Of Course

“How did you know?” Julien said.

She had been laying on the dirt floor when he approached the cell, one arm tucked under her neck for support. She did not move from that position when he spoke; instead, she simply glanced up at him, her face bare of surprise.

“Know, what?” Roselyn asked innocently.

“Don’t act dumb,” he told her flatly. “You know perfectly well what I’m referring to.”

“I do?” A spark of playfulness flashed across her eyes. She sat up, the corners of her lips curling. “Please do remind me of what exactly that is, prince.”

“I have a name.”

“As do I,” she replied. He could feel her emerald green eyes studying him as she spoke. “Yet, people call me prisoner, and you prince. Funny, isn’t it? That what you are is more important than who you are — your name; identity.

“I don’t find that funny at all,” he said. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Nor is it what I came here to talk about.”

“Aw, you’re no fun at all.” Roselyn tilted her head, amusement on her lips. He frowned at her, and she considered him for a moment. “Okay, fine,” she said. “If I tell you, what will you do for me?”

“What makes you think I’ll give you anything in return?”

“What makes you think I’ll tell you anything without receiving something in return?” She asked.

He sighed. This is what he got for speaking with a prisoner. “What do you want.”

“Well…” She smiled; an evil smile that reminded him of a cat grinning over a mouse. “I would ask for better food” —she motioned to the tray pushed into the corner of her cell, filled scarcely with a bowl of yellowing soup and stale bread— ”But even I know that’s impossible. So instead, I shall request for a pair of socks.”

Socks? His mind exclaimed.

She looked down at her bare feet, blacked at the heels and covered in blisters. “It gets awfully cold in here at night, and without my boots — which I suppose one of your guards are now wearing; women’s boots, might I remind you — it’s almost unbearable…” She cleared her throat. “If you promise to get me a pair, I will gratefully tell you of how I knew about the demon.” His mouth ran dry. “That is, what you were asking about, right?” Her eyes narrowed at him mockingly.

He swallowed. “Of course.”

“Then we have a deal?” Her eyes gleamed at him. The darkness of the dungeon made them seem darker than they truly were; he wondered at what shade they were in the sunlight. “Swear on it.”

“You have my word,” he told her.

“Good.” She smiled at him. “Then I will start. Are you familiar with the First King?”

He nodded. Julien knew the story of the First King like the back of his hand. Queen Guinevere used to tell him a story of the beloved King every night before bed. He had always looked forward to hearing her stories; as it was one of the very few moments where it was just him and his mother. No guards. No people. No one…

“How could I not?” Julien said.

“Well, after reigning for many years, the King eventually married. She was the princess of a sister county, and although plain in the face, was said to have the voice of an angel. A beautiful singing voice, supposedly.

“However, the King, not satisfied with her voice, was displeased. Instead, he bedded other woman. Multiple mistresses, he was said to have had. One most notably known for being a demon woman. And with this women, he had a child — a boy, half-demon and half-human.”

“The Demon Prince,” Julien said.

Roselyn nodded gravely. “Yes.” She swallowed and continued, “When the Queen heard of this, she, of course, had the demon woman executed. Burned at the stake. She wanted the son to be killed too, but the King would not allow it. He was extremely protective of his son, you see — and as the only male heir, the Queen could not dispose of him. She was left to obey to the King’s wishes.

“Their marriage remained until death, despite the fact that the Queen never forgave him. When the King, too, died, the Demon Prince was next in line to rule. However, instead of protecting his kingdom, he burned it to the ground…” Her voice trailed off.

“That’s where Muir Woods is now, isn’t it?” Julien recalled outloud, thinking of the eerie forest overgrown with blackened trees. “They abandoned the area, and rebuilt the kingdom elsewhere; to where we are now.”

“Correct. My, my, you’ve been taught well.” She sounded impressed. “Anyway, there is much speculation of why the Prince did this; some say he was manipulated by a demon who disguised itself as one of his royal maids, while others claim that he was not right in the head. Insane, even. If you ask me, I think it was something of both.”

“But either way,” she continued. “After he started burning the nearest towns, people started to revolt. Even those who were inside the castle with him — the servants, maids, guards — silently planned for his death.

“They gathered five of the strongest warriors, from all over the world. Each, representing an element — earth, wind, fire, water, and air. And then they killed him.

