Insurrection [On Hold]

22 The Kiss

I search my father's face for a hint he's lying.

"What?" Gale asks, his voice sharp. "What is it?"

Our father turns his head to the side only enough to indicate he's talking to my brother. "For two months she'll pay a visit to Quill's capital prison."

My eyes widen. Gale's eyes widen. I assume anyone who heard eyes widen.

"What?" my voice comes out meek.

Gale's mouth opens and closes. "Is there a second option?"

Our father looks at him sternly. "No." His eyes move to me. "What do you say, Raksana?"

"Why would they even take me? They would assume that you should be keeping me in your own prisons."

"Don't think you're one step ahead of me."

I swallow. "What are the conditions?"

"You are there for two months. And don't think while you're there you can tell anyone who you are. You won't be killed by them. . . immediately. They will hold you for ransom, and once they realize we don't care, they will dispose of you."

Two months in our enemy's prison and Nate earns the chance to live. "I'll do it."

"However. . . my soldiers will create your crimes that you are being held for and you won't know what those are."

Whatever strife these soldiers have with me, they can deal it out on me now. Or there's a way to bypass this and the humiliation to come. My eyes drift to the noose. I stiffen. That will make me weaker in their eyes. Accepting and bearing this new offer of my father would show I'm strong—at least to some.

Nate's stopped struggling by now. His shoulders are slouched forward, and he lifts his head just enough to be able to see me.

I look my father in the eyes and force my voice to project loud and firm, "I am at their mercy."

His eyes seem to light up. "Send word to my nearest diplomat." He shoves me down the steps and into the arms of awaiting soldiers. "For now lock her up and get Griffith to Blanair."

Since Blanair is Lumiere's capital, that's where our main castle is built. That's where I call home.  The prison is attached to the palace. Maybe Nate will see some of my family.

My eyes meet his. His lips move, but I don't understand the words he's trying to send to me. The soldiers' hands tighten on me. Both are men. I give Nate a sort of sad kind of smile before being hauled away from the gallows. I don't struggle. Not many are lucky to be dragged away from them breathing.

Two female soldiers open the metal doors for us. Inside we turn right. Their hands are tight on my arms, and they walk with a fast pace, making it hard for me not to be dragged. Anyone we pass in the hallways stops and stares. Just two months.

We reach the metal door to the dungeon, a different guard than before opens the door without question. He follows us into the elevator.

At the bottom he guides us with the glow of his light bar.

We stop at the first cell. The bars creak as one of the soldiers opens up the empty box. "Here you go," he says. "Home sweet home."

The one still holding me forces me inside. Two months. He grips my chin in one of his cracked hands, the peeling skin scratching my skin. I strain against his strength as he tries to rotate my head to look at him. His grip grows stronger as my head slowly moves. Half of his face is lit up, the other half remains in shadows. "Listen, Princess." It's funny. . . when Nate calls me that, it makes me feel fluttery inside—even though he's mocking me. This man's mock leaves me feeling revolted. He leans toward my face. I try pulling back, but his grip is too tight. I press my lips together, glaring at him.