The Cursed Prince - Fire and Ice (Book One)

Shackles and Chains

Lýes blinked twice in the darkness.

The utter darkness swallowed the prisoners. The only chance of light came from the moon through the highest cells, and at the changing of the guards when the doors clanked open and shut allowing the barest slivers of light to creep in

From the open grate in the roof of her cell, she could see the full moon. Its rays cast a silver light upon her face. Three moons. Three moons had passed, by her guess. Three moons she had languished here.

She struggled to sit up for a more comfortable position, yet sharp pain lanced through her right ankle. The frozen cuff of iron locked around her ankle and wrist. The chains disappeared into the stone walls, lifting her arm high into an unbearable position while keeping her ankle tight to the wall.

She reached for the water mug with her free hand. She knew that the prisoners of Eden were fed on water and bread. Their only source of meat? None. Her fingers knocked against the cup, splattering its contents onto the cold stones.

She cursed softly. Her only ration of water, was gone. Still, she stretched out her unbound leg, hooked the clay platter with her toe, and dragged it to her. The tin cup rolled off and clanged against the iron bars. Her fingers curled around a hard lump.

Do you mean to say you would prefer a crust of bread and a cup of water to the executioner?

 Duke Varren's voice had rang in her ears.

Lýes had struggled at his feet before she chose her fate.

The black bread was coarse and dry. Only an animal or a dog could eat such food. She gnawed off a chunk and chewed, the bread was so tough that it made her teeth ache. Chew, she told herself. Just chew. And you will survive. It formed a lump at the back of her throat, and she forced it down. The sour strange taste of the black bread lingered in her dry mouth and she wished she had some water to wash out the foul linger. It would take time to know the taste of the black bread.

The night she had been dragged here, kicking and screaming, a platter had been shoved in by a guard. The first time she had tasted the bread, she had coughed up the hard lumps and grabbed the water mug to wash away the taste. The water was ice cold.

The water had made her violently sick. She had vomited upon the stone until she lay trembling in the bile, nearly unconscious. Guards had come down and were forced to clean up the cell. One had held a mouthful of herbs to her blue lips

"Eat it," he had commanded.

"What is it? Poison?" she had croaked from a raw throat.

"Eat it. Trust me."

She had taken the bunch of herbs and shoved it into her mouth. The vile bitterness of the herbs was so strong she nearly vomited again.

"Chew," he had whispered. "Just chew. And you will survive."

The herbs had cleansed her from the fever. The guard told her to sip the water by degrees throughout the day. "Never gulp it down," he had warned her.

Since then she saved her water, drinking only tiny amounts at a time. The best way to consume the water was to eat it with the bread.

She saw the chestnut-haired guard again. When she saw him clearly, she realized with shock that he was not a guard; He was the Keeper of the Keys.

***********

Jezreel strode restlessly before the fire.

The heat seared his body, but he did not care. The lush carpet of fur softened his booted feet; he did not feel. The cold wall of ice was broken. Fractured. His fingers wrung against his wrists.