“It was decided that instead of having one true ruler, to have five. The five warriors each became a king of their home region. And that is why we still have five rulers now.” Her eyes fixated on him as she finished; waiting.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with me,” he said.

“Your father,” Roselyn continued. “The King, he was killed by a demon I happen to be familiar with — I was actually hunting that particular demon until I was caught and thrown in here, thank you very much.”

“That demon — it’s searching. It’s searching for the blood of the Demon Prince. And the best place to start?”

“At the castle,” Julien concluded. “Where it all began.”

“Yes, where it all began…” She repeated, her eyes far away. “Your father was first. And not even the right one, either—”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, how little you know about demons, prince!” She exclaimed. She then lower her voice and continued, “Despite what you might think, demons don’t kill for fun. Some may, yes. Just like some men might kill other men for the pleasure of it — but not all of us do that, right?” Julien nodded. “The same goes for demons. When they kill it’s for a reason. And when they kill a human, they make sure to use everything; whether that may be our bones or our blood, that doesn’t matter. All of it is use.

“So, now going back to the King, if you had seen his body — which I assume you did, one way or another — you would’ve seen it was completely intact. Demons do not leave human bodies that clean.” She stopped for a moment, her brows furrowed. “My assumption is that the demon killed your father, found that he was the incorrect human, and then fled. All in that order.”

Julien was so overwhelmed with the information, that he was unsure in what to say. So, instead, he asked a simple question: “Will he be back?”

“Most certainly,” she answered. “And my best bet? It will be after you.”

Julien’s blood ran cold.

“What do you suppose I should do?” He asked her. He felt as if he could not breathe.

She thought for a second, maybe two. “There’s a lot of things that I think you should do, prince; the first one being that you free me from this hellhole — but that, of course, is in my best interest and not yours.”

“At least you’re honest,” he muttered.

“My best advice is get out of here as soon as you can,” she told him, her eyes dark. “You may think you’re safe, with all the guards you have — but think of the King. He probably had double, maybe even triple the amount you have, and look how far that got him…”

Julien’s heart ached at the mention of his father’s death. The image of his limp body and glassy eyes flickered in the back of his mind. The blood that had stained the floor around him—

He quickly pushed the thought away.

“Leave the castle while you still can,” Rosely finished. “That is what I think you should do.”

Julien swallowed.

“Oh, and before you forget,” Roselyn reminded raising a finger. “You promised me socks, remember? And make they’re cotton and not wool. I don’t like wool. It’s itchy and irritates my skin.”

“Will do,” he told her, annoyed at her priorities. He turned away. “And, uh, thank you…Roselyn.”

He did not need to turn around to see her smirk. “Of course, prince. Anytime.”

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.

Castle

Roselyn did not particularly like the castle. Actually, she did not like it at all. Hated it, really.

The thick scent of lavender incense in each room made her wrinkle her nose, and the overall cleanliness of the place made her blood run cold. It was clean, unnaturally clean. The maids, slaves to their own job, were expected to constantly clean each and every nook and cranny of the castle — and they did just that. They cleaned, and cleaned, and cleaned; leaving not a spot of dust, and the castle reeking of soap. It was not like the tavern, covered in dust and spiderwebs, and holding the odor of strong alcohol. No, not at all. It was the blaring opposite.

Guards stood at any open space there was, and stared at her with those beady eyes they had, watching her; studying her. Even when Roselyn would glare, their stares remained. She did not like to admit it, but it made her uncomfortable — it was like they were waiting, waiting for her to show any sign of weakness, so they can then attack. And kill.

The other occupants of the castle, although not as intimidating, were just as much as nuisance. The maids, the cooks, they would bow whenever she would cross paths with them — as if she she was royal herself! She could scoff at that idea alone. She was not royal; she did not carry the blood that ran in each and every one of their veins. She was only a assassin that did their dirty work. She was a royal servant, just as they were — only wearing a somewhat nicer title. That was all.

Then there was the Queen — Queen Guinevere, herself — of whom she had only met twice. The first time she scowled at her, complete disapprovement, and the second time it was more of a grimace. Roselyn was unsure if that was an improvement or not. In all honestly, she did not care.

And Julien’s brother, Christian — oh, he was a treat — if you could even call him that. She had been aware of his devilish personality, and womanizer ways. However, meeting him was an entirely different experience. One of which, she would like to forget completely.

