Twenty-four hours.
That was how long Scarlet had been trapped in this godforsaken cell. The cold stone walls seemed to close in on her, and the silver chains that lined the floor had seared her skin every time she moved too close.
She had screamed until her throat was raw, banged on the iron door until her fists ached, and cried until her tears ran dry. None of it mattered. No one came. No one cared. Not even a drop of water had been offered.
"Please..." she rasped, her voice weak and broken. "Get my uncle... I'm dying."
Her legs gave out beneath her, and she slumped against the wall, her breath shallow.
"Don't worry, you'll be out soon," a voice drawled.
Her head jerked up. She knew that voice — even in her nightmares.
"Uthred," she croaked, her voice barely stronger than a breath.
