Annador Chapter seven

Willow watched Lana exercise, thrumming her fingers along her thighs.

“You’re having fun,” she joked.

“Passes time,” Lana grunted, pushing herself from the ground in a push-up, the hair that had escaped from her braid drifting around her face like seaweed, pushed by the currents. “Plus, we gotta prepare.” Willow rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. Always good to be prepared.” Her eyes flicked up the the grate, noticing the faint shadows cast by the lowering sun. “Looks like it's about three. Food will be here any minute now.” She grinned. “I think it's scraps of turkey today.” Lana smiled too, rising from the ground to against a nearby wall, her skin glistening.

The hiss of the cell door opening confirmed Willow’s predictions, and the small maid whom Willow had seen on her visit to the king appeared, clutching a tray nervously. On it plate piled in leftover turkey, which released somewhat of a pleasant aroma into the cell, masking it previous smell of sweat and misery. She set it down with a faint, echoing thud, and backed out of the room, her gaze lowered. Before she could close the door, though, Willow leaned forwards, hope shimmering in her eyes.

“Thanks, Laurel.” At the sound of her name, the maid’s bright blue eyes widened with surprise, and she took a step forward, a question perched on her lips. She tilted her head a little, gaze darting between the two captives, and the darkening hall, whose walls glowed in the harsh lighting. The sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention, though, and she nodded briskly to Willow, then the door slid shut with a hiss.

Willow beamed at Lana, her bruised eye crinkling as much as it could, through the swelling. “I think it might work.”

“Is that so?” Lana smirked, then looked at the turkey, and leaned forward, grabbing a piece. Willow sighed, then tossed a piece of turkey into her mouth, savoring flavor. Though cold, it still had the underlying taste of royalty.

Willow watched Lana sleep, then looked up at the grate, and the light pouring down, waiting. Soon the guard would come, and question her again. Willow knew her plan was risky, and every day the King grew more impatient. She limped around her cell, rubbing the hem of her dress, which had become a habit for her.

Though her perception of time was warped by her lack of contact with the world outside her prison, it seemed that hours had passed until the muffled sound of the guards heavy steps approached the door. Her gaze snapped to it, and she dragged herself to the entrance of her cell, taking a deep breath.

As the door swung open, the guard stomped in, dark circles under his eyes contrasting against his pale skin. He scowled at Willow, and grabbed her arm, glancing at Lana. Then, he pulled her out of the cell, and with the press of a button, the door slid shut.

Today, the throne room was darker, the red curtains dull. The little light that shone through them fell to the floor, turning the white marble a faint shade of pink.

The king glowered at her from his throne, his wiry frame losing the regal pose, and adopting more of a defeated slouch. His eyes slid over Willow, frosted with dislike.

“It’s amazing how incredibly stupid she is.” The king remarked, to no one in particular. “Don’t you realize that it’s your family’s lives at stake?”

His words sent shivers down her spine, but she stood tall, trying to mask her fear, though her eyes betrayed her.

“I- I don’t know what you want!” She pleaded, her voice laced with desperation.

“Yes you do.” He glanced into the far corner of the room, where Willow noticed for the first time, a man stood, his face masked by the shadows. He walked into the light, his boots clacking loudly against the silence. Stopping by the throne, he leaned towards the king, whispering something. The king nodded, listening. When the man pulled away, the king’s gaze snapped to Willow. “How old are you?” Willow blinked, her green eyes snapping between the King, and the man beside him.

“Seventeen years.” The man looked at the King, whispering something to him. The king blinked, his lids snapping, snake-like over his icy eyes.

“Take her to the interrogation chamber.”