Visited

Julien had visited Roselyn in her room the day previous to her trial. He came in without any notice at all, no knock or warning — nothing; looking tired, with dark, purpled crescents under his eyes, and a rat’s nest for hair. She raised a brow at him, a thick book on her lap. She had started reading it out of complete boredom, and was flicking through the watercolor pictures that were incorporated with the story.

“Yes, of course you can come in, Julien,” she said sarcastically. “Thank you for asking.”

He huffed at her, leaning his back against the the bedroom door. She noticed he had not taken one step inside. She sighed. “What do you want?”

“I need you to promise me something.” The doorway shadowed his face and made his eyes seem darker, harder to read.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Can you tell me what it is that I’m promising to before I agree to it?”

“If I tell you, you won’t agree to it,” he stated. Those deep blue eyes of his flickered at her. At least he’s honest, she thought.

“Well, there you go,” she told him. “There’s your answer.”

He frowned at her. She knew that was not the response he had wanted. “Please,” he begged, his voice raw. He took a small step forward. “Just promise me.”

“Tell me what it is.”

“No.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorry. I can’t help you, then.”

“Why are you so difficult,” Julien muttered, a hurt expression on his face. Roselyn felt a pang of guilt pass through her. She quickly pushed it away, not allowing herself to give into her emotions. “Please, Roselyn. This is for your own good.”

“The last time I heard that phrase, I was being shoved into a cell for a crime I didn’t do,” she said deadpan. “I lived in that hellhole for ten months straight. Every day I woke up to the scent of urine and decay. It was suffocating. I would’ve done anything to get out of there, even die.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “You can understand why I do not like to hear it.”

“I’m not going to toss you into a cell, Roselyn.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m still not going to agree to what you’re asking.”

Julien exhaled loudly. “I want you to plead guilty.”

“What?” Roselyn sat up. The book clattered to the floor in a loud thump! “Plead guilty, Julien? Are you insane? That would put the both of us at risk. You would no longer become the heir—”

“Exactly,” he replied calmly. He crossed his arms.

She stared at him in horror. “You’ve completely lost it!” She exclaimed. “What the hell happened to you? Did you hit your head? Did the Queen slap you too hard in the face this time?”

“Just trust me on this,” he told her. “Promise?”

She swallowed. “You’re crazy.”

“Do you promise me?” He repeated.

“Fine,” she agreed, clenching her jaw. “I agree to your goddamn promise — but only because you have yet to let me down.”

“Thank you.” He let out a sigh of relief, and all the lines in his face seemed to disappear. He turned away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Roselyn.”

“Yeah,” she said, barely a whisper. “I’ll see you.”

He closed the door before she finished.

 

Young

The guard was young, with blue eyes and pale hair; a spray of freckles across his nose. He appeared to be no older than sixteen, seventeen at the most. And just about as threatening as a squirrel. Which was not saying much.

“What do you want?” Roselyn asked boredly, as she picked at her dirty nails. She was no mood to talk, or deal with people, for that matter. That was the only perk of the cell — no people to irritate her. However, it did make it quite lonely at times… “Do you have my supper? Let me guess, a hunk of stale bread — perhaps a bit on the moldy side, cold onion soup, and if I’m lucky, a glass of sour milk to force it all down. Right?”

The boy stared at her with wide eyes. “That is not why I’m here,” he said in a small voice.

“Well, what is it, then? Hurry and speak up, boy! You’re wasting my time.” She raise a hand up to her face and studied it.

The young guard did not answer, and instead, scavenged through his pockets for a set of keys. He found the correct one and shove it into the cell lock. He twisted the key, and the door fell open. Roselyn could not hold her surprise.

“What are you doing,” she suddenly demanded. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“It was an order,” he told her hesitantly. “To release you.”

Why? She wanted to ask, but decided against it with further thought, as this boy probably knew no more than she did. So, instead, she said, “Do you think I should be released?”

The guard swallowed.” Not— not particularly,” he stumbled over his words. “But like I said, it was an order. It is not my place to say.”

Roselyn stood up. She stepped forward and lightly touched his shoulder. He flinched. “Good answer,” she told him with a sweet smile. She looked to the left and then to the right, both halls lined with cells. “Now are you going to show me the way out? A girl like me couldn’t possibly find my way out of here after being cramped inside that cell for so long.”