The end result was him against the wall, and her gripping his collar. He had smirked at her, a smile of red, as if he had expected her to act in that way. Perhaps he did. She did, eventually, let go to him — due to Julien’s yelling dismay — but the anger was still there. If she were to see him again, today, there was no guarantee that she could hold herself back.

In all entirety, Roselyn did not favor the castle.

She walked down the long halls, eyes cautious, waiting for someone — or something — to jump out at her. But nothing did. The only movement was the flickering of the candle flames that lit each hall. Her heels echoed in the marble floor, a click, click, click, each step. The familiar sound was almost soothing, compared to the castle’s foreignity.

Finally, she approached the door — of which was already partially open. She bluntly stepped inside. If it was left open, he most certainly was expecting visitors. He had to be completely dence to not be.

Julien was hunched over his desk, his eyes squinting down at a paper, and hair covering his face. Next to him, an old man stood, reading at his shoulder. He had gray-tinged skin and white hair that stuck out at every angle. His eyes were milky gray, and lips nearly blue. He looked as if he was on the brink of death. A corpse already starting to decay.

Immediately, Julien’s blue eyes glanced up the moment her heels clicked on the hardwood of his room. He gave Roselyn a slight smile, then turning to the elder. “You are free to go, Vallus,” he dismissed.

“Are you sure, Your Highness,” said the old man in a worried tone. “There is still much to discuss.”

“Thank you for your help.” Julien forced a smile, and the ancient man bowed.

“My pleasure,” replied Vallus. He turned away, his brown cloak brushing against the floor in a wave. His eyes barely made contact with her’s, as he passed. He lightly bowed his head in Roselyn’s direction. “Lady Roselyn.”

“I’m not a Lady,” she corrected. However, the elder was already walking away, and if had heard her, decided no to reply. She huffed in response.

“You try to deny your title,” Julien said. She positioned herself back to facing him. He had a hand pressed to his cheek, studying her. “But it’s futile. They know who you are. You can’t take away what you’ve already been given.”

“I didn’t want the goddamn title in the first place,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

Julien sighed. “You’re acting like a child.”

“Says the person whose title has ruled over his entire life.” She snorted. “Right, Your Highness?”

“But I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about titles,” he changed the topic. The smile on her lips faded. She almost forget why she had gone there.

“What did you want to talk about then.” Her eyes narrowed at him. Her fingers that were wrapped around her arms, tightened.

“Haine.” Roselyn’s stomach churned at the sound of his name. The name that she had not heard for so long. The name she tried to forget about. Haine. “I suppose you know that name.”

She pressed her lips together. “More than I would want to.”

“That’s what I thought,” he exhaled. His eyes flickered down at the paper on his desk. She took a closer look at it to see it was a letter to him, written in small, neat cursive. “Gods.”

“What has he done?” She asked. She did not need to know the context to know that he had done something. He had. She just knew it. She could feel it. His name would not have been mentioned if he had not.

Julien searched for the right words. He pushed the letter forward. “My cousin, Tatiana, I believe you’ve met her” —Roselyn had, indeed; and it was not a pleasant memory. Much of it involved the princess’s nose upturned in her direction, and much too many insults to count— “She, uh, wrote me a letter…she was wedded to a Bellum man not too long ago — a Lord. They live near the city bordering the demon realm, Al—”

“Alcedius,” Roselyn interrupted, the name sliding off her tongue. “The City of Darkness.”

“Right,” he gave her a slight nod. “I figure you know the place?”

“Oh, I know the place.” The prison. The cells. The smell of rotting corpse and dried urine. “I was kept prisoner there until I thought I would go insane.” She shook her head with a bitter smile. “Maybe I did go insane.”

“I…” He was lost for words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t,” she told him. “Just finish what you were saying about your wretched cousin.”

“She’s not wretch—” Julien said, but stopped himself. He cleared his throat. “Nevermind. That isn’t the point. Anyways, Tatiana heard news a new ruler in Alcedius, and thought she should tell me.”

Roselyn arched a brow. “What’s so odd about a new ruler in Alcedius? I mean, they get a new one practically every five years. Demons get bored and murder them, apparently.”

“That’s the thing,” he said. “The new ruler isn’t a demon. He’s a human.”

That caught her attention. “What?”

“Yeah, and not only that, but his name is Haine. Christopher Haine.”

