The King's Captive

Defying the Royal Crown

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the dimly lit corridor, King Henry approached with a small offering in hand: a scant portion of bread and a glass of milk. He wore a smirk as he noted the state of Princess Avalyn's cell; the remnants of her earlier meal scattered like forgotten dreams—bare plates and a dusting of crumbs littered the floor. The glass, once filled with creamy milk, now stood empty, its surface streaked with the residue of neglect.

With deliberate care, he reached through the iron bars, pushing the bread and the glass into her cell, taking special care not to let them tip over. The soft thud of the food hitting the cold, stone floor echoed in the silence. Princess Avalyn, sensing his presence, chose to disregard him. She lay on her narrow bed, her gaze fixed steadily on the blank, unforgiving wall before her, a canvas that mirrored her own desolation. The air between them was thick with unspoken emotions, a poignant contrast to the fragile offerings he had left behind.

"Princess Avalyn, I must speak with you about a matter of great importance," King Henry declared, his tone sharp and unwavering. 

"What more could you possibly want from me, King Henry? I have nothing left to give," she replied, her gaze fixed firmly on the dark wall ahead.

King Henry surveyed the imposing lineup of his royal guard, their armour glinting in the dim light of the dungeon. With a deliberate nod of his head, he signalled his intent to enter the dank cell, his expression a mix of resolve and curiosity. 

The guard, ever vigilant, returned a quick nod before deftly turning the key in the heavy lock, the sound echoing ominously in the still air. As the heavy door creaked open, a low groan echoed through the damp, dimly lit corridor. King Henry stepped inside the narrow confines of the cell, his presence commanding even in such a dismal place. 

The flickering torchlight cast shadows that danced across the stone walls, illuminating the dampness that clung to every surface. With each deliberate stride, he moved with a regal grace that seemed to defy the oppressive atmosphere, his richly embroidered cloak trailing behind him like a regal banner. 

The faint scent of mildew mingled with the faint iron tang in the air, a stark contrast to the opulence of the court he had just left. As he surveyed the cell, the weight of his title felt heavier than ever amidst the grim reality of imprisonment that surrounded him.

"Princess Avalyn," he called, his voice strong and commanding. "Please face me when I speak to you." 

Taking a moment to gather herself, Princess Avalyn gracefully rose from the bed and met his gaze. "Yes, Your Majesty," she replied respectfully.

"Princess Avalyn," he boomed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "I have decided that you will be my queen, whether you consent or not."

Princess Avalyn's heart hammered in her chest as she gazed upon the king. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice trembling. "I am honoured by your offer, but I cannot accept it. I am not a mere pawn in your game of thrones. I am a woman, with dreams and desires of my own."

The king's face darkened, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "You dare to defy me?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You will marry me, Princess, and bear me an heir to the throne. That is your duty as a member of the royal family."

Princess Avalyn stood her ground, her chin held high despite the fear that coursed through her veins. "I will not be forced into a marriage I do not want," she declared, her voice steady and unwavering. "I will not be a breeding machine for your kingdom, Your Majesty. I am a person, with thoughts and feelings that deserve to be respected."

The tension in the hall was palpable, the air thick with the clash of wills between the king and the princess. The courtiers shifted uneasily, sensing the impending storm that threatened to shatter the fragile peace of the kingdom.

But King Henry was not a man to be swayed by reason or compassion. With a cruel smile, he gestured to his guards. "Take her to the throne hall" he commanded, his voice cold and devoid of mercy. "There shall be a marriage taking place soon!" he roared as he walked out of the cell.

He was not going to give her a chance to speak. He was going to make her obey him and he was going to make her bear his children, "You are nothing more than a pretty face, a beautiful body, and a womb for my children. You have no worth beyond that. I do not need a woman with thoughts and opinions of her own. I only need a woman who will obey me and bear my children."