The King's Lover

Chapter 3

           

Ryder was tired of peeing in a bucket.

     He was tired of sleeping on a pile of hay, and smelling like the royal pigs. He was tired of eating scraps for breakfast and nothing else all day.

     Mostly he was tired of being stuck in a cell that only let in the barest amount of sunlight.

     He sighed and stood up to stretch his muscles out. His routine these days consisted of sighing, stretching, sleeping, and trying not to think about Juliet.

     Because if he thought about Juliet, if he started wondering what was happening to her...he would get so scared he wouldn't be able to breath. The cell would disappear, his heart would clench, and he'd have to squeeze his eyes shut until he could breath again.

     He'd tried to escape seven times already, just to get to her. He'd sprained one of his wrists the last time, and the warden had decided to leave his ankle shackle on until Ryder was shipped to Sadea.

     Sadea. The death camp, where Ryder would work until he was nothing but skin, bones, and despair. 

     Ryder flexed his wrist—it still ached from his attempt two days ago. He was pretty sure it was two days—it was hard to keep track, when the sun barely shone and the guards didn't always feed him on a regular basis. But he was pretty sure that he'd been in the cell for just over three weeks, which meant he had five days until the transport arrived, then he would spend another four weeks traveling to Sadea. 

     One of the guards who was patrolling the hall slowed outside of Ryder's cell, his eyes narrowing when he saw Ryder on his feet. 

     Ryder gave him a vulgar gesture. The guard only smirked back at him, as if he knew that Ryder was desperate for any type of acknowledgment. Anything to make him move, to get on his feet and do something. He was tired of sitting on his ass in a dank cell.

     He stared at the guard until he moved away, out of Ryder's sight, and then he sighed and started stretching again. It was going to be a long five days.

     Kusy forced herself to focus on what was happening in Juliet's room. The queen—the queen—was protesting something, and the guard was insisting that she take it.

     "You know I can't leave until you've swallowed it, Your Majesty."

     There was a loud sigh. "First, take a plate to my friend in the closet."

     There was a pause, and Kusy cursed to herself as the guard said, "Will you take it if I take a plate to your friend?"

     "Yes."

     Footsteps came closer, and Kusy tried to shrink back into the clothes around her, but they were too big and unyielding. The closet door opened, and Kusy saw a tall guard framed in the doorway, a plate of food in his hand. His mouth opened when he spotted her. Before she could say anything, he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her out.

     "You can't be here," he said furiously, slamming the plate on a stack of books. Kusy tried to pull out of his grasp, but he was too strong.

     "Unhand me," she told him, her voice low with barely contained anger. He ignored her.

     The guard turned to Juliet, who was sitting on the arm of her couch and watching them with wide eyes. "You can't bring people up here, Your Majesty—you can't hide people in your closet—"

    "Unhand me," Kusy demanded again, yanking on her arm. He turned to her and lowered his face to hers, his grip tightening slightly as he snarled.