She felt like she was going to be sick. She swallowed the bile that had rose in her throat, her hand gripping the edge of the desk for support; to keep herself from falling over. “I didn’t even know he had a first name,” she said weakly. “He was always just Haine to me. Haine.”

Julien’s face was unreadable. “So you think it’s the same guy?”

“I don’t think,” she told him. “I know. The bastard’s charming. He could ask someone for their golden ring, and end up with all their possessions. He most certainly could convince a few people — even demons — to allow himself to become a ruler if he wanted to. I’m just surprised he waited this long to do it.”

“And he was your friend?”

She laughed bitterly. “I thought I was. He didn’t. I was only another person he had strung on his thread.”

And she would never make that mistake again. Never.

Broken

“I don’t understand why he has to come with us,” Damien said. He glanced back at Julien, who was intently focused on picking at his cuticles. “He probably doesn’t even know how to hold a sword right.”

“So we’ll teach him,” Roselyn replied calmly. She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s the point of this entire trip, Damien. To teach him. Not complain about it.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s necessary.” He wrinkled his nose in Julien’s direction; and as if sensing Damien’s disgust, he looked up at them. Roselyn gave him a slight smile, and he did the same, going then back to maintaining his nails. “A prince will always be a prince.”

“I’m sure he’d say the same about us too,” she told Damien. “It’s not like we’re the greatest people either.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and she exhaled. “Stop being jealous about the royal lifestyle he’s lived in, and give the guy a chance. He’s different from the others. Trust me.”

“The last time you said that we almost became a dinner for a pack of demons.”

She held up a finger. “But we didn’t.”

“We almost did,” he argued.

“But we didn’t.”

Damien sighed and threw up his hands in frustration. “You know what, never mind. I should know better than to argue with you at this point. Do whatever you want, but just know that I don’t agree with it.”

“Thanks, Damien.” She gave him a red smile. He scowled at her and walked away. “Julien,” she then called. “Come on. We’re ready.”

The prince joined her side with uncertainty on his face. His milky blue eyes questioned her. “Are you sure?” He asked. He nudged a chin at Damien’s back. “I don’t think the other guy agrees quite as much.”

“He doesn’t agree with me about anything. Don’t worry about it.”

Julien arched a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Certain.” He said nothing as he bit down on his lower lip, looking unconvinced. She dismissed it with the wave of her hand. “Stop worrying. Gods,” she exasperated. “If Damien does give you any trouble, tell me and I’ll kick his ass.”

“Can you really take him?”

She tilted her head at him. “Are you questioning my abilities, prince?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Not at all.”

Roselyn smiled. “Good.” She turned away. “Because if you were,” she continued, cracking her knuckles loudly. “The outcome would’ve been much different.”

“How so?”

She glanced back at him with a smirk. His eyes widened for a moment, displaying that she did not need to say any more. He knew what she would have done.

He would return to the castle with his pretty face bloody, and nose broken.

What Are You

“So what are you going to do?” Julien asked. His pale blue eyes were searching her face for an answer she did not even know.

“What do you mean ‘what are you going to do’?” Roselyn said. “I’m going to go out there and if anyone stops me, I’ll impale them with my sword.”

He frowned at her. “I don’t think that’ll work.”

“Oh? And why is that?” She crossed her legs and leaned into the table, a hand pressed to her cheek. “Does my idea not fit your princely ideals?”

“Shut up.” His eyes narrowed at her. “I’m just thinking it through — something you don’t usually do.”

She shrugged. “I don’t need to.”

“You might want to this time,” he sighed. Julien stood up and took a few careful steps towards the window. He glanced out the glass, into the rose garden outside, his eyes squinting into the distance. Metal-cladded guards were starting to  surround the castle one-by-one. All of them looking up; watching. “They’ve got an awful amount of guards outside. Waiting for you.”

“So I’ll kill them.”

“You’re outnumber,” he argued.

“You think that scares me?” She pressed. “Well, it doesn’t. I’ve faced much worse creatures than a bunch of metal soldiers.”

He exhaled. It really was no point arguing with Roselyn. She never listened, anyway. “So be it then,” Julien finally said. “Go out there completely planless and see how far it gets you.” Killed, probably, he thought.

“Nothing everything needs a plan,” she said to him.

He only shook his head. “If you want to die early, maybe.”

She laughed. “Julien, I’ve been wanting to die since I was born. Death doesn’t scare me.”
It may not scare you, he thought. But it sure as hell scares me.

