Prison

Image by Prettysleepy from Pixabay



The very iron of the door seemed to protest her imprisonment

as it swung shut behind her.

She turned to face her jailor. “Prison? For me? How long do
you think you can keep me?”

“I expect to keep you here a very long time, majesty,” the
monk said with a smile.

“I think you underestimate my popularity. The people will
storm your prison and free me.”

“The people believe you dead, majesty. A peasant girl with a
passing resemblance agreed to wear your gown, and quickly lost her head. Only
four people know of your survival, present company included. And the other two
will be dead by morning.”

The monk stepped up to the bars and rapped on them with a
knuckle. “If I were you, I would get used to it. Look! You have a lovely view
of the ocean.”

“You may have the people fooled, but I am perfectly capable
of effecting my own escape. And when I do, my revenge will be… creative.”

The monk smiled. “I know of your talents. But, that is why
you are here. The bars are cold iron, and there are no reflective surfaces. The
sea outside is never calm. You will drink from a damp rag and eat off wooden
plates.

Her lip curled in disgust as she examined the bars, keeping
her hands well away. “It seems you’ve thought of everything.”

“I’d say I’ll see you rot here, but you never will, will
you? I will, however, hear you beg for death!”

She snarled, coming face to face with him. “Look me in the
eye when you say that!”

He stared grimly back, but her lips curled into a smile.
Then he saw his own bewildered expression reflected in her eyes and knew his
mistake. But not in time to blink.

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