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Killian couldn’t repress the shudder that rolled down his spine.
“Rest.” She eyed him over the rolls of dirty blankets, her voice croaking like a rusty hinge. “Rest now, little prince. You are currently in the eye.”
Water dripped from the ceiling, loudly pattering out the seconds on the stone below. He had started to count them in an attempt to assess the time. But after he had lost count, yet again, the task only ratcheted his sense of hopelessness.
The light from the slit in the wall wavered from blue to green to yellow. His muscles ached from lying down, pacing, and the cold.
The firelight crackled and echoed up the stairs where something … or somethingsbreathed, every exhale rattling and wet.
He tried again and again to find a way out of the cage. But the metal was solid and the stone unyielding.
The rotting, meaty smell from the pile of bones burned his nose. He avoided looking at the stack, afraid he was looking at the previous occupant … and his own future state.
Time passed painfully. Eventually, he fell asleep in a fitful rest. His dreams were torrid, violent, and terrifying. Once, he swore he felt icy fingers on his forehead and heard the crooning of his crazy cellmate. But it was only for a moment, and then he was thrown into nightmares again.
He awoke.
But the nightmare seemed to continue.
The window slit was dark olive green upon his awakening. The pattering of the water hitting the floor smacked dully. His senses thickened, probably because of his poor sleep.
A scraggly crow brought a sack of hard and moldy foods with a bladder of sour wine. The first time, he had sneered at the old lady as she scrambled to the ground and ate it all at once. He thought she should save some to consume throughout the day. But then the rats came and ate the food he had stored on his bed, leaving him with nothing. The next time a meal arrived, he found himself racing across the ground himself. Better to eat all the food at once than to lose any amount later.
It was never enough. Killian was hungry. He shivered from the ache in his belly and the ice that seeped into his marrow.
One day, a giant fox entered the dungeon. He walked on two legs, was clothed in leather, and was armed to the teeth. His chest plate was held up by leather straps. A single red stone decorated the center. Holding a crossbow, he tugged open the cage, shoved Killian out, and pushed him to the stairs. A hall opened partway up the stairway, and at the end, the fox tossed him into a massive room, as tall as the pines of the Forbidden Forest. On a platform twenty feet high, a chair overlooked the empty room—empty but for a stool that sat before a crank connected to a massive wheel that plunged deep below the stone floor. The huge fox shoved him onto the stool and prodded him to turn the crank. Each spin of the crank turned the wheel … and did nothing else. No water was pumped. No flour was ground. Killian could see no reason for the wheel at all.
A chain fastened his ankle to the floor beside the stool.
Zalina walked across the platform above him, taking a seat in an elaborate chair. Her gaze was as piercing as a sword.
“Will you marry me?”
“No,” he said, his voice rough and sore.
She shifted her hand. “Then continue.”
The fox pointed to the crank with the sharp tip of the crossbow, and Killian turned it. He turned the wheel until his arms trembled. Every time he tried to stop, the fox prodded his back. So, he continued until his grip slipped off completely.
Then he was brought back to his cage.
After what felt like only a few hours, he would be brought back to repeat the work at the wheel. This continued for days or weeks or months. He couldn’t tell. His life was hunger, cold, and pointless work. Threads of hope thinned to whisps.
Time passed like this.
The drops of water made no noise.
The window’s light never wavered.
The fire burned silently.
Killian churned the wheel, spinning, pushing, pulling, endlessly, fruitlessly. He was thinning, but his muscles were forced to function until they broke. Sores lined his lips and hipbones and heels where they struck the hard stone beneath the sleeping sack. After one crank-turning session, he returned to the cage and heard the mass of blankets speak again.
“Why are you here, Prince?”
He blinked at her. She had remained silent for so long, he’d nearly forgotten about her. “I’m sorry?”
“Why are you here, Prince?”
