Whispers Of The Throne

Chapter 2

The dungeon was never truly quiet. The mountain fortress seemed alive with whisper, the creak of old timbers, the distant roar of storms, the groan of chains when guards passed. Alice had learned the rhythms in the dark, the changing of the watch, the sound of meals tossed through iron bars, the murmur of soldiers who spoke of her as if she were a ghost.

But when he came, the rhythms faltered.

Edmund Hastings did not visit like a gaoler with a duty to perform. He entered with the deliberate tread of a man who carried his own gravity. The guards shrank their backs when he appeared, as if his presence pressed against them like a storm wind.

It had been three days since their first exchange. Three days of silence broken only by hunger and thirst. Alice had sworn to herself she would not falter, no matter how he tried to unmake her.

When the door scraped open again, torchlight spilling into the gloom, she straightened her spine until her back screamed of pain. He would not find her bowed.

He entered without armor this time., A dark tunic clung to his shoulders, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his forearms scarred and veined with faint black lines she had noticed before. The curse, she was aware and sure of it now. The rumors had whispered of a demon running through his blood, a power won through forbidden means. Seeing it carved into his flesh made her throat tighten.

You should eat. His voice broke the silence, clipped, as if conversation was not a habit but an obligation.

Alice eyed the bowl a guard set down. Thin broth, already cooling. Poison would be kinder she said.

A trace of something annoyance? amusement? Flickered across his face. He dismissed the guard with a flick of his hand, leaving the two of them in the chamber.

You think too highly of yourself if you believe I would poison you.

His gaze lingered on her longer than comfort allowed. It was not lust she would have almost preferred lust, something simple and vile to hate. His state was assessing, weighing, like a commander studying a map of enemy lines.

You wear your defiance like armor, he said at last. But armor cracks. Hunger, silence, time, they break even the strongest.

Is that what you want? She shot back. To watch me crumble until nothing remains?

His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, she saw something shift beneath the warlord’s mask, not cruelty, but weariness. He leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

What I want, he said quietly, is irrelevant.

The words startled her more than a threat would have. She watched him, caught by the strain etched into his face. Up close, she saw how exhaustion hollowed his eyes, how tension gripped his jaw. The curse, she thought. Whatever dark bargain he had made, it gnawed at him like a parasite.

But pity was a luxury she could not afford. She forced steel into her voice. Then release me. If I am irrelevant to you, end this farce and let me go.

A bitter laugh escaped him, low and sharp. Release you? So you can rally the rebels? So you can put a dagger in my back the moment I turn? He shook his head. No, Princess. I am not a fool.

You are afraid, she said, pressing the blade where she sensed weakness. Not of me. Of yourself.

His head snapped toward her, eyes flashing like a storm struck by lightning. For a heartbeat, the air between them cracked with danger, and she thought he might strike her after all. But instead, he stepped closer, until the torchlight caught the black veins twisting up his forearm, pulsing faintly like embers under skin.

Be careful, Edmund said softly, his voice a blade’s edge. You know nothing about me.

Alice's heart pounded, but she refused to look away. Then show me.

Silence stretched between them, taut and breathless. At last, he turned abruptly as though her defiance had cut too deep. He banged on the door, and the guards rushed back in.

Keep her alive and make sure she is unharmed, he ordered. His voice was harsh now, stripped of the quiet edges it had carried moments before. But not comfortable.

The door slammed, and he was gone.

Alice sagged against the wall, her breath trembling though she hated herself for it. She has struck something in him, something raw and unguarded. But if the curse was his shadow, perhaps it was also the key.

For the first time since her capture, a spark strategy lit within her chest.

If Edmund Hastings thought he would break her, he was mistaken. She would find the cracks in him first and makes sure he crumbles.