Tainted

Chapter Three - Warden

The warden storms into the king's suite in the prison. He's flushed with anger, the word "Thief" seeming to ring with every footstep.

"You're right," the warden says, settling into an overstuffed suede chair without invitation.

The king watches the warden from across the room. They're separated by a plush rug and a small circular table, upon which is a spiraling metal sculpture that is very important to the king, but the warden has never been able to figure it out.

The warden looks away from the sculpture. He doesn't like things he doesn't know. "The Ill-Fated are getting restless." The warden plucks a piece of fluff from the knee of his cloak. He drops it on the wooden floorboards beneath his chair.

The king's eyes watch the fluff's descent. Warden's cheeks warm. He feels the urge to lean over and pick up the fluff, but he stands his ground and leans forward, resting his elbows against his knees and steepling his fingers together. It's a direct mirror of the king's position.

"So we are in agreement, then?" the king rumbles.

It's in reference to their earlier conversation. Warden looks to the king. "Yes. We will increase the number of Death Duels. I will show those nobles just how dangerous these Ill-Fated scum can be. What is the narrative you would like me to tell?"

The king leans back. Warden tries to do the same, but the chair doesn't have the same back as the king's, leaving his head unsupported and awkward. Warden's nostrils flare. He'll get new chairs installed within these rooms once the king leaves for the castle. It won't do to have the king upstage the warden in his own domain.

"I will send a dossier with every new prisoner who comes your way, beginning with the Ill-Fated in Pruden. We'll show the kingdom how terrible these people truly can be. We'll exhibit them in the prison duels, we'll show their brute force, we'll show their deceptions, we'll show how they need to be feared and scrubbed from society. And then they will love—" the king's eyes flick to the warden's "—us," he says.

The warden sits up a bit in his chair. This is what he's been waiting for his whole wretchedly small life. He's clawed and manipulated his way to Warden of Vasilias Prison to prove to everyone that he's been right all along. The Goddess did choose him as a Keeper, a person to guide this miserable kingdom to a higher plane.

"Everyone will fear the Ill-Fated like they never have before," Warden says.

The ghost of a smile crosses the king's face, but it's enough validation for Warden. He preens, craning his neck and matching the king's imperious gaze. He catches his face in the reflective silver hanging behind the king.

He could rule the kingdom. He certainly has the sharp features of a leader. The king does have a daughter, after all...

"About your wife," the king says.

The warden's lips sneers in disgust. "What about her?" He picks at a stray thread coming loose from the chair's fine stitching.

"I hear she's been causing...trouble." The king leans back, tossing his leather-clad feet on the table's surface and wrapping his hands behind his head.

A spot of mud drips from the king's shoe onto a sheaf of papers Warden had stacked there just this morning.

Warden stares at the mud spot, trying not to find it irksome.

"She will be dealt with, Your Majesty," Warden says to the mud spot. The king nods slowly out of the corner of his eye.

"Such a pretty thing," the king says, "it's a shame when pretty things turn rotten. I don't like rot in my kingdom, Warden."

Warden peels his eye away from the mud. "What is it that you are asking, Your Majesty?" An uncomfortable feeling settles in the warden's stomach.

The king takes a deep breath. He focuses on the ceiling. It's an inky blue dusted with tiny diamond sparkles, giving it the look of the night sky.

"I expect great things from you, Warden. What you have done here with this prison is inspirational. I wouldn't want to see you lose this position you've fought so hard to gain. Alani is...lovely, but she is also weak. I want you both to present a strong, united front, for our guests this weekend, and every Death Duel weekend hereafter. Do I make myself clear?"

Warden doesn't hesitate. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Excellent." The king drops his feet down from the table. "Now, how many Death Duels can we expect for this month?"

The warden leans forward, eager to cement his high status in the king's view. "Every weekend, Your Majesty. We'll have two every weekend."

The king smiles. "Then you'll need more prisoners."