Page 20 of Warrior Princess
“Guards, escort the princess to her room and make sure she doesn’t leave,” King Eduard commanded dismissively. He smirked one last time, a final twist of the knife, before turning and striding out of the throne room with regal indifference.
As the guards ushered me out, my mind raced with the grim reality of my situation. Trapped in a foreign land, stripped of my powers, and under the watchful eye of a tyrant, the road ahead was fraught with danger. Yet, the fire of defiance burned brightly within me, fueled by every arrogant smirk and condescending remark I endured from the king. I was far from defeated, and my resolve to fight, survive, and overcome this ordeal grew stronger with each step I was forced to take away from the throne room and back to the gilded cage that was now my prison.
10
Trapped in the confines of the opulently decorated bedroom, the walls seemed to close in with every passing second. The heavy, ornate door stood as an immovable barrier between me and freedom, firmly locked from the outside. My initial response was frantic—banging, shouting, pleading for any sign of attention. “Please!” I called repeatedly, my voice growing hoarse. “At least get Commander Mykal Kaiser here. Please!” My fists pounded against the solid wood until they ached, but my efforts were met with a stifling, suffocating silence that seemed to mock my desperation.
Mykal's absence in the throne room earlier was a glaring omission, and now its purpose was painfully clear. Isolated and cut off, the realization that Ronan wouldn't know of my plight until it was too late weighed heavily on my mind. I had been diligent in sending him daily updates, a routine that was now broken, severing our only line of communication. The thought that the next message he might receive would be a concoction of lies from the king filled me with dread.
Struggling to maintain my composure, I whispered, “I can do this. I can hold out for five days. Then Ronan will comefor me. Piece of cake.” But as the words left my lips, I felt the hollowness behind them. The opulence of the room, with its rich tapestries and plush furnishings, did little to comfort me. Instead, the beautifully carved furniture and soft, luxurious bed felt like trappings of a golden prison. Especially with the Aetherite bracelets clamped around my wrists that muted my mage powers.
As I paced back and forth across the thick rug, the space seemed to shrink with each step. The room, usually a sanctuary of rest in any other circumstance, now felt like a cell. Every exquisite piece of art and stroke of gold leaf on the paneling seemed to taunt my captivity. The air felt viscous, harder to breathe, as if the very atmosphere was complicit in my confinement.
I stopped by the window and pulled aside heavy velvet drapes that muffled the sounds of the outside world. Pressing my forehead against the cool glass, I gazed out at the sprawling palace grounds that were deceptively serene. Gardens lush with late blooms and neatly trimmed hedges suggested a world of freedom lay just beyond my reach. It was a cruel irony to see such beauty and know it was as unreachable as the stars in the night sky.
Feeling angry and helpless, I realized that relying on hope and patience wasn't enough. If I was going to withstand this ordeal, I needed a plan. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, I turned away from the window. My mind raced with possibilities, however slim, of reclaiming my agency and crafting an escape from the clutches of King Eduard’s twisted intentions.
The gears in my mind clicked into high gear as I surveyed the room for anything that could be of use. My initial panic gradually gave way to cold, calculating determination. If I had any chance of escaping or at least surviving until Ronan orsomeone from the outside could intervene, I needed to be strategic.
First, I took stock of the room's contents. There were ornate pieces of furniture—a heavy oak armoire, a beautifully carved desk filled with writing supplies, and a large bed framed with dark, polished wood. The chandelier above provided ample light, its crystals glinting with a sharpness that momentarily distracted me. The room boasted a fireplace with a set of iron poker tools, which could potentially serve as a makeshift weapon if needed.
I approached the desk and rifled through the drawers, searching for anything that might aid in my escape or defense. Amidst the stacks of crisp parchment, ink, and quills, I found a small, sharp letter opener. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I tucked it into the folds of my dress, feeling a small surge of empowerment at having something with which to defend myself.
Next, I inspected the door. It was solid and the lock was sturdy, likely designed more for privacy in better times than for imprisoning unwilling royals. Feeling along the edges, I found no give that would allow for an easy escape. My thoughts turned briefly to the window, which offered a view of the gardens and, beyond that, the dense tree line of the forest that bordered the palace grounds. However, it was a sheer drop to the ground, and without any climbing aids, it was not an option.
My focus was drawn to the fireplace. The iron poker tools caught my eye again. I grasped the poker, feeling its weight—a solid, heavy tool that could be useful. I placed it near the bed, within easy reach should the need arise.
Feeling somewhat more prepared, I perched on the edge of the bed and tried to calm my racing thoughts. As the king’s last words echoed ominously in my mind, the gravity of my situation felt overwhelming. Yet, despair was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I needed to stay alert and keep my wits.
As the chandelier’s light cast long shadows across the room, I rehearsed various scenarios in my head. Each noise from the corridor outside heightened my anxiety, forcing me to be ready to act at a moment’s notice.
Eventually, the door opened. I tensed and reached for the poker, but it was only Diane. She closed the door quietly behind her and hesitantly approached me.
“Princess, I... I brought you some food,” she whispered. She placed a tray on the desk and her eyes darted nervously toward the door, then she lowered her voice even further. “Do you have a letter for me to send?”
I frowned, wondering why this scared servant would risk the wrath of the king to deliver my letter. Something didn’t seem right.
“Why would you do that?” I whispered. “Did King Eduard give you permission?”
Her eyes widened in fear. “W-What?”
“I’m a prisoner,” I said slowly. “As such, I assume I’m not allowed to contact anyone. Are you doing this in secret?”
“O-Of c-course!” she stammered. “I won’t let the king know.”
Her wording seemed off, but what did I have to lose? If my letter was intercepted, at least I tried. But if it wasn’t, Ronan would receive my cry for help.
Watching her closely for a second longer, I nodded and went over to the desk to write Ronan a quick letter asking for aid. Once it was sealed, I handed it over to the trembling servant. “Here.” I watched her shrewdly. “Could you also send a verbal message?”
She frowned as she took the letter from me. “What is it?”
“Can you tell Mykal to come to my room? I’d like to see him.” Maybe Mykal could do something,anythingto get me out of this nightmare.
“Sure,” she mumbled, then quickly spun on her heels and left my room.
The next daycame and went with no word from Ronan or Mykal. By the sixth day of my forced stay here in Keldara, uncertainty relentlessly gnawed at me. I was increasingly consumed by thoughts of whether Ronan and my family had received any letters from King Eduard, and what their reactions might be. Desperation had set in to the extent that I even caught myself hoping that Caelan would storm through the palace doors to rescue me—an unlikely hero, given our complicated past. Nowthatwas true desperation.
Isolation weighed heavily on me, and Mykal's absence only deepened my sense of abandonment. He hadn't visited since my confinement began, leaving me to wonder about the machinations unfolding beyond the opulent but suffocating walls of my plush prison.
