8. Riggs
RIGGS
He fucked up.
Shivering on the icy stone floor beneath the castle, Riggs watched his breath dissipate in the damp air. He needed to move to keep his teeth from chattering, but he was too tired to will his limbs. He had been drugged and lost track of time.
It was quiet. Too quiet, save for the water dripping from the crusted ceilings, clinking on the ground. Its eerie sound echoed through the many empty cells, causing chills to spread down his arms.
Riggs inhaled a deep breath, instantly regretting it.
His stomach swirled from the stench of death.
Where is the smell coming from? He scoured the cell for the source—likely rotting limbs.
He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
There was nothing in the cell with him, other than a few rodent droppings and dirt.
Maybe it wasn’t death he was smelling. But something else.
Something ferocious. His brows rose as he observed the puddle forming outside of his cell.
Is the trickling water sewage? He hoped not, because now there was a stream leaking into his cell.
Riggs plugged his nose, feet kicking at the floor until he was a safe distance away.
His throat stung, head pounding in a steady plea for water.
Those bastard guards hadn’t offered him any.
He’d never been locked up before, but he could only imagine they’d give their prisoners water.
They had to, right? Dagon served shitty wine, go figure, they had no common courtesy.
Their water most likely tasted like crap too.
For the time being, he’d survive.
“What a shit hole…” He rubbed his face, resting his head on the wall. Was it worth it?
A small smirk tilted his lips. Yeah, it was worth it. Leaving wasn’t an option. Every atom of his body demanded he stay. To be present. To be with her. Riggs shook his head, knowing he was utterly delusional.
She was the Princess of Dagon.
And he was a bounty hunter waiting for the chance to save the world.
Still, it did not stop him from fantasizing what it could be like, what she might feel like?—
Swirling guilt pulled him out of his thoughts and back to reality. He had one mission: collect information about Princess Elora, and he failed.
Nevertheless, the princess was beyond beautiful…
he couldn’t stop his mind from returning to her once more, her memory a constant tug.
At least he had gotten the chance to talk to her, to hear the sweet sound of her voice when she spoke.
To feel the softness of her hands when he held them.
Her warmth still lingered on the tip of his fingers, and he could still feel the steady pulse of her heartbeat when she was pressed against him.
A slow smile crept across his face as he stared at the dark ceiling, straining to recall her name. Em? Sofia?
Riggs' head hung, fingers gripping his forehead with frustration. He couldn’t remember anyone’s name.
He knew he should’ve said her name at least three times to remember.
Damn it. It was one of his many faults. At least he was good with faces, but dates and names?
Forget it. If Riggs didn’t write it down, it floated from his mind like a rose petal in the wind.
Darkness slipped in, fantasy colliding with cold reality.
He had failed Killian, and was certain his brother would strangle him once he found out how his evening had ended. The first time going solo and he fucked it all up. He scratched his jaw, lowering his chin to his chest.
One flickering candle was mounted inside his cell and, with the amount of wax dripping along the stone, roughly four hours had passed. That had to mean it was sometime early in the morning. Riggs blinked, watching the sway of the dying flame. It would soon go out, leaving him alone in the darkness.
Typically, he would be putting people behind bars, and now he was one of them. “Oh, how the tables have turned,” Riggs murmured. A heaviness lingered in his chest, in his mind. He held his hands over his stomach, openly staring at the chains dangling off the wall.
“You’re a fucking idiot.” A familiar deep voice echoed, seeming to surround him with every syllable.
Riggs' face heated, a wave of disbelief washing over him. He inched toward the cell door, his body froze mid-movement. “Kills, what are you doing in here?” His voice trembled.
He hadn’t even heard the guards haul him in.
“Better question, what the fuck are you doing in here?” Killian growled, gripping the metal bars.
Riggs nonchalantly shrugged. “I got caught using a fake name,” he said, cocking a brow. “You?” He wouldn’t tell him about the princess. No way in hell.
Killian bared his teeth, white as his knuckles. “What do you think?”
Riggs assessed Killian, shocked to find he was only wearing his white undershorts. Riggs snorted a laugh. “Interesting choice of ensemble.”
Killian scoffed, glancing down at himself. “I knocked out Lord Donnavan or some shit.” He twisted his beard. “I may have borrowed his clothes.”
