“Yeah, I never know when to keep my mouth shut.”
I don’t like this. Not one bit. It’s everything Katharine warned me about. Osian isn’t a king—he’s a tyrant.
Aren moves closer to the cell bars. “This happens a lot, huh?”
“All the time. Everyone here in Engel serves King Osian. Step so much as one toe out of line, and you’ll wind up here. Beaten, bloody, broken…dead.” He says it so nonchalantly, I almost don’t believe him. “But the people are talking. If there’s one thing the king can’t take from us, it’s our ideas.”
I know this to be true. Ideas can turn into hope, and hope is more powerful than even the Whisting. Tyranny has no chance against ideas.
“You said you’re getting out?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
“I said I was getting out in a few days. I never said I was getting out alive.”
…
Hours pass, and there’s nothing to do but wait. I have no way to determine what time of day it is. There’s no sunlight in the dungeons, leaving us in the murky half-light seeping through the grills above.
I’m utterly exhausted. We’ve gotten little rest since we set foot in the desert, which feels like a lifetime ago. Aren dozes between bouts of pacing, but I refuse to sleep. If I have one of my nightmares, I’ll lose control because I’m so agitated.
I keep myself awake by silently reciting all the essential trivia my father and tutors forced me to memorize. I stare at the slits of light above my head. I’m pretty sure night fell some time ago, but the throne room is still lit up with firelight.
A rhythmic pounding comes from above, followed by a shriek like an animal wailing. Occasionally, there are moans, then the cries again. No need to keep running infantry formations through my head; the unnerving, violent sounds are enough to keep me awake and alert.
Meanwhile, Aren paces the cell, holding herself stiffly. She shivers and rubs her arms as she walks, still dressed in her desert linens. Watching her is a good distraction from the noises coming from above.
“What do you think is happening up there?” she asks, eyes flicking up to the grates.
I roll onto my side, pressing my back against the cool wall. “Let’s hope we never find out… Come here,” I say, patting the space next to me on the mattress. “There’s room.”
She gives me a skeptical look.
“You’re cold. Don’t make this awkward.”
“I’m not,” she says crossly. She doesn’t complain when she crawls onto the mattress and curls up with her back to me, keeping a slight distance. The space between us is excruciatingly close yet too far at the same time.
I yearn to close the gap, to pull her to me, but I hold myself back. There’s still a hint of that orange blossom oil she brushes through her hair, making my mind fog in a pleasant haze. If I close my eyes, I can trick myself into believing we’re somewhere else—somewhere beautiful, like her. Still shivering, she tucks her knees in tighter.
“Come closer,” I say. “We’ll keep each other warm.”
Aren looks at me over her shoulder, and I give her an earnest nod. She shifts closer, resting her head on the crook of my arm. I throw my free arm around her, hugging her close to me.
At the beginning of our journey, she might have rolled her eyes and told me off, but things between us are different now.
It’s the one good thing that’s happened so far.
“This is not how I envisioned my adventures,” she grumbles.
“Sorry to be such terrible company,” I say, attempting a joke. “Whatdidyou envision?”
She hesitates.
“I honestly don’t know,” she admits. “Evandale was the only place I’d ever been. So, I didn’t know what to expect beyond its borders. But I dreamed of more. Ineededmore.”
“Aha! I knew it!” I declare. I squeeze her even closer to me. She wriggles as I hold her tighter. Her playful laugh is like a balm for my spirit.
“Is it so bad I want more out of life than a second-rate proposal from a drunk farmer?” she says, exasperated.
“No, not bad. Stubborn, maybe…and wise, and courageous. Plus, you got one from a prince instead.” I can’t help but smile and waggle my brows.