Flowers

The flower wilted upon her touch. Its petals went from a sincere pink, to a dying brown; the stem buckled over, and eventually cracked into two. She drew back her hand, hot breath escaping her lips.

“Goddamn it,” she cursed. “It’s worse than I thought.”

…

Kymme placed the flower vase on the counter with full content. She had spent the majority of her morning scavenging for the perfect flowers to use; and in her honest opinion, it turned out quite well. Beautiful, actually. She could not have been more pleased.

The bouquet had an wide array of flowers — all picked from her own garden, thank you very much — ranging from the dark ruby-red dahlias, to the innocent lilac aster buds. It was a mixture of dark and light colors, adding drama. The rim was surrounded by ivy, hosta, and other greens.

Can’t flower arrange my ass, she snorted to herself, reminiscing of the time a customer had disagreed with her artistic eye.

And then the flower petals started to brown, some even falling to the ground. Kymme could not help but gasp. Her eyes trailed over to the figure standing on the opposite side of the counter. She had not noticed her come in.
“Sorry about your flowers,” said Roselyn. “But I kinda I have a problem.”

Dungeon

The guard had fair hair, the color of wheat, and his eyes were the same shade as damp mud. His name was Aleksander. Julien had never seen him in his life.

A new guard, he thought. That must be it. He followed behind the young guard, through the dark corridors, lit by a scarce amount of candles. There was blotches of darkness in every corner. He could see the wax trailing down the side of the candles, dropping onto the floor and staining it with burns. He made a mental note to request for better lighting in the dungeon. It was the least that could be done for these poor souls.

“I ought to warn you,” Aleksander said. His voice was light, still young. Julien wondered quite how old was this fellow. His eyes were still bright with light, and baby fat still sparsely filling his cheeks. He could not be any older than himself. “She is not the easiest person to talk to. Actually, to be quite honest, she scares me.”

Julien gave him an odd look. And you’re a guard, he thought. Instead, however, he said, “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I did not doubt you could,” said the guard. “It was only a fair warning. Most people — well, guards; no one lets typical people down here — get intimidated by her. She can come off as a bit…much.”

“What do you mean by that?” Julien narrowed his eyes at him.

“It’s better you see for yourself.” It was not the answer he had wanted. Aleksander speeded his pace, and stopped at the door leading to the dungeon. It took Julien a few moments to join him — as he, after all, had shorter legs.

The guard unlocked the wooden door with his rust-stained keys, and held it open for Julien. He stepped inside, only then to notice the other male was not following. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“I have to stay and guard the door, Your Highness, I am sorry,” he informed. “Go on ahead, she is at the last cell of the right side. It’s the only cell with a window.”

How nice of them, Julien thought, to give her a window. The kindness of the royal guards was outstanding. And he meant that in the most sarcastic way possible.

“Alright,” he replied. “Thank you.” The guard gave him a curt nod in response. Julien then left into the dungeon.

The first thing he noticed was that it was dark. A lot darker than the corridor leading into it was. The only light coming into the room was from the window at the very end; the exact one Aleksander had told him about.

The second thing he noticed was the smell. It was rancid. It reeked of decay; of death. Bile rose up in his throat, and he pushed a hand to his mouth. It made him want to gag.

With his nose wrinkles, and throat closing, Julien continued forward. He did not dare to look inside each cell, for fear of what he would see. Dead bodies, his mind whispered. That is what he would see.

He slowly stepped towards the light, his boots crunching with each step, into the dirt and straw floor. The cells, he thought, were like animal cages. And the people, they were treated as the animals.

It was a sad a cruel thought, but it was not like he could do anything about it. He had just as much power as a peasant. Maybe less.

He sighed and approached the cell. There was no point in thinking of that now. The light shone in only a small section of the cell. He could just barely make out a dark form couched in the darkness of a corner. He moved in closer, and the figure jolted up. He stepped back immediately.

“Is that a visitor I see,” her voice hissed. Her voice was low and husky. It was also young. “Or do my eyes deceive me. It, after all, is quite hard to see after being in darkness for so long.”

To Julien’s knowledge, she had not been in the dungeon any more than a few months. Not that long at all. “Just a visitor.”

“Oh good,” she said. “I may as well mistaken a rat for a guard at this point. They both have the same beady eyes and twitchy nose, it seems.”