Riggs sighed, the cold metal stinging his skin as he rested his forehead along the bars. “I quickly figured out the feathered masks belonged to royals. You’re lucky if all they did was strip you of your clothes.” He furrowed his brows. “What are we going to do, Kills?”
Killian swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” He glanced around. “No windows or exits.” He jerked his chin toward the iron gate. “The only way out is through that door.” Crouching down, Killian stared at the lock to his cell. “There’s nothing in here to pick this,” he breathed.
“Then we wait,” Riggs declared, running his hands through his hair.
“Wait for what? Wait to get the death penalty?” He growled, shaking his head. “This is fucked!” He gestured around the cell. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to get in and get out. Fucking simple, Riggs.”
Riggs winced, watching Killian pace back and forth, carefully contemplating what to say to him. “A death penalty sounds dramatic, don’t you think?”
Killian halted, fuming. “Do you think this is a fucking joke? Everything is always funny to you.”
Not everything. Riggs rolled his eyes. “Will you calm down? I hardly got any sleep and my head is pounding.”
Killian gripped the bars again, his stare burning into Riggs' soul. “I don’t give a fuck.”
“You never do,” Riggs murmured, turning away.
“What was that? Say it with your chest.” Killian’s tone surged with anger.
Riggs wordlessly slid down against the wall in resignation, covering himself with his arms, and closed his eyes.
For a moment, Riggs forgot where he was. The stench of shit, rotting corpses, and the press of the cold stone floor quickly reminded him he was still in the dungeon. Rubbing his eyes, he looked toward Killian, relieved to see he was sleeping.
How much longer in this hellhole?
Despite the smell, Riggs' stomach grumbled. He cursed himself for not swiping another artichoke tart. Dammit.
Through the iron bars, Riggs noticed the entry door swing open. “Psst! Killian. Wake up,” he whispered.
The guard stopped right in front of his cell, looping his fingers through his belt.
Riggs stood, inching toward the wall.
Killian’s voice echoed through the dark dungeon halls. “I’ll speak for the both of us.”
The guard’s assessing glare didn’t falter.
Riggs could feel his growing grin as he scanned the guard’s armor, counting his weapons: one sword sheathed to his side, two knives around his ankle, a string of keys affixed to his belt.
I can take him.
“Get up, both of you!” The guard kicked both cell doors. The iron quaked, ringing in his ears like cymbals slammed together.
“I’m already up,” Riggs quipped, crossing his arms. Idiot.
“Yeah, we hear you,” Killian grumbled.
“I’d watch your tongue when speaking to me,” the guard warned.
“Or what? You’ll lock me up?” Killian argued.
Riggs approached the bars, his lips twisting into a smirk as the guard emerged from the shadows. Riggs brows bunched, realizing it was the same asshole that hauled him out of the library. “Captain Fuckerford, right?” he asked, grinning.
The captain inched close to Riggs' cell, chewing on something.
“I would recommend considering your next choice of words before you plead your case in front of the king and queen, or I will simply tell them you both passed away from a nasty sickness that is going around.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, his green eyes hungry with something like bloodlust. “I doubt anyone would miss you.”
Riggs had never seen anyone with that color of eyes before. If the captain weren’t so much of a dick, he would think it was an appealing shade, but considering his shitty attitude, Riggs didn’t think so.
The captain’s gaze trailed him like a predator. Riggs' chest heaved. He could always sense who was sane and who wasn’t. The captain was indeed insane.
“And when do we get to make our plea?” Killian asked.
Captain Rutherford lifted a brow, then turned around, sizing up Killian. “When I come back with your shackles.”
“Afraid you can’t handle me without them, huh big boy?” Killian bared his teeth, gripping the bars like he’d rip them open with just one pull.
“You got some balls,” Captain Rutherford snickered, trailing his finger along the edge of the bars, his nose curling with disgust. “Don’t make me reconsider.”
“Reconsider what?” Killian laughed, sobering so fast his ire echoed around them. “I don’t do well with threats.”
“Neither do I.” Captain Rutherford’s voice was low.
Ten minutes went by before the captain returned with three other guards who held shackles in their hands.
Riggs rasped, “Captain Fuckerford.” He hung his arms through the bars, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Did you bring me water? I’m dying here.”
“Face and hands to the wall,” Captain Rutherford demanded. The other guards lingered behind the captain, panting like street dogs.
