After enduring a loveless marriage for many years, the Rogue Prince was believed to be incapable of fathering a child with his Bronze Bitch. However, a miraculous event shatters this notion with the birth of Vhaela Targaryen. Raised in the confines...
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Chapter Fifty-Nine - The Man Behind the Mask
Dawsin
The darkness surrounds me and entices me to succumb to the depths of oblivion it entails. Whether that darkness was my death or admission, who could know. My chest heaves up to take a heavy breath and instead of inhaling air, I let out a breathless wheeze.
From the pain, I let out a hitch as I unknowingly shifted from my seated position. It causes a quick groan to escape from my lips. The shackles that secure my hands from behind me let out a soft clang against the floor.
Suddenly a cough bursts out from me jerking my body. Each suck of breath sends an intense sharp pain against my stomach. There was no doubt in my mind that the bastard had broken several of my ribs from our lovely time together.
My jaw grinds together trying to reduce the pain as I think of all the ways I could kill the man that has done this to me. If only my shackles weren't made of reinforced iron perhaps, I could have been able to break them.
From behind me, I jerk them away from each other testing their durability. It only sends an echo of the chains rattling through my cell. I let out a heavy sigh and slam my head back on the wall behind me. There was no escaping this.
No doubt I was under more watch than the King himself.
And it would be a feat in itself trying to make my way out of the dungeon.
My head picks up as I hear the faint sound of feet slowly approaching. From the torch they hold sends waves of light through the bars of my cell. I blink rapidly at the brightness not being accustomed to it from my time down here.
The infrequent sound of a clang piques my interest as I hear it louder each time. That was certainly new. The flame from the torch now enters my eyeline and the brightness blocks out my view from my new visitors.
I hear the sound of keys jingling against the door before it creaks open. It reveals three men. My jaw clenches as I come face to face with the individual responsible for my damaged ribs. His accomplice holds the burning torch. But I focus on the other who holds a cane that was the cause of the clanging.
My eyes narrow as I try to figure out who he was. From the extravagant clothes he wears it was obvious he was a lord. He hobbles over with his cane to stand directly in front of me forcing my eyeline up to look at him.
His hands cross over each other at the top of his cane as his beady eyes peer down at me. My eyes dart across his features to his long brown hair and lanky body. I let out a soft laugh as I recognize the man in front of me.
It was none other than Lord Larys Strong, the Lord Confessor.
He hobbles over in my direction with his cane in hand. The lord stops and hunches his back to lean his chin against the top of his cane. A wicked smirk makes its way to his lips which only makes me annoyed. Was he going to just stare at me or try and get a confession out?
