INCIPIENT ➵ EDMUND PEVENSIE

28 | Don't Be Fooled by Pretty Things

28 | DON'T BE FOOLED BY
PRETTY THINGS

"What terms do you suggest we present to your dearest kin? Surrender in exchange for your life?"

    Edmund perks up between flashes of black.

    He's been so painstakingly keeping himself awake to give himself the best shot at any fortuitous chance of escape, but it is a fatigable task, and his dehydrated, starved system could only go about bringing him to an even more horrid state.

    The Telmarine's dense taunts and humour didn't better his stay in the dungeon either.

    To put it bluntly, they were plainly mentally degrading.

    "My brother and sisters are monarchs of scrupulosity. What makes you believe that they'll make any form of trade to get their obnoxious brother back, only at the sacrifice the last of their people in the process?" reasons Edmund, voice weak and soft. Nonetheless, a kind of vigor slips between his words, "Oh, hold up, I let it slip my mind. Your king is one to do exactly that. I do wonder what he preaches to his subjects."

    "What, so you're demeaning the whole of Telmar into immorals that'll not hesitate to sell out their own kind for personal interest?"

    Edmund snickers, "General Glozelle, why the defensiveness? You don't feel guilty of it yourself, do you?"

    "No," denies the general, "I do not."

    The young king shoots him a look of skepticism, despite his blurring vision.

    Glozelle clears his throat, "I'll make it clear for the sake of my name, boy. I was a victim - not an instigator - stabbed in the back."

    "Well, entertain me."

    The Telmarine's knuckles whiten around the rim of the the metal bowl he grips, half topped with water, "You'd better know your place as our prisoner, lad. Else, you know the consequences."

    The crack of a whip cuts through the humid air, followed by Lord Sopespian pacing into their presence with little delay. "Don't play with the empty threats, General," he says, "We all know you wouldn't actually do something."

    He throws the whip at the ground near Edmund's feet, who flinches not at its vicious tip.

    "Our dear general Glozelle, a poor soul. Enlisted into the castle walls with the interest of his personal desire at heart - to have the hand of the then lady Prunaprismia, his childhood sweetheart, now turned queen. Fancy serving the significant other of the woman who was - 'you believed was' would be a more apt way to put it, if I may add - yours!"

    Glozelle grows gravely quiet.

    "On a different note, I would agree with the general for you to deal with your fate as prisoner, King Edmund. Plus, submitting to your title as the traitor is of similar significance," says Sopespian, "What right do you believe you own to question the issue of loyalty and betrayal in Telmar?"