Page 54 of Honor Requires

Lucien nodded, the eagerness in his expression undiminished. “Tomorrow night.”

They retraced their path through the tunnel, sealing the passage behind them as they had done so many times before. This time, however, the knowledge of what lay beyond altered everything. The walls seemed less oppressive, the darkness less absolute. There was an end now—a point beyond which the prison no longer held dominion.

Darcy lay upon his pallet that night, though sleep did not come easily. His mind moved restlessly, returning again and again to the image of the sea, to the cold air upon his face, to the narrow opening that stood between captivity and freedom.

Tomorrow.

He would see the stars for the first time in years, blocked from view at his cell window by a towering turret.

The next night came with a stillness that seemed almost deliberate. The world itself appeared to hold its breath.

Darcy and Lucien stood within the narrow confines of the cell, the dim light offering just enough illumination for their purpose. Between them lay the crude implements they had fashioned—tools born of necessity, now turned to a different task.

Lucien examined Darcy critically, his head tilted to one side. “You are a sight,” he declared. “We must do what we can, or no one will mistake us for anything but escaped prisoners.”

Darcy huffed a breath that might have been amusement. “I fear no amount of trimming will entirely remedy that.”

“Perhaps not.” Lucien was already at work. “But we shall aim for something approaching respectability.”

They took turns, each assisting the other with what care they could muster. The blade was dull, the task imperfect, yet when they had finished, the difference was unmistakable. The worst of the wildness had been subdued, their appearances rendered at least passable.

Lucien stepped back, studying Darcy with a grin. “There. You look almost like a gentleman again.”

Darcy lifted a hand, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Mayhap I shall keep it.”

Lucien laughed. “A new fashion, then. You may set a trend.”

“Let us first survive,” Darcy returned.

They gathered what little they possessed—the knife, the chisels—and prepared to depart. Lucien sealed the entrance to his tunnel with practiced efficiency, ensuring that nothing would betray their absence too soon. Together, they moved to Darcy’s cell, where the final passage awaited.

The stone was drawn into place behind them as best it could be managed, concealing the opening. Darcy went first, navigating the narrow tunnel with steely determination. The air grew cooler as he approached the outer wall, the faint scent of the sea growing stronger with each inch.

At last, he reached the end. He pressed his hands against the prepared stones and pushed. One shifted. Then another. The final rock gave way with a suddenness that sent it tumbling outward. It struck the ground below with a dull, unmistakable clatter.

Darcy froze.

Behind him, Lucien stilled as well, both men suspended in breathless silence. Darcy’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat loud in his ears as he strained to detect any answering sound—any sign that they had been heard.

Nothing came. No shout. No movement. Not a single alarm. Slowly, cautiously, Darcy exhaled. He eased himself forward, widening the opening just enough to pass through. Then, with careful precision, he slipped out, lowering himself as far as he could before releasing his hold.

The drop was brief but jarring. His feet struck the sand, the impact sending a sharp vibration through his legs. He recovered quickly, moving at once to the shelter of nearby boulders, crouching low and pressing himself into shadow.

A moment later, Lucien followed, landing beside him with greater ease than Darcy had managed.

They waited. Minutes passed—long, tense minutes in which every distant sound seemed magnified, every shift of wind suspect. The guard tower loomed to one side, its faint light sweeping intermittently across the ground, but it did not linger upon them.

At last, Lucien leaned closer. “We go.”

Darcy nodded.

They moved swiftly but with care, keeping low as they made their way along the shoreline, putting distance between themselves and the looming presence of the castle. The sand gave way at times to rock, uneven and treacherous beneath their feet, but they pressed on, driven by urgency and the knowledge that every step carried them farther from captivity.

The sea lay at their side, its dark expanse stretching endlessly outward, the sound of waves breaking against the shore a constant companion.

They came upon the boats suddenly and unexpectedly. A small cluster of fishing vessels lay drawn up along the edge of the water, their shapes dimly visible in the starlight. Darcy’s gaze swept over them quickly, assessing, selecting.

“This one,” Lucien murmured, already moving toward it.