Queen of Shattered Dreams

7 - The Wedding Gift

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The dungeons are a collection of cells recessed into the rock of the cliff the castle is built upon. There are two wings, located on either side of the waterfall that runs beneath the castle. It is cold and damp and if there were no torches burning, would be utterly dark. I rub my arms against the chill, but it's not the coldness that has caused it. The guillotine is kinder to prisoners than a long-term sentence in one of these cells. Even I've heard stories of winter fever among prisoners, their lungs filling with fluid so as to drown them in their beds.

A guard stands at attention a few feet from the cell. I wonder if he's always there or if he came ahead of us at the King's request. His eyes don't move, his mouth taut.

"Here we are, my dear." King Feodor gestures with his hands toward a small cell.

I stare for a moment at the darkness within the enclosure. But then two hands wrap around the iron bars and a face comes into view. The nose is broken and a bruise crawls out from the disfigurement, masking most of his face—but there's no mistaking my attacker from yesterday. My breath catches and I take a step back.

Feodor grabs my hand, compelling me closer to the prisoner. "Is this the man who attacked you yesterday?"

If I confirm his identity, he'll be sent to his death. That may have been what I told the king I wanted yesterday but I was angry. The king hasn't cured me of my aversion to death quite so easily. I swallow, cast my gaze to the ground and shake my head.

"No?" Feodor asked, his voice tight, like a warning.

Water drips from the ceiling and pools into a puddle next to Feodor's black boot. The torch's reflection dances.

"Weidman assures me this is the man who attacked you, and his nose is broken, which matches the story."

"No, sire." Drip. Drip. "It must be unfortunate for him to have broken his nose so close to my attack."

Feodor snatches my bandaged wrist. "Mila, Weidman always gets his man."

He pushes me into the bars of the cell. The thief takes a step back, his eyes on me. I gasp in pain. This isn't as satisfying as I thought it would be. Perhaps if I were still angry, if I were truly blood thirsty and wanted to see him executed then I would have brought myself to these bars, looked him in the eye and made sure he knew how important I am. But this—this leaves me feeling just as weak and vulnerable as when he last saw me.

Feodor grits his teeth. "Is this the man who attacked you on the road out of town yesterday?"

I stop breathing. Out of town. So he knows then, that it wasn't just a trip to the market.

"Yes," Feodor breaths into my ear, "I know all about your saddlebags packed with clothes and supplies. Just how far did you think you would get?" He pauses, though not because he expects an answer. There's a sickening hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, as though he's enjoying my fear. Finally, he opens his mouth to speak again. "So I ask one last time. Is this the man?" Feodor grabs my chin and lifts my face to see the prisoner, but I don't need to look again.

The thief stares at me with wide eyes, realizing despite the contradiction between actions and words, that I am important to the king. Important enough to ensure whatever his fate. It'll be worse than if I'd been a nobody.

"Yes," I say, my voice barely audible.

"Guard, unlock the cell."

My stomach drops. Why would he need to do that? But the guard does as he's told and the prisoner stands before us, the flickering torchlight distorting his features, even more with the bruising.