Enchantment of the Bow

Chapter Fifty

Prince Samson's POV

I haven't allowed myself to rest since our return. How can I close my eyes and shut out the world when there is so  much I have left to take care of? This is not my home and I do not even have a reason to please the courts here, but I cannot help but feel the need to take these things into my own hands. If Lyra's own parents seem to be against her, how could I leave her here to fend for herself? She is strong, but she needs someone on her side, whether she sees it or not.

The dungeons smell as rank and musty as ever, but this time I wander down into the dark, slimy depths by myself. Thomas and the others were in no condition to accompany me, so I neglected to tell them that I was leaving. There is really no reason for them to worry.

I see little by the light cast from the torch in my hand, and I am careful with my steps on the grimy staircase. They really should have someone come down and clean this filth every once in a while- prisoners are not the only ones who have to suffer through the smell of human excrement and vomit. The heel of my boot slips on the slime under foot, and I have to grab the wall beside me to avoid falling the rest of the way down.

The heavy bag in my grasp slams against the stone as I right myself, making me wince slightly. I detest the sound of metal objects clanking against each other, because I know what lies in wait behind the canvas sack. These tools are heavier than a weight in my hands, as if the burden had long since sunk into my heart. I feel suffocated whenever I have to pick the bag up. If I were tossed into a lake, I would surely drown. A familiar feeling in my gut reminds me why I hate this job. 

The red eyes of rats are caught in the shifting shadows as they scurry about, uncaring of the man who steps close to their scurrying, padded feet. These rodents are no longer wary of humans and have known the depths of these holding cells their whole lives. They know their way in the dark and have been friends with it since they were born into this gruesome world of stink and slime.

I hold the sleeve of a clean tunic in front of my nose to help with the stench, though it does little to block the strangling odors from reaching my nostrils. It is no wonder that the King refuses to come here himself, even when this man attempted to murder his only child. Instead, he is allowing the Captain of his Guard to deal with the Duke's interrogation. When I heard this from the servants sent to tend to me, I decided to come here myself to see the would-be-assassin's face with my own eyes.

"Is that Samson? What could you want down in this hell hole? Shouldn't you be resting?" The booming of a familiar baritone is deafening in the entrapped air of the odoriferous dungeon. 

The light of my torch is soon cast upon two men standing on either side of a small cell, and I recognize both men who stand guard outside of it. The red hair of the grandiose man closest to the stair well catches my eye, and I immediately match him with the previous voice.

Claudius is in league with my motives, so we know each other relatively well. He and I at least are aware of each others motivations, which are all but one in the same. That is more than I can say about most of the people who work or reside here.

The second man is quietly standing at his post, watching me with calculating eyes that glint in the firelight of the torch mounted on the wall across from him. He is one of Lyra's Guardsmen, and by the looks of him, he is smart. I'll have to watch how much I say in front of him, since I am unaware of where his elegance lies.

"I should be, but I cannot with things being so loosely run," I say in answer to Claudius' previous question, hearing how tired my voice sounds. I gesture at the shadowed figure in the back of the cell, most likely tied to the chair they sit in. "Has he said anything?"