The dungeons of the old king’s castle

It seems some cheeky little fellow has a The Silhouette; by Vivika Widow

The dungeons of the old king’s castle

The bells had been filing the night air for hours with their tormenting knell. The very castle wept for the death of the much beloved King Roman.

“There’s going to be quite a few changes around here,” General Drenisov commented as a young boy was dragged down the corridor by guards. Drenisov followed them.

“Let me go!” screamed the teenager as he pulled himself away from his captors. His thick black hair was in disarray. His bright blue eyes sparked under the low lighting.

The general closed in on his captive, several years his junior. The boy had been badly beaten. His lips and teeth were stained with blood.

“Let me go and I will forget any of this happened,” said the younger.

This drew a wide grin from Drenisov. The guards gripped the prisoner tighter. “You don’t make those decisions. The king has been murdered and any chances you had of ever seeing daylight again went with him.”

The prisoner shook his head. “You can’t do this!”

Drenisov crossed his arms over his chest. “I think you will find I can. You are a murderer and you will suffer the same fate as all murderers in Navaria do.”

The prisoner snarled. “The king did not die at my hand.”

Drenisov was unrelenting. “Defenceless, sick. You have stolen our beloved king and for what? Your own selfish ambition?”

The prisoner pursed his lips and spat on the general. The blood stained his uniform.

“Take him away!” Drenisov ordered the guards.

The guards dragged the prisoner away. “I didn’t do it!” he was screaming. “The king was already dead when I got there!”

The prisoner was cast into the dungeons. The door was locked tightly. The only window he had was from a small window. He would have to wait. Someone would help. One day the truth of what happened the night the king died would be discovered.