Book Two: The Larkspur's Longing ~ A tale of deep obsession and devotion

Chapter Thirty-six: Honesty

She shot him a sidelong glance. "So instead of the guards, you'll be the one breaking their legs?"

His jaw tensed, but he opted not to engage in further verbal sparring.

The brightly lit corridor led them to the entrance of the prison, where four guards stood against the stone walls, their eyes glazed with boredom. As their future king approached, the guards straightened up with a jolt, their expressions quickly shifting from lethargy to alertness as they saluted.

"Open the doors."

Swiftly complying, the guards unlocked the heavy doors leading to the prison cells.

Cressida's grip on Callidus's arm tightened, her tension tangible. Callidus softened his gaze, concern replacing his earlier frustration. "Cressida, I assure you; your people are being treated with respect."

She shot him a quick, distrustful glance. "...this prison doesn't exactly hold good memories for me, Callidus."

Callidus's features softened even more. "I know. I apologize, my love. I ensured your time in this place was as brief as possible. I didn't enjoy witnessing you on the floor." A wistful sigh escaped him. "Though I confess, when I saw you sitting on the prison floor in the moonlight, you resembled an orchid in the dark. That image has lingered with me. How enchanting you were."

A flicker of disturbance crossed Cressida's face. "Callidus, you ordered my imprisonment. How can you romanticize that?"

"Effortlessly, love," he murmured, drawing her close for a gentle kiss on the cheek, regardless of the guards watching. His lips lingered for a moment, blurring the lines between reassurance and possessiveness.

Cressida, however, wrinkled her nose at the gesture, pushing against Callidus's chest and pulling away from his arms. He watched as she briskly walked past him, entering the prison, with the guards pointedly averting their gazes.

The large room was divided into smaller cells by a complex lattice of vertical and horizontal bars. Walls of seamless granite enclosed the space, creating an oppressive atmosphere. Thin rectangular windows at the top of each cell allowed minimal light to filter through, casting a subdued glow on the grey brick floor divided by rough black mortar.

The midnight darkness, accentuated by distant rumbles of thunder, lent an eerie quality to the prison that contrasted starkly with Callidus's earlier visit during the day, when he was searching for Foster and Quail.

As Callidus trailed closely behind Cressida, soft snores and the creak of cots filled the air. Lanterns hung at intervals along the walls, providing just enough illumination to navigate the maze of cells without disturbing the occupants' sleep. Despite being well-equipped with cots, tables, chairs, and other comforts, the prison still exuded an unmistakable atmosphere of captivity.

Each time Cressida had begged to see her people, Callidus brought offerings to them, attempting to assuage his own guilt for denying her appeals. Over time, the prison's atmosphere had evolved, shaped by Callidus's attempts at appeasement. However, it had been a while since Cressida last made such a request, and a haunting look of guilt crossed her face as she gazed at the sleeping occupants of each cell.

Approaching the central area of the prison, they encountered a group quietly engaged in a card game. Two guards played through the cracks of the bars with two prisoners, and the flickering light from a nearby lantern inadvertently created a semblance of normalcy in the otherwise oppressive environment. One of the guards noticed Callidus's approach and hastily stood up from his makeshift seat, sharply jabbing his fellow guard as he did so.

"Your Majesty," the other guard stuttered, a sharp look of fear crossing her face. Callidus, though annoyed at the guards for their lapse in attention, focused on Cressida, who stood with tear-filled eyes, gazing at the two awake prisoners.