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As the sun rose outside of the palace the next morning, the Hailian servant had dressed Rayne in a red dress made of the most unforgiving material Rayne had ever encountered. She had then tortured Rayne’s curls into submission on the top of her head and left her to stare at herself in the looking glass until another servant brought her breakfast. Rayne made quick work of the fresh fruit and porridge and then began pacing the palace halls. Most of the people there ignored her, passing her without a second glance. Banded servants, pages, nobles with their noses so high in the air they couldn't see her around their own nostrils. The silence in her room had been too much. She needed the comfort of other people, of normal people. Of people who didn't want to kill her.
No one had come to see her after she fled Edlyn's room. Not Danyll or Tierri or Edlyn, though she didn't think her sister was allowed to leave that corridor. Her sister who had hugged her and been glad to see her. Her sister, who was in love with the Ashsky prince. Brainwashed. Maybe Prince Danyll knew a little something about that. Still, she longed for the company of someone who knew what she was going through. Of someone who could tell her what to do.
It wasn't until she was standing at the top of a nondescript spiral staircase in one of the back towers that she knew where she was going. There was only one person Rayne could think of that met the criteria, and she was hidden somewhere below her, locked away in the dungeon waiting for King Innis's judgment. Rayne had heard some of the nobles wondering when the rebel trial would be held. When they would get to see a hanging.
“It’s been so long,” one of the women had said in a whining soprano. Rayne had only half-heard the women’s conversation, but it now pushed itself to the front of her mind as she stared down the narrow staircase.
She descended slowly. The air was frigid and the room below her was dark; she knew she was in the right place. The stairs felt never-ending, and by the time she reached the bottom, she was dizzy.
The door she encountered was made of dark, heavy wood and iron braces, and opened with a loud scrape on the stone floor. The tunnel beyond was empty except for the torches flickering on the stone walls, illuminating the arching ceiling. Here there were no windows, no natural light. Even the air smelled stale and unused. The tunnel ended in an iron gate and beyond it, there was the sound of rattling keys and a man whistling something. To call it a tune would be generous.
“You'll never get in,” came a quiet voice from right behind her, someone's breath hot on her ear.
Rayne jumped, fear of discovery the only thing stronger than her surprise and the only thing that kept her from shrieking. She whipped around and found the general watching her with an amused smirk. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, just out of sight of the barred iron door. Out of his armor, he looked young and handsome, his long brown hair tied back in a bun, his golden band outlined against the sleeve of his shirt that strained against hard-earned muscles.
“I don't— I don't want to get in,” Rayne stuttered, standing and pushing her hair out of her eyes.
He studied her, his eyes raking her from top to bottom in a way that made her distinctly aware of just how uncomfortable she was in this dress. She was wary, but she never felt the tug of magic.
“Then what are you doing here? The dungeons are no place for a princess.” She was so tired of hearing those words, of being called a princess when she had worked so hard to become a Knight.
He shifted, pushing off of the wall, and her eyes fell to her dagger at his hip. “Why did you lie about the knife?” she asked, avoiding his question, hoping that an uncomfortable change in subject might make him go away.
She was wrong. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at her and without responding, stepped out into the corridor.
“Hey,” Rayne hissed at him, but he didn't answer. Instead, he moved to the iron gate and banged on it.
“You coming, princess?” he called over his shoulder.
What was she supposed to do? Trust him? Did she have any other choice? All he had to do was say the word and she would be thrown behind those bars. But in the space of a breath, she made the decision and darted forward to stand beside him, shifting from foot to foot.
“Relax,” Tierri told her and she stilled. It was easier to think of him as Tierri when he wasn't in uniform. He was just another man, a servant; not a wielder, not a general.
He banged again on the bars.
“Coming, coming,” someone grumbled from the darkness on the other side.
“Hurry up, you old bastard,” Tierri said.
Rayne turned to him wide-eyed. What was he doing? Before she could ask, a small man with a tuft of white hair appeared, a ring of keys dangling heavily from his leather belt.
“Well, if it isn't the young king,” the old man said, then he guffawed, his laugh ending abruptly in a hacking cough.
“You'd better not let anyone else hear you say that, Old Sim,” Tierri said, rolling his eyes toward Rayne. “Especially not in the presence of true royalty.”
Old Sim took one look at Rayne and made it obvious he wasn't impressed. “You'd better tell me what you want or I'm going back to my nap.”
“I don't know how you can sleep surrounded by a bunch of criminals,” Tierri said.
“Ha!” the jailer scoffed. “I feel safer down here than I do up there.” He pointed a gnarled finger at the ceiling. Rayne understood what he meant and nodded in agreement.
Wrapping his hands around the iron bars in front of him, Tierri leaned forward. “The princess needs to see a prisoner,” he whispered even though there was no one else around except maybe the inmates beyond the gate. How had he known?
The man looked serious for the first time since Rayne had seen him as he ran a hand over his balding head. “Aw, King,” he said, using what was evidently a nickname for Tierri, “you know I can't do that, not even for your pretty friend.”
“Don't make me pull rank,” Tierri said, but as he spoke he pulled something wrapped in linen from a pocket. Holding it in one hand, he gently unfolded the cloth to reveal a steaming bun slathered in red jam. Sim's eyes nearly popped out of his head, but he took a step back as if distance could repel the hunger.
Sim was shaking his head, but Rayne saw his resolve crumble. He sighed and began fumbling with the keys. “You always know just how to strike, don't you? Some would say you don't play fair.”
“No one should ever mistake me for a fair player,” Tierri said, stepping back from the gate and tugging Rayne with him.
“If I catch any flack for this, I'm pointing all three of my fingers at you.” Sim lifted a hand that was missing its thumb and pinky and shook it at Tierri as he pushed the gate open. Rayne pressed her lips together to conceal a gasp.