Page 3 of Their War

He didn't respond, silence my only answer. Desperate to talk to someone, anyone, even if they were a murdering psychopath, I gave him a few minutes to reply. When he didn’t, I started to sing again. “I'm a survivor, I'm not gonna give up, I'm not gonna stop, I'm gon' work harder...”

“Fine,” he snapped. “I'll talk, just please stop singing.”

Smiling to myself at my accomplishment, I wracked my brain with something to talk about. After days of desperately wanting to talk to someone, now I didn't know what to say. “How long have you been down here?” I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Too long.” I waited for him to expound on that answer, but he didn't.

“Okaaay...” I dragged out the word. “Well, what did you do to get thrown down here?”

“What did you do?” he asked, turning the question back around on me. “Try to sing the Queen to death?”

Laughing at the memory, I replied, “I tried to kill the Winter Consort.” Yeah, assassinations weren't usually something to be proud of, but that dickbag definitely deserved what he'd gotten. Of course, it was the Queen's fault for trying to come after Arryn, so I couldn't help the burst of pride in myself that I had successfully foiled her attempts to ruin us.

“If that were true, you'd be dead,” the man snapped, his voice filled with doubt.

“Yeah, well, apparently I'm one of the Chosen, so she can't outright kill me, but I also made a deal with her that she couldn't physically harm me or my consorts.”

“I'm sure she made that deal willingly.” This man's sarcasm game was on point. I couldn't help my smirk. Maybe we could be besties. Yes, I was well aware that my thoughts were sounding crazy, but at this point, I didn’t care.

Laughing again, I explained, “I had a magical blade from the Lady of the Lake that could only be handled by me. I threw my dagger at him, and he was bleeding out. She didn't really have a choice since I was the only one who could remove it so he could be healed.”

“Smart,” the mystery man responded, his tone indicating he was impressed by my story. “But one doesn't just randomly try to kill the Winter Consort. What did he do to deserve the attack?”

“He tried to take what was mine.” I paused as the scene flashed before my eyes, still fresh in my memory, and the absolute panic that had hit me when I realized Arryn's life was at stake. “The Queen had ordered the execution of one of my Consorts. She tried to say that he was a traitor to the crown.”

“Ah. Generally, she does get those accusations right. No matter that she deserves to be overthrown,” he said, sympathizing with my situation.

“Sounds like you're speaking from experience.”

“Hmm...” He remained silent for a moment, and I thought I would have to start singing again. “To answer your question, I tried to kill the Queen.”

“So how come you're still alive?”

“I've spent the last couple of decades trying to determine that for myself.”

Decades?! This man had been down here that long and hadn't gone crazy yet? I had to give it to him, he had handled the imprisonment a lot better than I had. I couldn't even imagine spending a year in these conditions, much less decades.

“Seriously?” I asked him, needing to hear more.

“Yeah.” His voice came out on a quiet, defeated sigh.

I couldn't help but feel the emotion come over me as well. I still had hope that I would get out of here, but I could tell he'd lost his a while ago. Imagining what decades would do to me in this cell, I was surprised that he was still holding on. No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk. What was the point when he only had more of the same to look forward to?

The dungeon door squeaked open. Seriously, they needed to oil those hinges. The godawful noise was torture on its own. Perhaps that's why they left them the way they were. I tilted my head as that realization dawned on me.

As the door swung open, several guards lined the hallway that stood between the cells as far as I could see. Which, honestly, wasn't very far. Each fae faced forward, faces blank and stoic, reminding me of the British Royal Guards that stood on display in London. There were a lot more here than my usual visitors, and I had a suspicion as to why.

The reason for so many unexpected guests made itself known almost as soon as the last guard took his place. The Queen swept into the room, a look of disgust on her face at the conditions. She stepped carefully across the moist, stone floor until she stood in front of my cell.

Not bothering to stand, I leaned back against the wall, feigning nonchalance. She didn’t need to know that I was losing my mind from the boredom. Instead, I pretended I was on a beach somewhere on vacation, the warm sun soaking into my skin instead of the mildew I was currently covered in. I pasted a smile on my face. “It's nice to see that I'm so feared that I warrant a contingent of guards to keep you safe.”

Her eyes narrowed in response as the muscle in her jaw jumped, my words having their intended effect on her. “If it were up to me, I'd leave you here to rot, as you deserve.” Through clenched teeth, she continued, “But it seems that you must still partake in the final trial.”

Finally pushing to my feet, I stood to face her, remaining silent as I struggled to keep the hope from my face. She rolled her eyes as I crossed my arms and cocked out a hip. “Apparently the final trial is preparing to start, and you are needed.”

“And my Consorts?” I asked her.

“There's no rule saying they must also be present, so you will be entirely alone.” She gloated at this fact.

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