“Of— of course.” The guard quickly pulled the cell door closed and locked it. He faced her, his face paler than it had been before. She saw him reach for something in his back pocket and brought out a pair of gleaming metal. Handcuffs. “You do understand, I have to place these on you first. It is only a precaution.”

“Oh yes,” she purred. “I understand completely. A precaution.” She held out her hands for him. His eyes flickered up and down her with uncertainty before he unclasped the handcuffs. “Stop worrying. I’m not going to do anything.” She took ahold of one of the cuffs and locked it around her wrist. “See?” She said. “I’ll even help you with it.”

He fastened the other to left wrist, and locked it with a key — which he then tossed back into his pocket, she noticed. She held up her hands, the chain clanging under them. “All done. Now was it that hard? And me, a prisoner, did nothing to harm you. How nice is that.” Her voice was thick with sarcasm, but it seemed the young male did not notice.

He gave her a dubious gesture to the right. “The exit is this way,” he told her.

“Oh, what would I do without you?” She smiled at him widely. He let out a nervous chuckle and turned his back towards her, heading down the hallway. Your mistake, she thought.

She then launched herself forward. She wrapped the handcuff chain around his neck, locking him between her arms. She felt the guard stiffen. “Has no one ever told you to always keep an eye on the prisoner?” She asked. He did not answer. “Well, lesson learned, kid. Always keep an eye on the prisoner. Especially, if you’re escorting them out of here. Who knows, one just might try to strangle you, and we don’t want that, do we?”

He groaned in response.

“You know, it’s really hard to understand what you’re saying when you’re groaning inaudible words,” she murmured. She tightened the chain and he gagged. “What was that?” He struggle under her weight. “Tell you what, if you promise not to say where I go, I won’t kill you. I’ll released you, and you can have another breath of fresh air — well, it’s not really ‘fresh air’ down here, it’s contaminated by rotting bodies, mold, and dried blood — but you get the idea, don’t you? So, what do you say? Deal?”

He made a choking sound in the back of his throat.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” She lifted the chain from his neck and threw him to the ground. The boy coughed and coughed as he laid sprawled across the floor, facedown. She gingerly stepped over him and reached into his pocket. She pulled out the key to her handcuffs, spinning it around her fingers. “Nice doing business with you, boy. Tell me if they ever promote you to a higher rank after this little incident, I’d really be interested to know.” She walked away, only then to stop again. “Oh yeah, do I keep heading right once I reach the other room?”

The guard spat out blood over the dirt floor.

“Thanks,” she called with a wave of her hand. She turned into the next room. It was a stairway covered in brick walls, similar to those that had surrounded her cell. Candles were bolted to the walls, lighting the otherwise dark area, and dripping wax onto the floor. She walked down them carefully.

“They get younger by the day,” Roselyn whistled.

Free

The scent of mold and rot was thick in the air today. Roselyn wrinkled her nose. Another one dead, she thought. How long would it be until they are all dead? Until she is dead? The back of her hand brushed against her nose as she tried the mask the odor with her own. Not long enough…

She wondered who it was that had left them. Was it a young maiden who was tossed here after being caught stealing, handless due to her crime; or a man older than death itself, finally giving in after years of being forgotten? Perhaps when the guards come in to finally drag the corpse out, she will be able to see his or her face. For a short second, maybe two. Then she would crawl to the brick wall of her cell, and with a rock she has spent hours sharpening, carve the deceased’s face into the wall; another face among many.

Roselyn was not a good artist. Quite a terrible one, actually. Sometimes it was hard to tell the faces she drew were people at all. But it was the only thing that kept her sane — drawing, was. It comforted her in a way, to know that she was not alone in her cell. That it was not her that had lost the flow of warm blood.

Not yet, anyway.

The candles flickered above the cell across from her own, their wax dripping to the dirt floor, a puddle of white. She yearned to reach for them, to feel the heat that gave off their flames — for all she had here was a cold floor and colder walls. Her feet were bare, and clothing the thinnest of cloth. It took all the energy inside her to keep her teeth from chattering.

A shadow stirred in the opposing cell. Her gaze flashed over to it, searching for the caster. Jasper stood up, stretching his limbs. Roselyn heard him crack the bones in his back and neck, accompanied by a moan of pleasure. As he stepped towards the right corner of his cell, the man noticed her stare and flashed her a lazy smile. She turned away.

“I see ye staring over there with those eyes,” he called. His voice was raspy, sandpaper on wood. “What do ye want, girl.”

“You smell it, don’t you?” She said.