He highly doubted that. “I’m not here for small talk,” he said. “And I’m also not here to talk to a shadow. Come out of the dark, will you, Roselyn Elwood.”

“My. That sounds like a command.” She seemed to be amused. He saw her form slowly stand up, stretch, and then walk towards him. Into the light.

She was young, just as he had assumed. Her eyes were a bright green, the color of damp grass, and hair the color of a crow’s feather. She had high cheekbones, and thin lips. Her skin was as pale as paper.

“I have to say,” she said with the tilt of her head. “I was not expecting the royal bastard to be my visitor. What a pleasant surprise this is. I’m honored.” Her pink lips curled at the corners.

“I’d rather you don’t call me that.”

“What?” She asked. “‘Royal bastard’? But that’s what you are, isn’t it? Why lie.”

He frowned at her, “This isn’t what I came here for.”

“And that’s supposed to be my problem?” She pressed herself closer into the bars. He could feel her warm breath on his face. “You think I care about what you like and don’t like to be called, prince?” Her voice was low. She paused for a moment. “Well, I don’t. You’re here complaining about a stupid label people have place on you because you’re not pure-blooded — oh, who gives a shit! You’re not rotten in a cell, are you? You aren’t forced to eat stale bread that’s hard as a rock, green with mold. You probably have some fancy-ass bedroom, and are served fancy-ass food.”

“Are you done?” He asked, waiting for her to finish. She scoffed at him. “Well, to be quite clear, Roselyn, I don’t get either of those. My room is a walk-in closet, and I’m served the food that no one wants. The burnt food. The leftover food. Perhaps it is nicer than the cell you have here — if that’s the point you’re trying to make — but it most certainly isn’t what you were assuming.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” she mocked. “The bastard prince has a closet for his bedroom. Cry me a river.” She snorted at her own joke. He only stared. “What do you want? I’m getting tired of talking to you.”

As am I, he thought. His mouth tasted bitter. “I came here to ask you of Muir Woods—”

“Don’t you dare say that name around me,” she growled. Her eyes were burning flames. “I don’t want to hear of it. That place is the reason why I’m in this goddamn hellhole!”

“I came here to ask you of Muir words,” he repeated. “Because it seems are you the only one to have survived traveling through there.”

She glared at him. “Well, of course,” she replied with poison in her words. “Demons dwell in those woods. Demons with a thirst for human blood. It was a mistake I even survived. I should’ve died; along with the rest of them.”

“But you didn’t.” He saw the regret flash through her eyes. It quickly faded away, as if he had been imagining it all along. “Tell me how you did it.”

She started to laugh maniacally. “You got to be kidding me!” She spat. “You don’t actually think you could survive going through that suicide forest, do you, prince? You’ll die. I can guarantee you that. So stop asking me how I lived. There’s no point — it’s futile.”

“I’m not asking you you’re opinion,” he narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m asking how you survived. What did you do, that the rest didn’t?”

“Let me tell you something,” she breathed. “The people I had went out there were some of the best hunters — demon hunters — in the region. It was their job to hunt those sick bastards, as it was mine. One of my friends among them — my lover, too — he was the most gifted swordsman I have ever seen. You would barely seen him flick his wrist, and the demon’s head would tumble off. He was the only person I could admit was better than even me. And do you know what happened to him?” She closed her eyes for a moment. Julien could feel the pain she was withholding.

She opened her eyes, hard and full of anger. “He died. Just like the rest of them. They all died. All the people I had spent years alongside with. Gone.”

“You ask me how I survived, prince? I survived by being cursed with death. Everyone around me will die, but I will not. It’s the goddess, Mieve’s, lame joke. She wants me to suffer the same way I made her children — her demons — suffer.”

Julien was unsure what to say. He was not one to believe in the gods. They made no sense to him. If there were gods, then why was there still war? Death? It all just seemed so unlikely…

“You agree, don’t you?” Roselyn continued. There was a terrible smile across her lips. “That’s why you’re not responding. You know Mieve is trying to punish me. You agree with her.”

“No,” he disagreed. “It’s just that…” He did not know what to say.

“Get out of her if you have nothing more to say,” she told him. “I told you want you wanted. I no longer wish to speak with you.”

Before he could reply, she withdrew, back into the shadows. She returned back to her corner and plopped to the floor. She turned her back towards him.

It was as if they had never talked at all.