Chapter 4
788 Words
The storm had broken at dawn, leaving Hastings Keep shrouded in mist, and water dripped from the eaves, running in rivulets down the black stone walls. Alice sat stiff backed in her cell, her wrists raw from chains, her body aching from too many nights on cold stone. But her spirit, though battered, remained unbroken.
The guards came for her before the sun had cleared the peaks. They said nothing as they unshackled her wrists, their eyes studiously avoiding her face. She was marched through the bowels of the keep, past corridors of iron doors, past stairwells that seemed to lead nowhere.
When at last they brought her to the great hall, Alice’s breath caught.
Once, this chamber had belonged to the Kings. It’s vaulted ceiling was carved with faded sigils, it’s long tables scarred by centuries of feasts and councils. Now, bankers of black and crimson hung from the rafters, Hastings crest replacing her father’s sun. The hall smelled of smoke and steel, and of men too long at war.
Edmund sat upon the dais where her father's throne once stood. He was not armored, but his presence was no less imposing. His gray eyes fixed on her as she was forced to her knee before him.
Rise, he said, his voice carrying easily through the chamber.
The guards hesitated, then obeyed, hauling her upright. Alice’s chin lifted of its own accord. She will not kneel.
Edmund’s gaze lingered on her, unreadable. You will be presented today as proof of my victory. My men will see their enemy broken. It will steady them.
Alice’s lip curled. And if I refuse?
A shadow of a smile touched his mouth. Then they will see their enemy punished. Either way, I win.
She was scared, but fury burned away her fear. Do you think parading me will make them forget what you are? They whisper it, already the curse that eats you alive. You can hang all the banners you like, Edmund, but rot spreads, and they will see it.
The hall went silent. Even the guards shifted uneasily, as if her words were blasphemy.
Edmund rose slowly, each step down from the dais deliberate. He came to stand before her, close enough that she could see the faint black veins at his temple. His face betrayed nothing.
You speak boldly for a woman in chains, he murmured.
I speak the truth she shot back. And truth does not bow.
His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. Gasps rippled through the watching soldiers. Alice’s heart thundered, but she glared back, refusing to flinch.
Edmund studied her for a long, terrible moment. Then, to her shock, his grip loosened. He let her go, stepping back, his voice carrying once more for all to hear.
She calls me cursed, he said, his tone calm, measured. And perhaps she is right. But what does that make her, still standing before me? Captive, yet unbroken. Shackled yet defiant. The lioness of Collymore, caged but not tamed.
Murmurs rippled through the hall. His soldiers looked at her not with contempt, but with wary respect.
Alice’s chest tightened. He was twisting her defiance into his own weapon.
You see? Edmund’s gaze swept the hall. Even our enemies recognize strength. Let them whisper of curses and shadows, I will not hide from it. Power is power, whether won by blade or blood.
The hall erupted in cheers, fists slamming against tables and shields. Alice’s fury burned hotter than ever. He had used her, turned her own rebellion into his theater
When the noise subsided, he leaned closer, his voice low enough only she could hear. Fight me all you like, Princess. Every time you bare your teeth, you feed my legend.
Her hand itched for a blade. She longed to drive steel into his chest, to wipe that cold certainty from his face. Instead, she forced herself to smile, thin and sharp.
Legends end, Edmund. Monsters always fall.
For the briefest instant, something flickered in his expression, something pained, quickly buried. Then he turned away, dismissing her with a gesture
Take her back.
The guards dragged her from the hall, her blood still boiling, her heart pounding. She had refused to kneel. She had refused to break. But the truth clawed at her, “she has not won yet and her victory was not far.”
Not yet.
As the dungeon door slammed shut behind her, Alice sank against the wall, breath shuddering. She pressed her bruised wrists to her chest, fury coursing through her veins like fire.
Edmund thought her defiance made him stronger. But she would find a way to turn that strength against him.
She swore it.
- Writer
