A wide open space, cavernous and carved straight out of the rock of the mountain. There were lanterns here, strung up haphazardly every few feet or so to provide a murky sort of clarity. Yawning black sockets of darkness formed the entrances to the cells.
This was the prison he'd been dreading for so long.
He was propelled along by strong arms and one of the barred doors was opened noisily. He pushed back against the ground with as much force as he could muster, grunting from the effort.
But he was no match for the trained guards that held him, and he was thrown forward with the force of their shoving. His knees struck the hay-and-dust covered cobbles first, but the rest of him was quick to follow.
His momentum forced his head to snap forward, following the rest of his body. His forehead cracked sharply against the stone, and blackness like a snake consumed his vision, snatching his consciousness right out from under him.
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A dusty beam of orange light, cut into cubes by the window—no, it was a door, heavily adorned with crisscrossing bars of solid iron.
Pain, pounding like a mallet on an anvil inside his head. His ears were ringing. He sat up, lurching painfully to the side when his vision went dark again. He sucked in a huge breath in an attempt to force the dizziness from his mind.
The question he'd been asking himself since the guards had taken him began to swirl around afresh in his head: What had happened to make them suspicious of him? What had finally dropped the undeniable last hint? How had fate become so cruel, waiting until the very day he would be free to clue them in?
He coughed on a mouthful of dusty air and ruffled a hand through his hair to rid it of straw. His knees, which had taken the brunt of his fall, stung through his scuffed trousers. His head, aching even at the slightest movement.
But otherwise, he was fine. Thankfully, his fall hadn't hurt him too badly.
He stood slowly, keeping his movements tight and careful, then he shuffled towards the door. He had to get the attention of some passing guard or even another prisoner—anyone who'd be able to tell him what was going on.
And it looked like he wouldn't have to wait too long. He could hear the steady thumping of footsteps, descending the spiraling staircase. He couldn't differentiate any specific pairs out of the stampede, but if he had to guess, he'd say it was at least four or five people.
His range of vision was severely limited by the door, which was set a couple inches within the stone alcove that formed his cell, but he stretched out despite that and tried to get a look at the doorway, through which the new arrivals would appear.
It was no use. The position of his cell made seeing the door impossible. He closed his eyes and listened as the footsteps reached the landing and entered the room, clomping across the floor.... They were getting closer! Maybe they were here for him after realizing their mistake, and he'd be freed and apologized to and he would be on his way before the day was up.
His hopes rose sky-high even though he tried over and over to tell himself to stop them.
The stony, hollow clicks on the floor. Closer, closer.
The group panned into vision, flickering with shadows. Kellen's eyes were frantic, unable to stay still long enough to actually see who was present. He forced himself to calm down...
King Avery, Queen Elowinn, Princess Kyra, Lord Quintin... and a face that Aeric had never seen before. But this was the face that finally bashed his sky-high hopes into the ground, not because of the face specifically... Actually, the face itself was rather plain—a nose slightly too small for the rest of his face, close-set eyes, too deep in shadow to tell the color, high cheekbones—but the whole thing was topped with red hair.
No one around here had red hair. Fiery, damningly red hair.
"Do you recognize him, Kellen?" the queen whispered, her voice quavering but impossibly loud in the ghostly silence.
Though he'd learned to claim the name as his own over the past months, this time the Queen was not talking to him.
Any hope he ever could have felt was crushed now, and his heart seized in fear.
The redheaded man shook his head, his face contorting into a rather disgusted expression. "I've never seen him before in my life."
The words were the final nail in the coffin, for more than one reason. The primary one, however, was the accent. It was the very same accent that Aeric had been trying to replicate and keep up for two months... This man in front of him was the real Prince Kellen of Rindenglade.
"I thought there was something off about him." The king's words were made all the more terrible by the fact that he never spoke. Everyone listened, everyone believed.
Kyra hadn't yet said anything, but the murder in her eyes was a clear enough message by itself.
"We should make an example of him." Quintin's cold, cold voice. Whatever he said would be Aeric fate, as he was the real power behind the throne—that is, if Kyra had been telling the truth.
"What do you have in mind, Quintin?" the Queen's voice was still quivering, weak. She'd clearly been hit hard by the knowledge that Kellen wasn't actually Kellen, but some lying peasant stranger.
"I'd say an execution would be adequate." The lord's eyes were flashing with a dangerous emotion.
But Aeric could hardly focus on anything other than the rapid beating of his heart. There was a flushed heat in his cheeks. Was he going to faint? Maybe he could stay unconscious until the moment they killed him so that he didn't have to worry about it. He always was such a worrier.
The group moved off again, heading towards the stairway that led back up to the palace, where they would all but forget about him until his probably-public execution. How had things turned so sour so quickly? Why did the prince show up early?
Why, Why, Why?
He was pulled back into the present when he realized that one of the group hadn't left. Kyra, her face unreadable—except for those fiery eyes. The green was lost to the shadow, but he could imagine it. She glanced over towards the stairs, where her parent's voices were already becoming distant and faint.
And as soon as they'd faded considerably into the distance, Kyra darted forward, her blazing emerald eyes flaring brighter and becoming clear as the light and shadow shifted across her face.
She let out a noise remarkably similar to a strangled scream.
"You dense, dense idiot!" she hissed. "You couldn't have told me sooner? I would have believed you if you'd come clean, and I certainly would have been a bit more fond of you for it!" the words streamed out of her mouth at a speed almost too fast to track. "You could have prevented this whole mess if you'd just let me know when you should have! You had the perfect opportunity! Hundreds of opportunities, in fact. I can think of one in particular that you should have taken advantage of. You—" Her words stalled, pausing behind her now-clenched teeth. "Blithering idiot!"
"I didn't know how you would react." He said weakly. He still felt close to fainting, and her words were hardly registering.
"That's no excuse!" she snapped, crossing her arms and shoving her face right up to the bars. The iron framed her head, casting it in a much more pale light than he'd seen it, yet.
"I knew you were the only one around here who'd do something about it, so I—I hedged my bets." He winced and shied away.
Suddenly, she seemed to wilt, her eyes falling to look at the ground, losing all their fire in one fell swoop. "What's your name?"
"Aeric." He felt himself relax. He would be dying, probably within the week, but right now, he just had to focus on Kyra. For once, he had his chance to redeem himself in her eyes. He could apologize.
"Aeric." The word, his name, was dry in her mouth. He could see the taste registering on her face. "It definitely suits you more than Kellen. The accent was awful, too. I've always hated it." her mouth curled softly into a smile, and her eyes drifted up to meet his, once more. They were filled with tears.
"You have no idea how awful I felt lying to you... to everyone." He sighed. "I'm almost glad the truth is out, now."
"But Faust plans on killing you, and there's nothing I can do about it!" she suddenly regained a bit of her fire. "We have to get you out of here!"
"How?" his voice cracked. He winced.
"I don't know. I'll think of something. But for right now, I should get back up there and make sure nothing else is going to happen in my absence..." her eyes lingered on his own before she slowly turned away.
He rushed up to the bars and pressed his face through where Kyra's had been. He could feel the lingering warmth in the bars. "Find Odette. She might be able to help and she already knows about... me."
She whipped around again, an accusation forming both on her tongue and in her eyes.
"It was an accident." He assured her quickly. "Just find her."
He wouldn't allow himself to believe they'd find a way to get him out, and he didn't think they would, either. But Kyra wasn't the type to give up once she'd made up her mind, so he might as well give her something to help that goal along.
But even if she wouldn't admit it to herself, Aeric knew that he was doomed.
There was no getting out of this one.