“Only because you asked.” Riggs grinned, backing up, and bracing his hands on the stone. This is ridiculous.
When Riggs heard the lock click open, he considered taking them all down and escaping, but just settled for a long, long sigh.
He was too exhausted, and his back hurt from the unforgiving floor in this crap hole.
If he had a pen and paper, he’d put together a list of recommendations for improvements.
Starting with the kingdom’s hospitality.
“You got a mouth on you. Don’t you?” Captain Rutherford said as he pinned Riggs down, scraping the side of his face against the uneven edges of the wall.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you? I like it rough.” Riggs' face slammed hard against the wall, the shackles tightening around him. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He spit a stream of blood across the cell floor.
“Shut up!”
“Live a little. I did what you asked.” Riggs scoffed. “Force is not necessary.” He grimaced, his cheek scraping raw. Certain Captain Fuckerford left a mark. The shackles snicked and bound to his aching wrists. Large hands pinned between his shoulder blades, driving him forward.
Riggs glanced at his brother, straining against his chains.
“Get the hell off me!” Killian bellowed.
“Just let them do what they need to do,” Riggs called out. His shackles dragged across the floor, as he was pushed out of his cell.
Staring at the rusty metal around his wrists and ankles, Riggs frowned, shaking his head. “This is borderline embarrassing for us.” He never thought he’d get himself into such a mess. Hell of a story to tell though. If they made it out alive, that was.
“Shut your mouth,” one of the guards said, his hot breath brushing Riggs' ear. Too close for his liking. A pungent smell like rotting cheese lingered. Someone needs to get Fuckerford Jr. a mint leaf to chew on. He nearly told Killian to comply but he didn’t want to smell the guard again, so he kept his mouth shut and didn’t dare breathe.
Getting pushed toward the iron gate, Riggs' chest seized.
“I said get the fuck off me!” Killian roared, struggling against their hold and getting slammed into the wall.
Riggs planted his feet, and the guard grunted, shoving at his back. Shit. Riggs winced, watching Killian get his ass handed to him.
“Keep moving,” the guard growled, his low pitched voice rattling Riggs' ear drum.
Riggs' stomach recoiled, getting hit once again by the guard’s breath. Godsdammit that stinks.
The iron door opened, and Riggs was finally free of the dirty dungeon.
Killian caught up, seething at his side as they ascended the stairs. “We’re fucked.”
Riggs couldn’t agree more—they were fucked.
Once they reached the upper level, Riggs foolishly searched for the princess. He sighed, swallowing hard. Where would the princess be at this time of day?
“What are you doing?” Killian asked.
“Shut your mouths,” a guard demanded from behind, slamming his palm between Riggs' shoulders.
Riggs' stomach tightened. Only servants dashed through the castle halls. He didn’t know what he expected, of course she wouldn’t be roaming around near?—
Riggs squinted, trying to make out what the silver sign said: Great hall.
Makes sense.
A few servants halted, gawking as they strolled passed. For entertainment purposes, Riggs winked. If they're going to gawk, might as well put on a show.
Killian snarled. “Knock that shit off.” His voice was a whisper.
Riggs carelessly shrugged. “What? I’m not hurting anyone.” He threw one last wink to a passing maid. The maid’s eyes widened. The buckets she carried tilted, soapy water splashing out and spilling on the floor.
The captain growled, “Shut your fucking mouths!”
Riggs faced Killian, crossing his eyes, and sticking out his tongue. He mouthed. Shut your fucking mouths.
Killian glared, unimpressed.
Whatever. Stifling a laugh, Riggs fixed his gaze on the double doors they were headed toward.
With the fancy, decorative molding around the frame, Riggs assumed the door led to the throne room.
He had read plenty of building plans in his father’s office to know the unique difference in lumber.
Riggs was familiar with those particular swirls in the grain.
A rare species of wood found on Runya Island—Rye oak.
Fancy fucks.
A couple of guards stationed by the door had their feet together and shoulders squared, their posture straight as a ruler. Captain Rutherford motioned a strange-ass hand signal, and they opened the doors.
“Keep an eye on them will you,” Captain Rutherford commanded, strolling inside. “I’ll be back to retrieve them.”
Riggs' heart raced, mouth going dry. He was seconds away from standing in front of the king and queen. He clenched his jaw hard enough to shatter his teeth.
Here goes nothing.