“Lady Ophelia, what might your business in the palace be?” The man guarding the piercing gates asked, his gaze falling on the noble woman before him.
“I heard a prisoner is going to be executed tomorrow. I wish to see her before that happens.”
His bushy eyebrows rose, turning into two circular half moons, clearly suspicious of the girl’s intentions. With pitch black irises analysing her thoroughly, his attention voyaged from her luxurious red dress that had been perfectly arranged to fall on her frail figure, a colour so vivid that even roses became dull in its presence; to the long raven hair falling onto the silky fabric gently, contrasting fire with darkness in a single soul. Ophelia had dressed herself to be present at a ball, not a mere dungeon visit.
“Do you have a permit with you?”
“You must already be aware of what happened, so I’ll be frank. I must understand what caused her to commit such a vile act.”
“I understand milady, but I can’t let you through without a...”
“Is there a problem?” The voice of a third party popped out of nowhere, causing both of their gazes to fall on the man approaching from the sidelines. His caramel-coloured hair had been tied up with a piece of dark fabric, being pushed onto his right shoulder, falling right up to his upper chest area. In his dark brown vest, a small golden lunette peaked through, eager to be able to view anything else but those blunt surroundings.
An aide...? Ophelia thought as his figure stopped some mere meters across hers. The fabric in his clothes was cheap, yet expensive enough for most commoners to confuse it with luxury; plus the lunette had been surrounded in a golden frame - certainly being a gift of someone with power and importance.
“Lady Ophelia, I presume?”
“Yes. And you are...?”
“Aldrich.” His oak eyes fell on her moments before his torso leaned forward, paying its utmost respect to the Duke’s daughter. “I am the crown prince’s personal servant.”
“Sir, Lady Ophelia wishes to visit a prisoner, but she has no permission from the crown.” The guard scratched his bald head, attempting to settle the matter peacefully.
“I will vouch for Lady Ophelia. Surely, she means no harm.” Aldrich’s arm stretched as wide as the forced smile on his thin lips.
Isn’t he going to question this? The girl felt like she was walking into a trap, being unable to read the emotions behind such an apathic man. Nevertheless, her hand intertwined itself on his, and they slowly walked towards the dungeons, one painfully slow step at a time.
She shot him a glance, being merely greeted by an unbothered stance and a deafening silence. Anxiety grew within her, slowly pecking at her core. Anyone would be curious about her intentions, probably even doubtful - yet Aldrich seemed immune to such feelings, to such ordinary humane thoughts.
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Everyone within the higher classes knew about the incident that had transpired earlier, of the ruthless behaviour a commoner dared to show, someone who had gone completely rogue, threatening her previous master’s life. Some claimed Ophelia to be brave, a courageous woman to face danger head on while others painted her actions as mere foolishness. Aldrich, however, intended to make his own judgment, to fully understand who this woman was and how had she been able to infatuate the crown prince with her presence, even if he hadn’t realized it himself.
The palace grounds were long gone when they reached the main area surrounding the dungeon. Rows of trees surrounded the borders that were secured by a set of massive steel gates, each with a thick spike at its top, threatening to pierce the sky or any escapees. As they passed, the only sound echoing in the wind were the whispers of nature, the leaves rattling, the birds chirping and the footsteps sinking into the grass at a mechanical rhythm. It was only after several long minutes that the sky peaked into the land again, finally able to escape the shadows of the trees, displaying its beautiful oceanic colour for all to see.
A big tower made of stone bricks roaring up into Divinity rose in size and, right at its base, several armed guards stood watch, all painfully quiet with their unfriendly faces. Not far away, two wooden stations peaked between the tall leaves, a handful of archers gazing at the trespassers in each.
“Apologies, milady, but only you and Sir Aldrich may come inside.” One of the guards commented, his sharp eyes looking at Ivy and Olivia with complete distrust. His muscular figure and tight stance made the noble girl’s heart race, understanding this man wasn’t ordinary - he was someone who’d fought with the crown prince, his scars so easily said so.
“I understand.” Ophelia turned around, seeing both maids bowing down slightly. “Wait here, I’ll return momentarily.”
Aldrich’s grip on her arm became stronger as they walked up the stairs, each step more uneven than the other, a perfect trap for the malnourished prisoners to fall through in a blink. The flickering light of the torch on his hand barely moved, displaying the lack of wind streams flowing in from the tight glued bricks, unable to break through for decades, if not centuries to come. Like the slashing of a sharp knife, the silence between them allowed the rattling noises of the mouses and chains to echo through the climb, followed by a handful of pained groans of extremely doomed souls.
“This is no place for a lady, but, since it was your personal request, please do bear with the smell.” Aldrich stated, grabbing a set of keys from the wall. The iron door creaked open after a loud thud ensued, slowly being pushed by his arms.
An intense smell of human excretions alongside salty sweat travelled into the girl’s nostrils, yet her expression remained unchanged. The aide merely observed, allowing her to pass through the heavy passage without any shift in her grace. How could she behave like this? Surely, she must be feeling sick to her gut right now…
Ophelia’s gaze passed through the empty cells, seeing the rusty bars irk with the gift of time, the stone floor to mimic the coldness of the Frosting, having only a flimsy cotton blanket, drowned in holes and moths to rely on. A strange sense of familiarity voyaged through her soul, almost as if she’d been here before, as if everything that was being displayed in front of her gaze was but a memory of another time, of another life.
“You have a visitor.” Aldrich stopped at the furthest cell, with a small window that allowed some light to peek inside. The stone walls were tainted with blood spots, all strongly resembling the colour of crimson mud and, right at their side, a bucket filled to the brim with humane excrements laid, its smell travelling with the soft breeze.