Page 2 of Fit for a Prince (Fit For A Crown #1)
Chapter two
Two Months Later
T he air tasted different in Aemastia, but maybe that was because no one bothered to change the chamber pots in its dungeons.
I pressed my back against the stone wall, trying to ignore the tickle of ants crawling around the frayed edges of my prison smock.
My hair had never been this long before, or this filthy.
The sunny blonde shade was nearly brown now from restless nights on the dirt floor and being dripped on by leaky ceilings.
My skin felt crusty from weeks of unwashed sweat and grime, and my stomach rarely went a day without cramping either from hunger or from the rancid meals they served us.
It felt like years since I’d been stuffed in a prison cart with a dozen other captured Ivalonians.
I would never forget looking back at Ivalon as fire engulfed everything I had ever known.
The wails of the surrounding prisoners had stopped weeks ago, signaling that their hope was officially smothered.
One by one, I watched the guards pluck prisoners from their cells and drag them away in chains.
Whenever the guards came down to our level, everyone went silent.
We never knew if they were going to bring us food scraps or drag one of us away, never to be seen again.
I wished I’d burned in the castle.
I twisted the ring on my finger until the friction made it hot. It was the only thing they’d let me keep, mostly because they couldn’t get it off. I rubbed my thumb across the enchanted gold and dulled reddish-orange gemstone, remembering the moment it had been sealed to my finger.
The magic bound it to me, just like I had been bound to Damon. Except not even magic was strong enough to keep him alive.
I spun the ring around so the jasper was facing my palm, then started scratching numbers in the dirt beneath the last row I’d completed.
Creating math problems to solve was hardly a good way to pass the time, but it kept my mind sharp while my strength dulled.
If the king kept me alive to weaken me in preparation for questioning, then I wouldn’t be caught off guard.
The math was soothing in some ways, but in others, it was a terrible reminder that every soul in this prison had their days numbered. King Septimus certainly wasn’t keeping us around as hostages when our leaders were already dead and buried .
A gut-wrenching creak echoed from the top of the dungeon’s steps, and the familiar deathly silence fell over the prisoners as we heard the guards’ steps through the door.
I pressed the back of my neck against the cool stone wall, looking down at my bare feet as I curled my toes into the dirt.
There was no telling what the guards would do today, and I didn’t particularly want to watch.
I would hear plenty of screams if they were here for another prisoner.
The finality of the guards’ heavy steps was blood-chilling.
I could practically feel the repressed sobs from my fellow prisoners from multiple cell walls over as the ghastly quiet left us all still.
The sound of rattling iron keys turned my stomach.
They were opening up a cell today, which meant someone would be going with them.
Curse you, King Septimus.
I curled my fingers around the jasper ring, clenching my fists tight enough to turn my knuckles white.
I hope you and your kingdom rot.
“This one.” A gruff voice invaded my cell, forcing my eyes up just enough to see a thick finger pointing directly at me. “Bring her up.”
I didn’t move. My body felt like it had fused to the stone wall, unable and unwilling to obey the guard’s command. But it didn’t matter what I consented to; a second later, two other guards barged into my cell and dragged me to my feet.
The room spun for a second. How long had it been since I’d had a proper meal or a clean drink of water? I tried to walk, but they were moving too fast for me to keep my feet from dragging on the ground. Lifting my head was the most I could do, but I immediately regretted that too.
For months I had heard the voices of my fellow prisoners, but today was the first time I’d been able to see past the stone walls and look at their faces.
They all looked as awful as I felt, perhaps even worse, but each and every one looked at me like I was already in a casket on my way to occupy a grave.
The worst part was that they all expected that to be their fate next.
I forced my feet to walk. If my people had to watch me get taken away, they would see me standing.
“Move it.” The guard on my right side elbowed me hard in the ribs, and I flinched at the pain but didn’t utter a sound. I refused to squeal when the others were listening. “If those legs don’t move fast enough, I’ll break them.”
A young boy gasped behind another set of bars; his small frame huddled in the corner of his cell as he watched me go by. My back was sore from sleeping on the stone, my feet were raw from insect bites, and my body was weak, but one look from that boy was enough to make me stand tall.
“I’m moving,” I growled, causing the guards to jump. It was only two quick words, but they hadn’t expected their prey to have a voice.
My bold voice sparked more noise, stirring up whispers across all the cells. It was the smallest display of bravery I could offer them, but it was enough to break the silence. Ivalon would not die quietly.
The guards didn’t speak to me after that, but they did move faster. It was as if they were trying to make me fall so they could make good on their promise to break my bones. I struggled to keep up, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me stumble.
I had always wondered where they took the evicted prisoners, and today I was finally going to find out.
The dungeon was deep underground, with multiple levels that descended further into the dark earth.
It had been months since my skin had felt the sun or my lungs had indulged in fresh air, so when they brought me out into the brisk fall air, I almost couldn’t process the sweet taste of freedom.
The air was painfully chilly, especially in my burlap prison frock, but I loved every minute of it.
