TPOP 50

Chapter 50

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Diana was thrown into a musty-smelling prison cell. Water dripped from somewhere. The dungeon's chill and stale, musty odor filled the air.

The knight who had dragged her down here had cuffed her wrists together. The chain attached to the cuffs was tied to the bars of the prison. She could see how the ropes Felix had tied around her ankles had allowed her a generous amount of freedom. The chain was barely two strides long, even at Diana's pace.

"Hmph, you sneaky thing. I've often wondered what you've been doing for a living, though I suppose the only thing you have to sell is your body."

She was not alone. Hilde's pimp, Antoin, was with her as a watcher. The bars separated them, but the voice she didn’t want to hear was easily heard. 

Where Diana was locked up, there was also a guard watching her. Antoin grabbed the guard and started talking excitedly.

“Do you know how much this bitch has been teasing guests? His Highness has good eyes! This bitch was born to be ravished by men.”

"Is she?"

Diana’s ears perked up at the familiar’s voice. She scrambled to her feet.

Each of Felix's escorts’s footsteps were light and stealthy. She'd heard the voice before. Only one had ever spoken to her.

"Ah, Sir Arnold...?"

Diana recognized the small sounds that came from the silent knight. She remembered the faintest scent of his body lingering where he'd left it. She stumbled toward the iron bars and reached out her hand. But the knight took a step back, and her hand clutched at nothing but air.

"Kn, knight, do you know each other?"

Came Antoin’s confused voice, followed by Arnold's stern, "Of course not.”

A shiver of foreboding ran down her spine. Diana stood at a distance and pursed her lips.

Did the master send you?

The word hung on the tip of her tongue, fearful that the answer would be unexpected. The knight's silence heightened her fear.

His contemptuous gaze was fixed on her. Arnold, who had been studying Diana for a long time, muttered in a low voice.

"A prostitute from Hilde. That would change the story, so much."

"I, I didn't do any of those things."

Diana tried to speak, but her voice came out muffled.

"It's true I worked for Hilde, but I was young then, and it wasn't my choice to be sold in the first place...."

"I trained her myself, sir!"

Antoin, intercepting Diana’s plea, raised his voice in a sneer.

"If you look at her chest, you'll see the slave mark!! Hmph, I paid five hundred francs for her, and I've had customers booking her for years in advance. You have no idea how much care the women of Hilde took in training her."

"Don't lie!"

Diana screamed.

The cuffs on her wrists clanked against the grate, making her bones tingle, but she barely had time to feel the pain.

"I said no, that I wouldn't do such a thing, that I would die if you sold me to those men, and I said so, and you...!"

Moments from Hilde's life in hell flashed through her mind like a flashlight. Diana was barely fifteen at the time. It was a harsh time for a young girl to go through, and it was also a terrifying time because she didn't know what to expect. Diana gasped, clutching the hem of her skirt.

No, I have to be calm. Calm....

“It’s time for the shift change.”

Arnold coldly turned away from Diana. Diana rattled the grate helplessly.

"Not me, sir. I'm...."

I’m scared.

His Highness is not going to abandon me on the word of an escort knight, is he?

"His Highness will make a decision. Wait patiently."

The knight's footsteps faded away.

Diana stood before the grate as if nailed to it for a moment, then moved. She shuffled back to her corner of the cramped cell and slumped down.

'He's the one to judge....’

Didn’t the Crown Prince say she was his property?

She was his, he said, so he wouldn’t lose her. He owned her.

"She’s very pretty. I wonder if I should put her on canvas.”

He called her pretty and told her no one could hurt her but him.

And then he sent her away and left her….... Diana’s lips curled as if she were about to cry.

"... you won't throw me away...."

"What is this bitch muttering to herself?"

Antoin spewed harsh words, but she clogged her ears and closed her eyes. Hope wasn't lost yet. There were marks on Diana’s skin, marks that Felix had possessively left until this very dawn.

She remembered his hot lips on her flesh and tried to steady herself.

***

The night was long. At midnight, when the waning moon cast a tenuous glow, a chilly breeze blew through the wide-open balcony doors.

The man's hair, as if it had been eaten by the darkness, was tousled by the wind.

There was an eerie silence in the living room of the palace, a space that had been restored to its former configuration by the full moon. The master of the place had his back buried in the sofa, unmoving. His downcast eyes were unseasonably cold.

"All right, get out."

Someone, shrouded in darkness, bowed deeply at the waist.

When the knight retreated after his report, the man was alone in the living room.

The moon was quickly waning and dawn was breaking. Felix closed his eyes and tilted his head. At his feet lay a tin can of blood-red paint.

Filling his lungs with the early morning air, he picked up the canister and stood up. The paint splattered on the hem of his robe as he stepped carelessly.

He walked to the easel by the window and pulled back the cloth covering the canvas. The canvas was pristine white with nothing on it. Felix threw the bucket of paint roughly onto the blank white space. The paint splashed like a fountain of blood.

"Ha."

Felix let out a short laugh and slammed his foot down on the now red canvas. The material cracked in the center, and he kicked it once more with unbridled fury. The easel shattered with a loud clatter.

"Damn it.”

Felix whirled around, stepping over splinters of wood scattered across the marble floor. A bitter wind blew at his back as he picked up the sword on the side table and strode out the door.

***

6. Hilde's Woman

The chandelier, studded with hundreds of crystals, reflected the light of the ballroom and glowed brilliantly. Designed by the Crown Prince himself, the ballroom was endlessly beautiful and sophisticated, symbolizing the current state of the empire's wealth. Even the emissaries from other countries were speechless before the overwhelming splendor.

Every element of the banquet hall fulfilled its purpose, not the least of which was its owner. Or, more accurately, the soon-to-be ruler of this country. It was Crown Prince Felix, who had been absent from the world for thirteen years.

It was the first time even the nobles of Karman had seen him, as the last portrait of him was that of a boy.

Indeed, he did not betray their expectations. Despite his long years of seclusion in his palace, his mannerisms, tone of voice, and gestures were completely natural for a man who had lived his entire life with the crowd at his feet.

The nobles naturally remembered the brilliance and intelligence of the young crown prince. His mere appearance was enough to decide the next emperor.

There was only room for a concubine's child. No, it was narrower today. The knuckles of Eisen's hands burned as he gripped his wine glass.

It was Eisen who had taken over the social scene during the Crown Prince's absence. A cheerful, gregarious prince who broke through the hard hearted imperial majesty. The stories of his birth had been told, but they had not stood the test of time. Thirteen years later, few people remembered the events of that day clearly. Those who remained had been neatly purged from the Count of Montaigne line.

The position Eisen had been so painstakingly built up for so many years was shaken like a lie. Because of the Crown Prince's return. No proclamation of return, no banquet toast, just an appearance!

"Do not be shaken, Your Highness."

Count Montaigne warned in a low voice. Eisen raised the corners of his trembling lips back up.

***

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