“Come, we both know he didn’t travel north.Where is he?”
Gwendolyn sighed with impatience."You overestimate my foresight," she said evenly."Guwayne obeys his duty.If he has deviated, it is the will of the gods, not mine.Torture me if you must, but I cannot reveal what I do not know."
The second interrogator snorted from the doorway."The guards sing a different tune.”
Across the way, Kellan rattled his chains, his voice a growl."Lies!My men are loyal.You'd twist words from a dying man's lips to suit your masters."
The first interrogator ignored him, focusing on Gwendolyn."Cooperate, my Lady.The nobles offer mercy.Name Guwayne's location, swear fealty to the new council, and you'll be moved to quarters befitting your station.No more chains.Hot meals, perhaps even a view of the sea."
Gwendolyn allowed a faint smile, though it held no warmth."Mercy from thieves?You refer to me as your Queen, as ‘my Lady’, why not treat me as such?I built this kingdom from ashes.You really think I would barter my son's life for comfort."She leaned forward as much as her bonds allowed, her gaze piercing."Tell Aldrich this: the people will not forget.The Ring endures not by noble decree, but by the will of its guardians.Your coup is a fleeting shadow.History will not be kind to you and your masters.”
The interrogators exchanged glances, frustration evident.They had tried threats, promises, isolation, cold, and hunger to break her, but Gwendolyn's resolve was forged in wars past.As they departed, slamming the bars shut, she heard the guards in their cells murmuring encouragement."Hold fast, my queen," one whispered."The light will return."
Sir Kellan met her eyes through the gloom."They grow desperate, Majesty.Without Guwayne, their claim is hollow.The people chant your name in the streets—or so the guards whisper when they think we don't hear."
Gwendolyn nodded, though weariness tugged at her."Desperation breeds mistakes.We wait, Kellan.And pray Guwayne finds his path."
Hours later, the dungeon door opened again, this time admitting a figure of greater import.Lord Aldrich himself descended the stone steps, flanked by two personal guards in polished armor bearing his sigil—a coiled serpent, devouring its tail on a field of gold.He was a man in his mid forties, tall with a hooked nose and oiled hair, streaked with gray, dressed in fine velvet despite the dungeon's chill.His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the cells before settling on Gwendolyn.
"Leave us," he commanded his escorts, who hesitated but obeyed, retreating to the corridor's end.Aldrich pulled up the stool, sitting with an air of false familiarity."Queen Gwendolyn—or should I say, former queen?These accommodations do you no justice.A woman of your stature, reduced to this...it's unbecoming."
Gwendolyn regarded him coolly."Spare me the pleasantries, Aldrich.You've come to bargain, as your dogs failed."
He chuckled softly, though it lacked mirth."Direct as ever.Yes, to bargain.The council—our new regime—controls the Ring now.The breaches are contained, the guard loyal to us.But the people...they adore you.Whispers of rebellion stir in the markets, the taverns.'Free the queen,' they say.It's tiresome."
"Then release me," she retorted."End this farce."
Aldrich leaned in, his voice lowering."Cooperate, and we can coexist.Acknowledge our council as regents until...stability returns.In exchange, luxurious quarters here in Larkridge.Books, servants, even visits from your ladies-in-waiting.And protection for Guwayne, should he surface.We need not be enemies."
Gwendolyn's laugh was sharp, echoing off the stones."Protection?You mean control.Legitimize your theft, and you'll parade me as a puppet while you plunder the treasury.No, Aldrich.I will not bless your coup.The throne is mine by right, Thorgrin's by conquest.Your regime is built on sand."
His facade cracked, eyes narrowing."Stubborn to the end.Without you, the people might rally to us—heroes against the chaos you failed to prevent.But with you alive, a symbol...it's problematic."
"Kill me, then," she challenged, though her pulse quickened."Make a martyr of me.See how the Ring responds."
Aldrich rose, smoothing his tunic."Tempting, but crude.We'll see."He turned to leave, pausing at the door."Think on it, Gwendolyn.Comfort or chains—the choice is yours.Because believe me, you are not going anywhere in the meantime, and winter comes.You think these dank dungeons are unwelcoming now?Wait until the frost settles over the land."
She listened to his footsteps fade and closed her eyes, her troubled thoughts not resting on her own discomfort but on the future of the Ring, the safety of her son, and of her husband, Thor.She had started to come to terms with his death, through sickening gut-wrenching grief, when Kellan had put the seed of hope into her mind that perhaps Proudlock’s story wasn’t what it had seemed.That maybe there was more to the circumstances than he had led everyone to believe.That maybe, just maybe Thor was not dead…
No.She couldn't allow herself to believe that.All she was doing by allowing herself such a forlorn hope was setting herself up for another devastating blow when his death was confirmed.
Upstairs, in the castle's opulent living quarters, tension of another kind simmered.Lord Aldrich entered the chamber, where Baron Holt, Lady Elowen, and Lord Garrick awaited before a roaring fire.Elowen, tall and slender, skin pale as moonlit snow, black hair threaded with white, pulled into a severe bun that further accentuated sharp cheekbones.Her piercing green eyes flicked to Aldrich as he strode in, her long fingers fingering the pendant that hung around her neck, depicting a raven, her house's crest.
Lord Garrick’s appearance could not have been more different.Built like the highland crags he hailed from, he was broad-shouldered and strong armed.His face bore the scars of battles he had fought alongside Thor, the king he had plotted to bring down.A jagged line sliced across his left eye, leaving it milky and blind, while his right eye burned with unrelenting fury.His hair was shorn close, military-style, and his beard trimmed to a sharp point, giving him the look of a predator stalking prey.His large hand held a goblet as he paced in front of the fire.
It was the third member of the party who spoke first.Unassuming and drab in appearance, Baron Holt’s greedy mind was anything but."Well?"he demanded."Does she yield?"
Aldrich shook his head, pouring himself a goblet of blood red wine."Stubborn as granite.Maintains ignorance of the boy's whereabouts.Refuses to legitimize us."
Garrick slammed his goblet down."Then execute her!A quick beheading, blame it on assassins from the Wilds.The people will mourn, but move on.We divide the lands—east to you, Aldrich; north to me; south to Elowen."
Elowen whirled on him."Fool!Kill her, and she becomes a saint.There would be riots in King's Court and every godforsaken village in the realm.Everyone knows she is in our custody as a guest.The Shield Guard would flock to any banner raised in her name.No, we neutralize her influence differently—spread rumors of her madness, or concoct evidence for her complicity in the breaches.Or marry her off to one of us, bind her to the regime."
Aldrich stroked his chin, gazing into the flames."Marriage?Ambitious, Elowen.But she despises us.And if Guwayne lives, he'd contest any such union."
"Find the boy first," Garrick growled."Torture the guard—Kellan will break eventually."
Elowen smirked."Or use subtler means.Poisons that cloud the mind make her pliable.We can't afford a martyr, but a broken queen?That serves."
