy hinges of the old door creaked and it swung open again.
Now there were three guards, the two I recognized and another. I noticed now that they wore matching leather belts, emblazoned with three flowers, and I knew that symbol at once—I remembered it vividly from the traveling lantern show. It was the Rose of Beatrice.
The men who had taken me were Queen’s Guards.
Things were becoming clearer to me. Loyalty to the King, my father, had gotten the old guard killed. The Queen was behind this, I was sure of it. Lore had stories of the evil of this queen although in my simple life, in a far distant, small town that nobody here had probably even heard of, it touched me not. But now, here in her dungeon, the stories and tales of her cold heart spun around me in waves of dread.