Peasant

Chapter 2 - Isolation

A few days had passed since I was thrown into the dungeon. The cold dark cell was now my only reality. The isolation was crushing, the fear of my impending execution gnawing at my sanity. I desperately tried to distract myself from the damp, filthy floor I sat on. Distracting myself from the dread that filled my mind.

The cell was a nightmare of grime and stench. I couldn't stand the mess, so I began shuffling the dirt around with my foot, forming neat little piles over the course of my time in my cell. As if order could somehow bring me peace. When the filth on the rock walls became too much to bear, I resorted to rubbing the dirt away with my saliva. But the effort only left me parched, and I soon regretted it. My only source of water was the occasional scant rainwater that dripped through the barred window high above me.

I often found myself wondering about my parents. Were they safe? Had they been punished for my outburst? I pictured my mother's tear-streaked face, my father's silent strength cracking under the weight of worry. Had word reached Alnwick? Were the villagers talking about my fate?

The thought of Perrin filled me with a deep, aching regret. I wished I had been more affectionate, more open about my feelings. Now, I would never experience the warmth of his touch or the comfort of his embrace. The laughter that would turn any situation into a joyful one. The future I had imagined-one filled with love, family, and experiences yet to be had-seemed cruelly snatched away.

The only human contact I had was the daily appearance of a guard who tossed a half loaf of stale bread into my cell. It was a pitiful meal, but hunger made it precious. Most people in Alnwick were left with less than I was fortunate to have.

Another day passed in the cell, each hour melding into the next. I had scrubbed every inch of the tiny space, pushing the dirt around until there was nothing left to distract me. Now, I sat huddled against the cold, rough wall, staring through the tiny window high above. A sliver of moonlight pierced the blackness. My body was fatigued, and the chill seeped into my bones, leaving me shivering uncontrollably.

Just as I began to slip into a fitful, exhausted sleep, the sound of the cell door creaking open jolted me awake. Muffled voices exchanged hurried words, but I was too tired to focus on their meaning. The footsteps grew louder. I sat up, my muscles protesting, and stared at the shadowed figures approaching.

As they came closer, the torchlight revealed the face of the prince-Prince Callum. He was the one who had caught my attention in the throne room. There was something about him that radiated warmth, an opposition to the cold stone iron bars that surrounded me. Yet, mingled with that warmth was a deep, simmering hatred for everything he represented: the throne, the tyranny, the suffering.

"Elara," he said softly, his voice carrying a mix of authority and compassion. He knelt down, bringing himself to my level, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn't define.

"Why are you here? What do you want?" I whispered, my voice trembling with defiance.

He glanced back at the guards, who stepped away to give us a semblance of privacy. "Your words in the throne room... they were brave, but dangerous."

I clenched my fists, the cold biting into my skin. "Dangerous or not, they were the truth. Your father is a tyrant, and our people are suffering because of him. Because of you."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of agreement. "I know," he said quietly. "But speaking out like that-"

"Will get me killed," I finished for him, my voice hardening. "I know. I'm already on death's doorstep."

Silence fell between us, thick and heavy. I watched as Prince Callum's eyes wandered around my cell, taking in the small, futile attempts at cleaning I had managed to do. His gaze lingered on the neatly shuffled dirt and the slightly cleaner patches of stone where I had rubbed away the grime with my own saliva.