The walls sweat in here.
Cold drips run between the stones, trickling over my fingertips as I lean back against them. My hands are numb. My legs ache. I stopped counting the hours after my second attempt at sleep.
There’s no night or day in the dungeons—only endless gray. The air stinks of mold, sweat, and hopelessness. Someone far down the corridor keeps crying; another one mutters a prayer on repeat, each word trembling, bleeding into the next.
I close my eyes, but I still see his face.
Prince Aldric. The look in his eyes when they dragged me from the council chamber—cold, distant, untouched. Like I was nothing but another peasant, another disappointment. No trace of the man who kissed me beneath the matchlight, who said I worked too hard, who took my daughter to see the world beyond sickness.
“He didn’t believe me,” I whisper into the dark. My voice sounds like someone else’s—cracked, dry, hollow.
I press my knees to my chest and think of Mira.
Her laughter after the festival. The way her little hand felt in mine. Did Ysabet come for her? Did she know what happened to me?
If I never get out of here, who will brush Mira’s hair, or warm her hands when she shivers?
The thought alone burns worse than hunger.
I breathe slow, steadying myself. I can’t cry—not here. The walls listen. They mock.
Somewhere above, a door clangs open. Bootsteps echo, metallic and steady, moving down the corridor toward me. I sit up straight, heart pounding.
The cell door creaks open. Torchlight floods in, blinding me for a moment.
A man steps through—tall, broad, his armor shining even in the dimness. His hair catches the flame: a wild halo of gold.
He shuts the door behind him and exhales like he’s been holding the whole world on his shoulders. Then he sits beside me on the wooden bench, uninvited, unbothered.
“So,” he says at last, voice rough but not unkind, “you’re Lara Venn, eh?”
I glance at him, too tired to care for titles. I don’t answer.
He studies me in silence for a while. There’s something old in his eyes—battle-worn, heavy. When he finally speaks again, his tone softens.
“What, cat got your tongue?”
I shake my head, barely. “He didn’t believe me.”
“Pardon?”
“The prince,” I whisper, staring at the damp floor. “He didn’t believe me.”
The man says nothing. For a long time, the only sound is the water dripping between stones. When he does speak, it’s all business.
“I’m here to ask questions, not to argue with ghosts,” he says. “Interrogation, if you want the fancy word for it. Helps me understand what actually happened before you ended up down here.”
I nod, though every part of me resents the formality.
He pulls off one gauntlet, revealing a scarred hand, and takes out a small notebook. “Where were you when Lady Qazzi’s necklace went missing?”
“Working,” I say quietly. “In the main hall with other seamstresses. We were finishing uniforms for her entourage.”
He scribbles something down. “Anyone who can confirm that?”
“Brina. Lise. The others.”
He hums. “Good. Next—when did you last enter your dormroom before the search?”
“Early morning,” I answer after a moment. “I left for work after dressing Mira.”
“Mira?”
“My daughter,” I say softly. “She’s sick. That’s why I work here—to pay for medicine.”
He looks at me longer than necessary before writing again. “And Lady Qazzi—you know her personally?”
“No,” I whisper. “I’ve never spoken to her. Not even once.”
“Hmm.” He scratches at his chin. “And the ring they found in your pocket?”
I close my eyes. “I swear to the saints, it wasn’t there before. It’s the same dress the prince ordered for me weeks ago. I haven’t changed it.”
“Meaning someone could’ve placed it there easily.”
“Yes.”
He nods slowly, flipping his notebook shut. “Fair enough.”
I stare at him, the torchlight flickering across his armor. He doesn’t strike me as cruel. If anything, he looks… tired.
“Do you believe me?” I ask quietly.
He meets my eyes, and for the first time, there’s a spark of warmth. “I believe in evidence,” he says. “But something tells me you’re not lying.”
I almost smile, but I don’t dare. “Thank you.”
He stands, sliding his gauntlet back on. “Don’t thank me yet, girl. Truth’s a slippery thing in this palace. Stay quiet. I’ll be back.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving the door clanging shut behind him.
***
Time melts again. I don’t know if it’s hours or days. Hunger dulls everything. I drift between waking and half-dreams.
Then, sleep finally takes me.
In the dream, I’m small again. Father’s arms are warm, his beard scratching against my forehead as he rocks me gently.
“What’s wrong, my little star?” he asks.
I’m crying. “A boy called me poor.”
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my hair. “We’ll always be rich, Lara. As long as we have each other.”
The dream shifts. I see him again—but cold now, pale, still. My hands on his chest, my voice breaking. I’ll be poor forever now, Father.
Then the dream changes once more—Mira in my arms, her tiny breath warm against my neck. I don’t speak this time. I just hold her.
And for once, in the quiet between memories, I feel peace.
Until the sound of metal snaps me awake.
The door clanks open again, flooding my cell with light.
I blink, groggy, shielding my eyes. The same knight steps in, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
“You’re free now,” he says.
For a second, I think I misheard. “I… what?”
“You’re free,” he repeats. “We’ve proven you innocent. Come on, before someone changes their mind.”
I stare at him, unable to move. “How—how did you—?”
He waves a hand. “Let’s just say your story fit better than the one Seraphine’s maids tried to sell.”
Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy. I push myself up from the bench, legs trembling.
“Wait!” I blurt as he turns toward the door. “Sir—what’s your name?”
He glances back with a crooked smile. “Sir Brenno Kade. Captain of the Silver Guard. And next time someone accuses you of theft—try not to panic so much, aye?”
I manage a small, disbelieving laugh. “I’ll try.”
“Good. Now move before I start charging rent for this lovely cell.”
I follow him out into the corridor, the cold air biting my skin. For the first time in days, I breathe deep. The dungeon door slams behind me, but this time, the sound isn’t final. It’s freedom.