Following Hearts

The Mercy of an Exhile

"Ambrose," A tap on the shoulder caused Ambrose to whip around to face a small, female guard. "We have a situation."

    Ambush? Invasion? Riot? A million possibilities flew through his head in an instant.

    "What is it?" He asked gruffly.

    "One of our prisoners, Sir, he claims to have been attacked."

    "On castle grounds?" Ambrose cocked his head.

    "Yes Sir. Here in the palace dungeon." The guard nodded her head affirmatively.

    "That's impossible. No outsider could possibly get onto the palace grounds. And even if they could, why would they go after a prisoner rather than the royal family?" Ambrose began walking down the hall towards the dungeon, expecting his counterpart to follow.

    "I'm not sure Sir," the guard responded, falling in step with Ambrose.

    "Have you considered that this prisoner could be lying as part of an escape attempt?" Ambrose raised an eyebrow. The question was sincere.

    "It's possible, Sir, but I doubt it." Ambrose silently awaited elaboration. "He's been pretty bruised up it seems."

    "Interesting. Is he alright?" Ambrose asked.

    "Yes Sir. Just a bit scratched up is all."

    "May I ask who exactly this prisoner is?"

    "Lark, Sir. Felix Lark."

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    The dungeon door swung open, creaking eerily in the otherwise silent air. Ambrose's footsteps echoed as his boots clicked against the cold, metal floor. Not much unnerved Ambrose, but the palace dungeon certainly did. The dark steel walls seemed to close in on the space, sucking all the air out of the room. While the cells and hallways were kept immaculate, the smell of dust and grim filled the area. It was only fitting: the palace dungeon was only used for the most treasonous of criminals. Being kept here meant that trial wasn't an option. It was a temporary holding cell for the worst of the worst. When the dungeon was built, King Ramses said he would rather have the villains of the kingdom where he could see them than out in the world wreaking havoc.

    Ambrose and the other guard turned the corner and came face to face with cell number forty seven. He knocked on the door, awaking the prisoner inside.

    Felix rolled over, his eyes sunken in and a bruise covering his left cheek. He stood and ambled over to the glass wall, looking Ambrose up and down.

    "Who are you?" Felix sneered. "I know you from somewhere don't I?" Ambrose tried to keep his expression cold and distant, although internally, all he wanted to do was throttle the former stableboy. After all, this was the man who hurt Rose.

    "Ambrose Kirk. Palace guard and Her Majesty's military consultant," he delivered cooly. "I heard you were attacked. Is this true?"

    "Why do you care?" Felix snarled, his eyes wild. "Why should you care about what happens to me?"

    "I don't." Ambrose kept his face expressionless. "But if someone did break in here and attack you, it's a security concern."

    "Yeah, not a security concern," Felix muttered.

    "What?" Ambrose questioned, not quite hearing what Felix said.

    "Nothing." Felix rolled his eyes and walked back to his bed. He sat down and slumped his shoulders.