Chapter 7 #2
“Because I see you, Princess,” I admitted, my tone dropping an octave, knowing that I should not have spoken a single one of those words.
“What do you see?” her voice dropped to a husky whisper that made the heat in my blood rise.
“I see a canary trapped in a cage, its wings clipped and song silenced. But I see you looking at the sky, I see you yearning for your freedom, I see your heart bleeding day in, day out. And I see that the fight in you will never die.”
“How do you know for sure?” she breathed, a desperation to her voice that left me feeling so fucking useless to her. “Because sometimes I feel like my soul is being crushed by the weight of the whole sky.”
“You’re Princess Austyn Lunarelle of Osaria, you were born of power, and one day you will realise the strength of a hundred suns burns within your veins and no mere maggot can hold a candle to you.”
For some reason I felt sure she was smiling as she nodded, stepping back and adjusting her veil. “Thank you, Cassius. Will you take me back to my rooms now?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” I bowed my head, letting her take the lead before following in her wake.
I walked behind her as obediently as a hound at a goddess’s heels, and I felt my infatuation with her deepen.
The roaring fire in my veins told me I was more beast than man in that moment, a hellion born to protect this girl with every fibre of my unworthy being, and after crossing a boundary between us with what I’d said, I found I liked the taste of sin on my tongue a little too much.
I shifted against the wall for the hundredth time, the past haunting me as I thought over my failings.
I had quietly promised Princess Austyn to rid Osaria of Magdor, that she would be free one day, happy.
But now I feared the hope I’d once had for her future had been nothing but a fool’s dream.
With each passing year, I had failed time and again at exposing Magdor, unable to gather proof of her witchcraft, and fuck if that wasn’t the most gutting thing of all.
The scent of shit in this place made my stomach turn.
Had nobody in this dungeon ever heard of soapy water and a mop?
It felt like my skin was itching from all the filth surrounding me.
I was used to clean clothes, a sparkling home and a toilet that was more than a hole in the ground. Like a lot fucking more.
“Why are you acting like there's ants crawling all over you?” Drake asked from his cell where he looked perfectly comfortable amongst the dirt and grime. I supposed if he’d lived his life in the slums, this kind of living space was rather homey to him.
“Because I'm not used to living in these conditions. A pig is treated better than this,” I snarled, getting to my feet when it became too much to bear.
I wiped my hands down my tattered britches, eyeing Drake through the iron bars. Bars which were making me feel ill with their proximity. My chest was still bare, and I guessed I’d be given no more clothes in this life.
The man who would likely be the source of my last ever conversation in life was sprawled out, his head cupped in his hands as if he was currently basking on a beach under the beating sun.
“You seem pretty relaxed for someone who's going to lose their balls tomorrow,” I commented.
Shit, I had to think the fate the guards had in store for him was even worse than what I had coming at dawn.
My execution was decided. And even being disembowelled to the cheers of an onlooking crowd seemed far preferable to castration via a heated butcher’s knife.
Fuck that. At least I’d die with my cock intact. I damn well hoped so anyway.
“That's because I'm not gonna lose them,” he said confidently, looking like he truly believed those words.
“You're in denial,” I said solemnly with an understanding nod.
I’d probably have been in denial too in his position. What was a man without his manhood intact? I shuddered at the thought.
“Nah, I'm not.” His eyes slid to mine, like he was considering me for a moment and when he went on, I had to assume he’d found what he’d been searching for in his assessment. “My gang will come for me before dawn.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will,” I said, not believing that at all, but not wanting to take away a man’s hope in the face of his balls being removed.
Besides, maybe there was a small chance of it.
And it didn’t much matter to me if one thief returned to the streets, I was a dead man walking anyway.
Though I seriously doubted they’d be able to break him out of the fortress that was the royal prison.
“Yeah, they’ll come charging in here, swords drawn, begging to see my face because they’ve missed it so much,” he said with such certainty that I kind of pitied him.
“Of course. Then they’ll all take you home and you can give each other blowjobs to celebrate your cock remaining intact,” I said lightly.
