The Thief and Prince

Chapter 1: Liberation

The constant drip of water from the ceiling echoes throughout the prison. It used to drive me insane when I first arrived three...no, four months ago. Now I find it somewhat comforting. It brings reprieve from the coughing, crying, and crazed men that babble to themselves in the cells that surround me. It reminds me that I am still alive, still breathing and that the darkness that swallows me here is just that—darkness. Not some void that I've ended up in.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I believe I'm the only woman here as I've heard no noises that have sounded even remotely feminine. In the beginning, both the guards and prisoners have tried to gain my attention in hopes of finding a distraction of some sort during their time here, but I've ignored them and hardly have muttered more than a few sentences in my 118 days here. I don't blame them, those that are imprisoned have nothing to look forward to, no hope or escape.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Something crawls over my hand and I internally cringe as I wonder what it was. Too light to be a rat, perhaps a centipede or a roach? Either way, I've gotten used to that too.

There is a rickety creak as the main door opens, and I know that they have come to take someone—either for their sentencing or their execution. Would it be the hangman's noose today? Or does King Robert have a thirst for gore and will chose the guillotine?

The men fall as silent as birds do when a predator nears—even the mad one who spouts random words in a sporadic daze. Even he understands that we are not being brought our usual meal of slop and water today as the pairs of footsteps that echo off the stone walls are too many.

Their heavy footsteps nears, drowning out the squeaking of rats and the dripping of water. As they draw closer, I can't help but feel the rise of my heart rate as it beats in my chest. "What if it's me? Am I finally going to be sentenced? Or will death be the only release from this place?" I think by now, either will suffice.

Through the iron bars that make up my prison, the footsteps cease. I listen as I stare at their boots—no longer caring what my fate will be—and hear a set of keys jingle as they find their way into the cell door. My stomach drops as they swing it open and I look up, finding four guards peering down at me. Their torches are bright and I squint, shielding my face. I haven't seen light in a long time, at least not this much of it. It reflects off of their golden armor and I can make out the sigil of a griffin on their breastplates.

These are no ordinary prison guards.

Before I can speak or move, three of them diverge on me, lifting me up by my arms and bringing me to my feet. I want to ask where they are taking me, but I know better. Speaking out of line can get you a lashing and that is a lesson I do not wish to learn again.

One of them shackles me and I immediately notice how cold the metal feels against the delicate skin on my wrists. Without a word, I am led out of my reeking cell and through the soiled, dank prison. It only takes a minute or so, and once we go up the winding stone staircase and step through the small wooden door, I can't help but to inhale deeply. Air has never smelled so fresh before...so clean. I have to squint my eyes as light floods through the mammoth corridor through the tall glass windows and it takes a few moments for me to get used to.

"This way," a guardsman orders, and we follow him through the palace. We pass by a few servants and noblemen, each giving me an array of looks that range from disgust to curiosity to sorrow.

"God this one stinks," I hear a guard mutter from behind me. "Let's get her to Loretta already."

Frowning, I sniff my underarm and cringe. I knew I didn't smell so great, but the musty smells of the prison mixed with my own stale scent made it hard to tell. Out here though—where everyone gets a proper bath every day—I smell like a corpse that has been sitting out in the sun to bake.