The ground was frigid beneath my feet, and parts of my frock were still wet from the damp cell.
It wouldn’t surprise me if the guards were planning to execute me by leaving me out in the elements, but even that felt preferable to starving to death in the dark.
I touched my ring, feeling the gold grow cold.
I didn’t want to die, but at the same time, I wouldn’t oppose it. I hadn’t been able to protect Prince Damon, so why should I live when he couldn’t?
As we followed the worn pathway, I prepared to see gallows in the distance, but to my surprise, we were moving closer to the palace.
The Aemastia royal palace was about as cold and uninviting as its climate.
The tall walls and turrets were painted with black tar to absorb the sun’s heat, and the ledges were all studded with spikes and gargoyles to prevent birds or other creatures from residing on its rooftops.
Iron gates blocked every entrance, but they were hardly necessary since the castle was built on an isolated cliff surrounded by jagged ravines.
Drawbridges were the only way to access the palace gates, and even those were constantly guarded by soldiers with crossbows and spears.
It may have been a castle, but it looked worse than my prison.
Just like Ivalon’s palace.
The drawbridge was already down when we arrived, and no one fired their crossbow at me as the guards escorted me inside. Something didn’t feel right about any of this. Was this what happened to the other prisoners? Perhaps the king planned to behead me in front of a crowd of nobles.
The guards led me inside, where it was already ten times warmer. The smooth granite floors were instantly sullied by my dirty footprints, and the stewards all scrunched their noses as my stench spread through the room.
“Is this her?” A balding steward with greasy hair and a pointed nose looked me up and down like I was a roach in a rose bush.
“Yes, she’s the one with the ring.” The guard snatched my hand, nearly tearing my arm out of my socket as he shoved my ringed finger in the steward’s face.
The servant glanced at the ring, then took one look at my filthy, overgrown nails and started to gag.
“Very well,” he said between dry heaves. “This way.”
The guards urged me to walk, following behind the steward as a thousand questions passed through my head. Servants stared at me everywhere we went, each one scowling or turning their nose up at me as I left a trail of dirt through their perfect halls.
I didn’t care what Aemastians thought of me, or what happened to their sparkling floors. The only thing I wanted to know was why a prisoner of war was being brought into the innermost sections of the palace .
The grand entryway shifted into private halls, filled with carved doors and expensive art pieces that reminded me too much of my former home. Just being in a castle made me think of Damon, and thinking of Damon made me want to be sick all over the carpet.
When the steward finally stopped, it was in front of a tall, carved door that looked like it would take a magic-reinforced hammer to break through. The steward pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, guiding me into a real bedroom that was almost as luxurious as my room back in Ivalon.
“Wait in here,” the steward said with a tart voice. “And try not to touch anything until after your bath.”
“Bath?” I gaped.
“Yes,” he said with a sharp nod. “You have ten minutes to make yourself presentable.”
The invisible timer started the second the words left his thin lips. The guards practically tossed me into the room, slamming the doors shut behind me with a harsh click of the lock. I could barely catch my breath before a pair of older women in handmaiden outfits rushed to my side.
“Come, my lady, we must hurry,” the woman on my right said in an accent that I would recognize anywhere .
“You’re Ivalonian,” I gasped, suddenly realizing that both women had tanned skin that would be nearly impossible to obtain under the Aemastian sun.
“Quiet, dear,” the second woman said with a panicked look in her eyes as she hurried me to the overfilled tub in the corner of the room. “You can’t speak of Ivalon here, not if you wish to survive.”
In a matter of seconds, my crusty prison smock was yanked over my head, and my frail body was thrust into the lukewarm tub.
Each clutching a sponge, the women went to work scrubbing me from head to toe until the water changed from clear to a murky brown.
As they washed me, I noticed their maid uniforms. They were different from the other servants’ apparel I had already seen.
The maids in the hall all wore an elegant shade of dark blue with lacy white aprons and bonnets, while the maids with me now wore simple cotton aprons over maroon uniforms.
“Quickly, put this on,” the first woman said as she began shoving the light blue gown over my head and forcing my arms through the sleeves.
My hair was still dripping wet, so the second maid slung it over my shoulder in a sloppy but clean clump.
She squeezed it out in a bucket as best she could, ultimately deciding to just run a brush through it and leave it be .
The dress was incredibly uncomfortable. The soft satin and clean scent felt disgustingly rich compared to my prison clothes.
A knock rattled the door, and the two women scrambled to stuff a pair of slippers on my feet, not bothering with any stockings.
The lock clicked open, and the same steward from before stepped inside with a different pair of guards behind him.
He looked me up and down for the second time today, this time pulling off his spectacles to wipe them clean and look again.
“Well then,” he said with a gritty clearing of his throat. “I suppose you’ll do.”
I had so many questions, but one look at my maids was enough warning to know that I wasn’t in a position to ask them. They both had gone completely stiff, their gazes averted to the floors and their hands clasped tightly to control their quivering.
“Bring her,” the steward commanded the guard, once again refusing to address me directly. “She will see the king now.”