Princess of Silence

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Matthew sprawled on his straw mattress, attempting to avoid the prickly pieces of hay sticking out in all directions from almost every inch of the ancient, rotting material. He always had plenty of warning when Edward was making his ascent up the stairwell right outside of his abode. Either the stench would hit him full in the face first, or he would hear the thumping, scraping sound of his useless foot as he struggled to pull it up the stairs. Today, it had been the smell that reached him first. Matthew let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

Edward never visited alone. He always had one or two lackeys with him to do his dirty work. Just thinking about his last visit left Matthew rubbing his jaw and feeling for the healing gashes covering his back and shoulders. He did not look forward to Edward stopping by, but it usually meant that Caleb was winning, and if Caleb was winning, then, perhaps, he would be free soon.

Or, on the other hand, if Caleb was winning, it might mean Matthew was soon to meet his executioner.

Either way, he wouldn’t be spending too much more time in this filthy hovel, so Edward’s visits were not as negative as one might think.

There was no way for Matthew to actually see who was at the door. Only a small slot, surrounded by black iron, broke the solid wood, and it was covered by a swinging door. Once a day, some poor hack from the kitchen would slide him a small portion of gruel through the opening. That was his only contact with the outside world, other than visits from Edward or Philip.

If the king really wanted to know who was coming, he supposed he could get down on his knees and peek through the little slot to view the person’s shins, but there wasn’t much sense in that. So he waited patiently for Edward to make his way to the top of the stairs, curious as to whether or not the jingling of chainmail was one lackey or two.

A rattle of keys, a little huffing and puffing from his primary captor, and the door flew open, bringing with it a new waft of putrefied air. Matthew stayed sitting on his crude bed, not bothering to stand as Edward and his companion, a new face to Matthew, though surely as inconsequential as all of the other minions before him, made their way into the small, circular room.

This new person stared at Matthew as if he was expecting something else, as if he had no idea what six months of confinement and t*****e could do to anyone, even a king. It took a quick blow from Edward to make the younger man remember himself.

“Well, Your Majesty,” Edward began in his snarly croak of a voice, “how did you get along in the storm last night?”

“Slept like a baby,” Matthew chided. He still didn’t move. No reason to waste energy on these two, not yet.

“I find that very unlikely,” Edward said, his eyes flickering from the soggy bed sheets to the puddles still accumulated under the arrow slits on the floor.

Matthew ignored him, sitting with his knees bent, arms hung loosely as if nothing horrible was about to happen.

“Matthew, this is my….” Edward seemed to be struggling for the right word, and Matthew wondered why, though he wasn’t about to ask. “Associate, Sir Reginald Cuthbert.” Perhaps the nearness of the Arterian Army had Edward questioning his relationship with a commander in his own kingdom’s defenses.

Cuthbert slowly nodded at Matthew, his demeanor beginning to change, as if he was suddenly remembering that he was an officer in the army, a man of power, a man with a purpose. And his purpose just now was to hurt King Matthew of Zurconia, to hurt him and make him pay for his brother’s recent victory.

Occasionally, Matthew would entertain himself by acting overly formal when being introduced to one of the men whose sole purpose in meeting him was to beat the b****y hell out of him. Today, he was not in the mood. He was ready to just get it over with. He met Cuthbert’s eyes with an equally steel-like stare, held his gaze for a moment, and waited for the other man to look away. It did not take long. Cuthbert was weak. No wonder Caleb was able to decimate his army so easily. If only Matthew had had any sort of understanding of the forces he was dealing with before Zurconia was overrun by these ill-trained, but staggeringly plentiful, barbarians, perhaps he would not be sitting a captive today.

Edward seemed to notice Cuthbert’s state of intimidation and became even more irritated. Nevertheless, Matthew was about to pay for his brother’s transgressions, even if Edward had to mete the punishment out himself. “We are in need of your assistance, Your Royal Highness,” Edward stated, his words dripping with sarcasm and loathing. “It seems that your older brother has somehow gotten his hands on some very important architectural renderings of battlements. Perhaps, you might have some idea as to where he obtained these sketches and what other information he may have managed to procure.”

Matthew chuckled loudly, despite the fact that he knew it would only anger Edward, which it did. He laughed even more to see Edward’s jaw tense up and a bright hue of red begin to creep up his wrinkly, wart-covered neck. “I apologize, but I really cannot be of assistance with that. However, it is nice to know Caleb has his sources.”

Matthew actually didn’t believe for a second that his older brother was able to gain victory because some disgruntled member of the royal family had leaked information to him. No, he was quite sure that Caleb’s army would be able to defeat Philip’s troops in almost any circumstance simply because Caleb was hell-bent on releasing Matthew from this prison. That, and there simply was no stronger military mind in the world than Caleb of Arteria.

