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It might be unrelated to the situation, but Azriel was gladder than ever that he was a rake.

So he left Zavian to be, and when the time was right; when tempers were extinguished and the dust had settled, he will be back to take his chance to talk with his friend.

And hopefully, he would not be the next in the dungeons.

….

Every waking moment, Freya could not believe where she was.

The dungeon was only nothing more than a prison for criminals when talked about amongst royals or the people upstairs, as her brain referred to them now. She too had once been one of the people upstairs, closed off in her quarters, and probably on another book by now.

The smell of unwashed bodies, sweat, and waste clotted Freya’s nostrils, but stay in filth long enough, you become it. They hadn’t even had the decency to put her in a clean cell or give her a mattress, or something other than the bucket for relieving herself.

She coughed when a gust of dust blew in through the only small window high up on the wall, and the sound bounced off the stone walls. She was the only one here, and part of the reason she was yet to lose her screws was that she had been used to some certain degree of silence already, but nothing like this one.

.....

Zavian had not come to see her and didn’t even have the empathy to ensure she ate good food in the prison. Mashed or overcooked nonsense was sent to her, the only time she had contact with another’s presence, and even the guard had been fast to go in, drop the tray of her meal, and hurry out without making any eye contact.

She dragged herself up, wishing for a bath from all the reek of wet floor and sweat. Her bones ached, the heat was exhausting, and she could use some real food.

She dragged the tray closer, and the bowl held what looked like rice. There wasn’t even any spoon, she groaned. The only way she could feel better was if she killed the last guard who didn’t see to a spoon added to the tray, and maybe the maid who didn’t add the spoon, or the cook who fed royalty this way, or the entire staff.

Hell, she was pissed.

She ate the food and winced as she downed the water, refreshing her a bit from her terrible situation. Her ears perked up at the distant footsteps, slow, quiet, different from the guard’s noisy ones, and it was heading down the stairs to the dungeon.

Freya set down the bowl and waited.

The iron doors opened with a loud noise, and Freya looked at the sandaled feet before she raised her eyes to the person wearing them, and an instant scowl fixed on her face.

Neera shook her head and folded her arms. “Why did they do this to you?”

She scanned the dark space and stepped in front of Freya’s cell. Freya rose to her feet, ignoring every ache, and stood tall with her chin tilted high. No way would the maid view her with pity.

“The maids here are like parrots,” Neera said, stepping closer to the bars. “When they said, the King’s miserable sister is rotting away in the dungeons, I almost didn’t believe them. But my eyes aren’t deceiving me.”

Freya saw the emptiness in her eyes even as she smiled, and despite herself, an eerie chill swept up her. Freya looked to the entrance door left ajar and there was no guard in sight.

“But then, they also said it is because you didn’t want me to be Queen,” Neera continued. “But then, you are never able to wield such a power yourself, are you?”

“Let me out,” Freya commanded.

“I don’t have the keys,” Neera said. “But then, what happens if the rumors change its narration? What happens if the maids say that the King’s sister did rot away in the dungeon?”

The chill swept through Freya again, but she fought against it.

“Are you trying to have me killed?”

Neera stepped even closer. The blankness of her gaze pushed Freya back, but she stood her ground and didn’t budge an inch.

“You will be smart not to stand in the way of my purpose,” Neera warned. Freya’s frown deepened. “I do not have to tell you how easy it will be with no witnesses around.”

Freya thought of Jasmine’s death and the strong evidence that Neera had brought forward. But Neera had been alone with Jasmine, and only at that knowledge did Freya stagger back one step.

“Do you want to hurt my brother?” Freya asked.

“Hurt him? No.” Her answer didn’t sound convincing. “But you have always wanted me dead. Have you ever thought about if one day the tables were turned? And what would happen?”

Freya jumped with a start as the door of the cell opened on its own, and there was no wind, no key. She backed away to the far corner of the cell as the door widened, and Neera stepped in.

“If Zavian says I will be Queen, then I will be,” Neera said as she moved closer to her. Freya looked up at the window, too small and too far. The cell door. She would have to get past Neera first.

As if she heard her thought, the cell door slammed shut behind Neera.

“You will be the ruin of my brother,” Freya said, her heart picking a pace.

Neera walked as if she floated on some phantom wind, her eyes drilling deep into Freya’s. Freya knew shouting would not save her as Neera kept on approaching.

“No, my purpose was to be Queen long ago,” Neera said. “And I am tired of hearing people dispute it. The Dukes know better and have fallen in agreement now. But you.”

Neera stopped in front of her. Freya’s claws came out, and she hid her hands behind her back, waiting for the right time to strike.