“I’m not gay, mate, but if you want to use that image to pleasure yourself for a final time before you’re hung, drawn and quartered, go right ahead. Meanwhile, I’ll be skipping my way across the rooftops of Osaria again by midday, living my best life.”
“Lucky you,” I said dryly.
His eyes glittered. “Always was lucky. Sorry, mate.”
I reached a hand up to rub my neck, thinking of the hangman's noose which might break it tomorrow. I wasn’t entirely sure on the methods they’d be using for my death, but it could well end that way.
And if it did come to that, I hoped my neck did snap rather than me choking for a few long minutes.
They weren’t going to let me out of this world too easy though, the fact that they’d spent a few days torturing me before my execution was proof of that.
They wanted to be certain they got their pound of flesh from me and if it did come to a hanging, a man of my size would almost certainly get his neck broken when the lever was pulled. Gasp. Snap. Done.
Why was I starting to think I’d wasted all those years being a straight-edged warrior?
Should have gotten laid more often.
Maybe it would have been healthier if I’d sought the company of women every week instead of burying my urges for months on end, only to lose control for a single night of profane fucking.
But I guessed that was the problem. Control was hammered into me.
Routine, vigilance, discipline. It was as addictive as it was insufferable, and I was endlessly caught between restricting the needs of my inner man and working to uphold the expectations of my position.
It was no wonder I had to pay extra for the kinds of whores who would allow me to express my inner demons to their fullest extent on their bodies.
I supposed it was the price I had to pay to keep my sanity.
Drake watched me for a moment before closing his eyes, seeming utterly relaxed in this shithole.
I had to wonder what kind of life a man like him lived.
The Forty ruled the slums so it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they hid themselves away amongst the shanty town of ramshackle housing that surrounded the city.
But they were also notoriously accomplished thieves which meant they had riches worth taking note of.
So they must have held some level of luxury where they lived – what else would they be spending all of that money on?
I very much doubted they were spending it on feeding the masses.
And yet he seemed more than comfortable here in this squalor too. So it was hard to judge.
I drifted back towards the wall, deciding how to spend my final hours. Repenting? Fuck that. I had zero remorse for my crime. If there was a face worthy of dying for, it was the princess's.
I wondered what she thought about being looked upon.
She probably despised me for it. I'd crossed a line that was drawn by the emperor himself, though on reflection she had always hated that veil, always wished to be rid of it. But I doubted my eyes were the first man’s she would have picked to land on her face.
Though she had been as enslaved to almost as many rules as I had during my time at the palace, maybe breaking free of one restraint had been something of a liberation to her at least. I hoped so.
Because I knew all about being held in check by laws.
I also knew that it didn’t stop me dreaming of bigger things sometimes.
Things beyond my station. Things involving the princess who I had no right in fantasising about.
I’d have to be ten times of a better man and have a thousand times the wealth to be worthy of her.
I wondered what Princess Austyn dreamed about at night. Adventure, power…sin? Who featured in her fantasies? Who awoke lust in a girl so painted in virtue?
I dragged my mind away from her, focusing on my family instead.
My mother had raised me alongside my seven sisters.
In a world where women were supposed to be beneath men, I'd certainly never felt above any of them.
My mother had taught me to respect women.
Something my training in the Royal Guard had attempted to beat out of me.
But I'd held firm, though my revolutionary thoughts had to remain quietened in the face of my job.
Seeing my old captain had stirred up some uncomfortable memories, though.
“Tunic off. Back to me, Lazar,” Captain Marik ordered. “Ten lashings in penance for your impertinent tongue.”
The strikes were cold, then hot, then wet when the blood came. Always in that order. Each one harder than the last. Pain was a mirage; Marik had taught me that. He’d been wrong though. It wasn’t an illusion, but you could train your mind not to feel it as keenly.
“Why not take a wife, Lazar?” my fellow guardsman had once asked me. “It’s like having a live-in whore who does your housework.”
I’d broken his jaw. Ten lashings every day for a week. Worth it.