It was just a matter of time.

For now, it seemed Matthew was out of that particular commodity.

The king watched between narrowed eyes as Cuthbert removed a gauntlet and stepped forward. Matthew braced himself for what he knew was coming. There was little he could do but sit and take it, and as the soldier raised his hand to swing, the captive king held his gaze. This may be Edward’s only measure of satisfaction, but Matthew refused to let them see him flinch.

If Katherine had been praying for a sign, then surely she had received one, although this was not exactly what she’d had in mind. She’d waited about an hour for the two men to finally come out of the secret tunnel in the wall. Interestingly enough, the stone she needed to push so that the wall would open up had actually moved when Edward and Cuthbert came back out, so she was easily able to tell what she needed to do to find Matthew. Beyond that, they had left a trail, a sticky, red, coagulated trail. Dark crimson splashes lined the floor all the way up the secret staircase, turning and winding, sometimes dripping from one cold stone step to the next, leading right to a solid oak door with a slight slit, just wide enough for a small dish. Behind it, even from her position several steps from the landing at the top of the stairs, she could hear what sounded like muffled moans coming from the poor soul locked on the other side.

It was the king in there; she was sure of it. Katherine stood perfectly still at the top of the stairs and pondered her next move. She could hear his moans shift into something she hadn’t expected at all. It sounded like laughter, as if he had lost his mind entirely and somehow found the situation humorous. The blood on the floor had to be his, yet King Matthew was laughing.

“You’re losing,” he said quietly, and Katherine caught her breath, wondering if he had heard her. She quickly realized he was talking to the two men who had just left. “You bastards are losing, and the only way you can make yourselves feel better about the situation is to beat the hell out of me. Well, go ahead! Caleb will be through your flimsy defenses in a matter of days! A matter of days!”

He was yelling now, and Katherine suddenly felt as if she were intruding. He had no way of knowing she was there, that she was listening to him. He said a few swear words before he asked aloud, “What the hell did you do to my head? Damn, so much blood. Blood everywhere. Sons of bitches.”

She wished she could help, that she could do something to stop the bleeding and end the pain for him, but she hadn’t brought anything with her, and she couldn’t get inside of the cell anyway. Realizing that finding King Matthew had done neither of them any good, Katherine let out a sigh and took a step back away from the door.

“Is someone there?”

He’d heard her. Somehow, he’d noticed her. No one ever noticed her, and yet, this king, who was being held against his will on the other side of a thick door, bleeding profusely, had taken note of her existence. Katherine’s eyes widened as she stared at the door.

He called out again. “Pardon? Is anyone there?”

The princess couldn’t decide whether to move forward, toward the door and the man who needed her help, or to back away down the stairs—to what should’ve been considered safety. She stood frozen for a long moment, listening to her shallow breaths and to Matthew’s raspy ones from within the chamber. Then, Katherine did the only thing she could do; she turned and hurried back down the stairs, hoping her footsteps were undetectable both to the king and to anyone who might be walking past the invisible passage in the hall outside of the door.

Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she took a moment to catch her breath before she slowly pushed the heavy door open. Glancing through the c***k in both directions, she saw no one, so she crept into the hallway, shutting the wall behind her. Now that she had found the captive king, Princess Katherine had some decisions to make, and nothing about what would come next would be easy.

Blood soaked the so-called mattress, as well as the sheets, and was pooling on the floor next to the bed. Cuthbert may have seemed like a complete p***y, but once Edward had made him mad enough, the soldier had unleashed some devastating blows. In fact, Matthew was confident the wound to his scalp was significant, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to remain conscious.

Edward had needed to pull Cuthbert off of him when merely ordering his attacker to stop before he killed their one asset had done nothing but make Cuthbert hit him harder. Matthew was also bleeding from a gash above his eye, the blood creating a veil, making it difficult to see. As soon as the pair had left, Matthew had collapsed on the bed, hoping to lose consciousness, part of him praying he could lose it for good.

His emotions were all over the place, and he couldn’t help but shout about the injustice, though he knew his assailants were long gone. Just as he’d begun to calm down, he thought he’d heard a quiet footfall on the stairs. He’d braced himself for a moment, afraid perhaps his tormentors had returned. But he knew there was no way that Edward could ever be so quiet, so his temporary fear had morphed quickly into curiosity. He’d propped himself up on one arm and listened.

He’d thought he heard a small sigh and called out, but there was no answer, and then, a few seconds later, perhaps the sound of rushed footsteps on the stairs. But if anyone had been there, he was certain they were gone now. Matthew was all alone again with only his own thoughts to keep him company.

The possibility of fading away from reality seemed promising once more, and with his head still bleeding profusely, King Matthew of Zurconia closed his eyes and sank into oblivion.