“Smell what?” He squinted his eyes at her, his hands gripping the belt of his trousers. “The dried blood, mold, rat carcuses, feetsies, urine like me own—” His right hand inched lower to unclasp the buttons. She let out a smell yelp and faced her back towards him. The man crackled loudly, the noise echoing off the walls. “Don’t tell me a girl like ye thinks to remain innocent while in a vile place such as this?”

Roselyn said nothing. Jasper laughed again; over the small trickle he was releasing. She dared not look, disgusted. “Ye not going to live long, acting like that. What are ye going to do when a fellow expects ye to bare his children?”

That’s never to happen, she thought. “I don’t want children,” she told him stiffly. He chuckled, fastening his trousers.

“Ye may not have a choice.” His dark eyes glimmered at her, a slimy smile on his lips. A shiver ran down her spine.

She opened her mouth to argue, but the loud clang of footsteps — guard footsteps — forced her against it. Jasper shrank away, into the darkness of his cell, not another word muttered. She supposed it was wise to do the same. She pressed herself against the hard brick wall and waited. And waited.

And waited…

“Stand up,” a guard commanded as he approached her cell. She obeyed at once. He beckoned for more guards to approached. One, she noticed, had a pair of shackles dangling from his grip. She flashed a wide, mocking smile at them.

“And what is it I suppose you have prepared for me?” She asked.

The guard did not answer. Her smile faltered. He shoved a key into the door and unlocked it, then swinging the door open. It slammed against the cell wall in a loud boom. She flinched slightly at the sound. He took a step towards her.

“You, Roselyn Atwood,” he said finally, as the shackles were handed to him from behind, the rusted metal flashing under the candlelight. “Are now free.”

Introduced

“Roselyn, this is Kiera,” Julien introduced, as he motioned to the other female standing across from her. “Kiera, this is Roselyn.”

Kiera narrowed her eyes at her, red lips pressed tightly in a line. Roselyn raised her chin. Go ahead, she told the girl wordlessly, try to intimidate me. It won’t work. I’ve dealt with much worse things than a girl with a bad attitude.

She stretched her mouth into a smile, and held out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” Although Julien never thought to speak of you until an hour ago, she thought.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Kiera did not take her hand. She did not even try to smile. The expression she wore was more of a scowl than anything else. Roselyn’s upturned lips faltered. She dropped her hand.

“Oh right,” Roselyn laughed awkwardly. “I apologize for my rude gesture. I forgot that proper women are not to grasp hands.”

“Roselyn,” Julien said in a warning tone. Don’t you dare start, his face told her.

However, Kiera had different thoughts. She took a step forward, her height only a few more inches taller than Roselyn was. “What do you take me for,” she said slowly. “Roselyn Atwood.”

Roselyn did not answer. It was not a question.

“A ‘proper woman’?” Kiera continued. “Is that what you think I am?”

Yes, did I not just say that? She thought. “Kiera,” said Julien. He tried to push himself between the two females, but they would not let him through.

“What if that’s exactly what I think you are?” Roselyn asked. She narrowed her eyes at the other female, a smile playing on her lips. She could see Julien out of the corner of her eye, hesitate.

Kiera, this time, returned the smile. It was a hard smile, full of hatred; one that was flashed to only those whom she despised. She extended her arm, “Then I must change your mind.”

Roselyn was not sure who was more surprised, herself or Julien. Her eyebrows raised, despite herself, and Julien was gaping at Kiera. She grasped the female’s hand. It was rough with calluses, different than what she had been expecting; almost similar to her own. It was the hand of someone who worked. Who fought.

Even killed, perhaps.

Roselyn released her hand, and Kiera puffed air through her nose. You think you’re so great because you shook my hand — you did something I wasn’t expecting, she thought bitterly. You’re not.

“Perhaps I was underestimating you,” Roselyn said outloud.

Kiera flashed a smirk. “Perhaps you were.”

Arrogant pig.

Next to them, Julien watched, unsure exactly what to do. Roselyn grasped his shoulder, and gave him a confident smile. Stop worrying, she told him. He nodded, a frown pulling on his face. She let go, then turning back to Kiera.

“I think we will become good friends,” she said with a fake smile.

Kiera saw right through it. “I could say the same.”

Roselyn knew she would have to keep an eye on this female — the one that had blood of royalty, but the hands of an assassin. She was not someone to be ignored.

She had to be watched; at all costs.