Her words were cold, as much so as she could muster. Even though her limbs were burning and her back felt like it was about to snap into two, Daphne still dragged herself out of the bed for the first ti in days. Spite was a powerful motivator.
She ignored the pounding in her head and, under Atticus’s shocked stare, gave him a polite curtsy before limping out of the room.
He had leaned forward for a second, wanting to support her and possibly lead her back onto the bed, but Daphne simply dodged. She didn’t even spare his outstretched hands a second glance, evading his hold before reaching for the door. Just like that, she walked out in silence, slamming the door shut behind her.
Once she was out of his sight, she allowed herself one tear. Just one to mourn for the loss of the budding warmth in her heart.
And after that one tear, she roughly wiped her cheek dry. First things first, she would have to look for the dungeons.
It wasn’t that hard to navigate around the place now that she knew it a little better. Each little nook and cranny of the castle had slowly beco more and more familiar to her as the days passed. It only took her monts and less than three wrong turns before she made her way to the dungeons.
The stairs that led down were gloomy, lacking much-needed light. Only a torch had been placed on the wall, several feet apart from the next. It illuminated the way, barely, but enough. With its aid, she held onto the wall and slowly descended into the darkness underneath the livelier upper half of the fortress.
Each step she took echoed, the heels of her flats clicking against the stone blocks that made up the floor. And when she finally reached the end of the spiral staircase, she was hit with a pungent odor that made her nose wrinkle in repulsion.
It didn’t take long for her to see why.
The air turned heavy and damp, suffused with the scent of mildew and decay. Within the confines of so cells, the prisoners languished, their faces etched with a mixture of fear, resignation, and hopelessness. Their tattered garnts clung to their frail fras, their bodies shivering due to the cold. The distant sounds of rattling chains and whispered pleas mingled with the drip of water, a haunting symphony that echoed through the basent.
Every second’s worth of examination sent a new strike of fear down Daphne’s heart. Her fingers, which had been trailing down the cold stone walls for support, could feel the ridges and indents that had been carved by the previous prisoners and guards that were counting the days spent here.
How could Eugene endure such a place?
Ti stood still in this underworld of sorrow. When Daphne finally located the high and mighty lord, she let out an audible gasp of horror. Eugene was lying down on a small heap of hay, the only thing that could help keep the prisoners warm through the tortuous winter cold. Only, the straw had been dyed red with blood and the coppery scent had long since mixed with the musk of the air.
"Eugene!"
Ignoring the pain that seared through her flesh, Daphne hurried in front of the bars, clasping them for support once she was there.
Close up, it was much clearer that the man was not well. His clothes were soiled with a mixture of dirt and blood, so parts ripped open and showing open bits of flesh that were ridden with wounds. He lay there with his back facing her, his breathing so shallow that Daphne could barely even see it under the dim lighting of the dungeons.
Slowly, the man struggled up, using his elbow and hands to support his weight. When he finally turned to face her, Daphne’s heart throbbed in pain. Not only did his body sustain injuries, but his face also wasn’t well off too. He had bruises all over and even cuts that were carved into his previously porcelain complexion.
Yet, none of his injuries dulled the smile that spread over his face at the sight of Daphne.
"My queen," he greeted, his voice breathily weak. Even in his state, he tried his best to get up and bow to her. "You don’t know how glad I am to see you safe and well."
"You are a fool for worrying about when you’re in this state," Daphne choked out, unable to help herself but chuckle a little through a mixture of snot and tears. "Did that imbecile of a king not bring you a healer? Wait, I’ll get Sirona. She can help―"
"It’s alright, Your Highness," Eugene cut her off. "It actually looks worse than it really is. Besides... I deserve worse for letting them take you. His Majesty is simply giving the punishnt I deserve."
"You didn’t let them take !" Daphne protested hotly, eyes wet with tears. "If you did, you wouldn’t be lying in a pool of your own blood!"
"Technically there’s a lot of hay here too," Eugene said glibly. "It does a great job at keeping warm. I got lucky. So of the n there have barren cells. And they don’t even have you as a visitor!"
He then weakly nodded to the cells adjacent to his own and true enough, there were prisoners that lay down on the cold, empty stone, alone and lonely.
Daphne started to cry.
"Oh god, please don’t cry," Eugene said, imdiately looking more panicked.
He flailed around on the floor, trying to get up to console Daphne, but only succeeded in shifting the hay around.
"My apologies. My mother used to say my sense of humor would not win over many ladies. I should have listened," he said remorsefully.
Despite her best attempts at remaining strong, Daphne blubbered. The sight of Eugene suffering after the painful blow Atticus had dealt her had her weeping in both anger and sorrow. How could she have even thought Atticus was anything better than a monster? Look what he did to his people!
Eugene still tried to comfort her. "Your Highness, I will be well. I’ll have a fun story to tell at dinner parties! And so won love scars. Maybe I’ll even find a wife."
Daphne could only smile weakly through her tears. Finally, she ran out of tears. It was ti for action. Daphne grabbed at the bars, with a determined look on her face.
"Eugene, I’ll get you out of the dungeons!"
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