He’d been surprised to find himself alone in the cells on arrival, but realisation had dawned on him quickly. Criminals were clearly dealt with swiftly and sternly in the Southern Isle. The thought made his stomach churn, he had to find a way to convince the King to let him go.
He ran a hand over his shorn hair, feeling the patches and clumps left by the guard’s blade; ostensibly to prevent lice, but Anders suspected it was more likely intended to humiliate him.
A royal guard had questioned him in the hours immediately after the fiasco at the ballet, and Anders had been honest. He’d stepped off a trade ship that same day and was simply passing through on his way back to D’Argentis. He’d seen an advertisement for the ballet and decided to go. He’d had no idea the prima ballerina was the Crown Princess Isadora and had meant her no harm when he’d leapt on stage to save her from falling onto the orchestra or catching fire on one of the braziers.
He reached for the metal cup of water he’d been given and winced, his ribs tender from the awkward landing on stage, and the beating he’d taken at the hands of the guards. His bowl sat empty beside it, licked clean of the porridge oats when he’d thought the night watchman was sleeping.
He’d left out the part about being the youngest prince of the Northern Isle, unsure as to whether that information would go in his favour or against him. If the Southern King suspected a Silver Prince had been sent to his kingdom to stir up tensions and bring the monarchy down from within, it could start a war.
Despite telling no lies, he got the distinct impression the guards hadn’t believed him, from the words “spy” and “conspiracy” being thrown around. They’d taken his cloak and military uniform and given him a simple brown tunic and a pair of trousers to wear instead; they were probably picking his clothes apart right now, looking for secret messages hidden in pockets or sewn into the lining.
Anders probed his back tooth with his tongue, the guard had given him a few good slaps during the interrogation and it felt a little loose. But he’d forced himself to remain calm, using his training to withstand the pain and false accusations. As his battalion commander had liked to say, the only way to survive was to endure.
A reddish light filtered through the high, narrow window as dawn broke. The door to the dungeons opened with a clatter anda royal guard entered, Anders assumed to relieve the one who’d spent all night snoring softly at his post.
“How’s the prisoner?”
“No trouble. What’s the latest upstairs?”
The newcomer, an older, portly man, unbuckled his weapon belt and dumped it on the ground with a thud. He didn’t bother to lower his voice. “The Princesses were gone again last night. They’re still refusing to say where they go to. The King is at the end of his tether, but there’s another prince due to arrive in a few days, apparently. Perhaps he’ll be the one to put an end to all this nonsense.”
The night watchman sighed, getting up from his post and strapping his own weapon belt back around his waist. “I ruddy hope so, I’m sick to death of night duty. Maria’s due in a few weeks and with another mouth to feed, we’ll need the coin. But I could do without the sleepless nights.”
His colleague chuckled. “Aye, you’ll be having enough of those on your days off, with a new babe in the house.”
The night watchman hummed, scratching his short beard. “Well, hopefully this foreign prince will discover the truth and win Princess Isadora’s hand, and we can all go back to the quiet life we’re used to.”
Anders mulled over their words. So, there truly was a curse on the Princesses? A mystery to be solved? Perhaps if he were to uncover the truth, the King might offer him his freedom, as a reward? It had to be worth a try. He certainly couldn’t spend the rest of his life behind bars, rotting away beneath the Gilded Palace. Or worse, face the executioner’s axe for his alleged crimes.
He swallowed hard. If he ever wanted to see his family again, he had to do something, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.
Anders stood, straightened his borrowed attire and smoothed his remaining hair, then cleared his throat. “Forgive me, good sirs. Did I hear mention of a curse?”
“QUIET!” The new guard rapped on the bars nearest to him with a metal rod, sending a loud and sonorous vibration through the dungeon. Anders cringed. When the sound had died down, he tried again.
“I wonder if I might be of service? I’m well-travelled and may be able to discover the cause of this curse. And if not, you can lock me back up down here, no harm done.”
The guard struck the bars with the rod again. “I said quiet!”
But Anders saw the night guard’s brow furrow in thought behind the newcomer. “Franco, maybe we should hear him out. If we were to be the ones who brought the answer to King Aurelio, there would surely be a reward. Would there not?”
Franco looked sharply at his colleague, but the younger man only shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but me and Maria could certainly do with the extra pay right now.”
Anders could practically see the cogs turning in the guards’ minds. And really, where was the risk? If he managed to discover the truth behind the Princesses’ curse, then he would only ask to be permitted to return to D’Argentis, unharmed. If he failed, well, he couldn’t exactly say he’d welcome the idea of living out his days in the dungeons, but he certainly wouldn’t have lost anything. And if it were to be the axe or the noose for him, then he’d die knowing he’d done all he could to prevent it.
Finally, the older guard—Franco—strode over to his cell door.
“You’re volunteering to find out what’s happening to the Princesses? No Silver tricks, or nothing?”
Anders held his hands up, palms out. “No tricks, you have my word.”
“Why would you do that?”
He shrugged. “It’s not like I’m doing anything else. And if I discover the cause and break the curse, I might be granted a favour by the King.”
The guard narrowed his eyes, considering Anders for a long moment. “I shall put your request to His Majesty. But don’t hold your breath, boy. We don’t trust spectres round here.” Anders knew it was a common derogatory term for the people of the Northern Isle, referring to their pale hair and skin, but the word still stung. “The King’s more likely to put you to death than grant you free access to his daughters.”
The other guard laughed at that, and Anders swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Understood.”
