Northern_Lights_2017

63 “What is the meaning of this?” the King demanded and all the beings stopped walking as one as someone handed the man beside the door a note. “Presenting Princess Casteana of Karrunt and her entourage,” he read in Ignavatanese and looked up with shocked eyes towards the royal family. Apparently they weren’t expected—interesting. My anger was gone in the next second. Showing up unannounced was never a good idea, especially for royalty; it usually led to hostilities. “Take the prisoner to the dungeons!” the King bellowed, and I was dragged away through a small door on the far wall of the Throne Room. They led me down a hallway towards a flight of stairs and then down in the depths of the palace, going at least three floors below the main level. We finally came to a rest at the bottom of the stairs in a small room with a desk as the only furnishing which sat in front of the only door. A man sat between the desk and the door writing something. He glanced up as we paused. “We bring the one who tried to kill our Crowned Prince,” the guard on my right stated, and the jailor’s eyes widened the slightest bit. He stood and turned, unlocking the door behind him before motioning for the guards to bring me along. We entered a long narrow hallway with barred woodened doors running along both walls. The dungeons. We walked for a long stretch before the jailor finally paused before a door. He unlocked it and the guards shoved me inside. I fell onto the ground, my bound hands barely able to break my fall. I barely held back the words that bubbled in my throat and managed to push myself up. I turned to glare at them and one of them stepped forward. “Hands,” he ordered in Ignavatanese, and I tilted my head, pretending not to understand him. He sighed and pointed to my hands. I did as he ordered and he cut the bindings from my wrists, then turned to the other guards. “Do either of you speak Wyrlikean?” I frowned again as both the other men shook their heads. “There should be a rule about this or something. How the hell are we supposed to communicate with anyone if there’s a language barrier?” “We don’t,” the other guard who escorted me snapped. “She’s going to die anyway.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving the others to follow. They followed, making sure the door to my prison was locked, and then I was left to myself. I sighed and moved to the small cot that took up the back wall. It was nailed to the ground so it didn’t move as I dropped my weight onto it, placing my face in my hands, using my knees as leverage for my elbows. How the hell did this happen? Why did the Prince have to talk to me? I should’ve just left Astrid; she would’ve been fine. Eventually they would’ve sold her when I didn’t come back to claim her, but I couldn’t allow that. She was all I had left. “Please don’t cry.” A voice speaking Wyrlikean brought me out of my own musings and I glanced up to see the Prince leaning against the door. I didn’t even hear it open. I was getting sloppy. “I’m not,” I stated, my voice perfectly calm, and he frowned, seeming surprised. “Good,” he said after a beat. “I never know what to do with crying women.” “Something you have to deal with a lot?” I questioned, genuinely curious. I was after all supposed to marry him . . . or would have. He shrugged. “I’m a Prince. Women tend to think they can somehow manage to seduce me and gain the power and riches many desire.” “Yet you were the one hitting on a random girl in the marketplace,” I retorted, and he laughed. It was a nice sound and I wanted to press myself against him to feel it rumbling through his chest. I frowned at the stray thought, shaking my head. There was no way I was going to entertain any ideas about the man before me. I couldn’t. “That’s true,” he admitted, “but that’s beside the point.” He brushed it off like it was nothing and I frowned. How was I supposed to marry this man when he thought of women like this? “And what is the point?” I retorted. “That you tried to kill me,” he reminded me, and my eyes flitted to the cut on his neck just as his hand seemed to unconsciously go there as well. “Yeah, well—if it helps—I had no idea who you were at the time,” I acknowledged. “You didn’t?” He looked shocked at this statement. “I told you that when you asked the first time,” I reminded him, and then something else hit me: “Not that you wanted anyone to. You weren’t wearing black as custom of a royal, but blue, which is a color with absolutely no meaning, and you didn’t have an entourage, so you didn’t want to be recognized.” He gave me a thoughtful look, as if he was impressed with me. “Beautiful and smart—that’s a deadly combination,” he mused. “And here I thought you were just messing with me,” he confessed. “Why on earth would I do that?” I argued, and he shrugged, looking forlorn. “I just assumed that it was some sort of game or something. I don’t usually find people who don’t know who I am, even without wearing black or having an entourage. Rilec, by the way,” he said, introducing himself in what seemed like an afterthought, and looked at me expectantly. Oh, he wanted my name. “Airena,” I blurted before I could think twice. For some reason I was hesitant to tell him who I really was. I knew I had to. I couldn’t exactly allow them to execute me. It would indirectly start a war that my Kingdom couldn’t afford . . . not since the ShadowWar with the Kingdom of Karrunt. I shuddered just thinking about it. It was hundreds of years ago and its effects were still felt to this day. “You all right?” he questioned, noticing my shudder. “I can get you a blanket if you’re cold.” “I’m fine,” I replied, suddenly very irritated. “Is there a purpose to all this?”