Annador, Chapter three

It came as no surprise that the king knew her name. When he spoke, though, a shiver ran down her spine. As the blood returned to her arm from where the guard had gripped it, an uncomfortable tingling ran up and down it, like insects crawling through her veins. Flexing her hand, she watched the king. He had begun to pace, his exquisite, fur-collared cloak swishing across the marble floor.
    "Why am I here?" Willow's voice was timid, and she winced as it trembled. The king stopped pacing, and stalked closer to the girl. He stood about an inch above her, forcing her to look up into his icy, blue eyes.
    "Don't play dumb girl."  The king looked into her eyes, seeming oddly sure of himself, which only succeeded in further mystifying Willow.
     "Wh-what?" She asked, confused. The king raised a bushy, grey eyebrow.
"Because you don't want an alliance between Nordia and Annador?" Her question echoed in the vast room. The king laughed.
    "Oh please. Don't lie to me. You know where it is."
    "I know where what is?" She pleaded. Her mother had told her the king was dangerous and unpredictable, but Willow was beginning to believe he was on the verge of insanity, if not already gone. The stout man glowered, his blue eyes so cold they could make a polar bear move to the Jahndharian Desert.
"Eventually, you'll come to your senses and tell me. If you don't  give up the location in a week or so, we may have to resort to more... unorthodox methods to coax it out of you."
The king stepped even closer to her, but turned to the guard, and whispered something to him. Then, he stepped back, and smoothed out his shirt.
"Take her back."

Willow sighed as the guard grabbed her arm, and was led back down the hallway to the kitchen. Her sore legs groaned with every step she took, on the verge of giving out. With a grunt, the guard stooped under the rim of the fireplace, kicking up soot and ash as he stumbled. As Willow was pulled into the fireplace, a small idea began worming it’s way into her mind. She pushed it away, more focused on regaining her balance in the stuffy room.

The soot from the fireplace still clung to her hair and face, it left black smears on her arms, and Willow knew after a few more visits to the kitchen, her beautiful blue dress would soon be grey. Impatiently, she pretended to shake off the ash, while trying to get a glimpse at the code the guard tapped into the keypad. With a grunt, the guard jammed his elbow backwards, straight into her face.
    "Don't try, girl. The only way you'll get out of here is in a body-bag." His rough voice  was completely serious, and Willow got the feeling that he knew what he was talking about. The door slid into to the wall, and they descended down the concrete stairs, her feet slapping the cold, grainy steps.
    "Why am I here?" The girl's voice was louder, more confident this time, without the king's intimidating presence. It drew the guard’s piggy gaze, and he narrowed his eyes.
    "You really don't know, do you?" Ash had collected on his face, and darkened the creases that cracked his fleshy cheeky when he spoke. Finally, they reached the foot of the stairs, and, in silence, they walked down the rest of the hallway. About 20 doors lined the walls, protruding sharply from the pale cement which hugged their firm edges. About halfway down the hall, Willow's escort abruptly stopped, jarring Willow mid-step. From his side, he pulled a small, thin object. It's silver sheen was marred with a seemingly random arrangement of marks. Exhaling, he shoved it into a small hole in the wall, and, with a hushed, metallic whir, a series of red lights shone through the hole, circling the peg-like object like sharks. A green light flashed, and the guard pulled it out. It was, Willow realized, a key. With a jerk, the guard pushed open the door, and shoved Willow in.
"Food comes at three." With another of his animal-like grunts, he slammed the door.

With a sigh, Willow stumbled over to the far wall of her square cell, and plopped down on the hard ground, sending a dull pain through her torso. Brushing a strand of ash-dusted hair behind her hair, she looked up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time the grate that allowed sun to shine through the metal bars about five feet above her full height of about 5-and-a-half feet. Oddly, she saw the green bright green of plants, though the opaque white of a ceiling blocked out the sky. As she closer observed it, she thought she saw the glint of glass, or more likely, some kind of protective,  bullet-proof plexi-glass to make sure she had no chance at escaping. As she stared at the grate, her mind drifted back to the king. The way he had acted so certain that she knew where it was. She had no idea what she was even looking for. All she knew was that she needed to get out of here, and find her family before the king carried out his ominous threat of “unorthodox methods”. Frowning, she closed her eyes, hoping to drift away from her dire situation through the tranquil relaxation of sleep.

The story will eventually be continued in Chapter four or Annador. Thanks for reading!