My skull was on fire.
Or perhaps there were horses galloping across it, each hoof landing with more force than the last. I blearily opened my eyes, looking around the dimly lit space from the iron bars on three sides of me to a dingy metal chamber pot in the corner.
A dungeon. I was in a dungeon.
Finally, my gaze landed on the blurry outline of my cousin in the cell next to mine. He quirked an eyebrow, though the motion made him wince. He lifted his bound hands to his head as if he could rub it away.
My wrists twitched in sympathy, and I looked down to find the rough fibers of a rope digging into my flesh. Right. They had also tied us up. Bracing my hands on the cold stone floor, I pushed myself into a sitting position, blinking away the stars that edged out my vision.
“Well, if they thought to punish us, the joke is on them. This is a holiday compared to the caves.” Davin’s voice was rough from disuse.
It was true enough. Though it was still freezing, the little air coming in from the tiny cell window was crisp and fresh, nothing like the frigid, stagnant tunnel.
For that matter, the space was open, only bars separating the rows of empty cells.
“Who is they exactly?” My mouth felt like it had been glued shut, and my voice came out a quiet rasp.
The Socairans, obviously. But which ones? And where were the other prisoners?
“Stars if I know. The last thing I remember is a cloth coming over my mouth, then nothing until we woke up here.” He paused, lifting both hands to push his black locks from where they had fallen into his eyes.
“Which clan do you think we have the pleasure of visiting?” I vaguely registered that I should be panicking, but none of this quite felt real.
Princesses don’t get put in dungeons.
Davin made a show of looking around, letting out a low whistle.
“Judging by the superior quality of the chamber pots and the odor wafting from that end of our accommodations,” he gestured behind him, “I’d say we were in Clan Dragonbreath.”
I snorted out a laugh. “Is that even a real clan?”
“No idea.” He shrugged. “But, if it isn’t, it should be.”
I shook my head, suppressing a shiver.
“We’ve really done it this time, haven’t we?” Davin sighed, scratching at his several days’ worth of beard.
“Indeed,” I replied, shaking my head in disbelief. “Do you know the last thing Da’ said to me? He said, Damn it, Rowan! Can I not leave ye fer five minutes without ye running off to do something stupid?”
I did my best imitation of my father’s brogue, but the angry tone was eclipsed by an unexpected fit of giggles on that last word. Something stupid, indeed. To think, that had only been referring to him finding me gambling at the village tavern.
What would he think now?
Davin joined me in laughter, and the pounding in my head was well worth putting off the grim thoughts of what our futures might hold.
“Well, the last thing my mother said was, Try to stay away from the whores this time.”
At that, I lost it entirely, tears of mirth running down my cheeks. “At least one of us was successful, then,” I gasped between breaths. “Unless you were very discreet.”
Davin tried to respond, but his guffaws gave way to wheezing. The sound sobered us a little and reminded me how long it had been since we had something other than vodka. I searched around the cell in vain for something to drink.
They had taken our swords and my satchel with the remaining bottles of vodka in it.
Our canteens had run dry at least a day ago, depending on how long we had been in the dungeons. Though, I knew we couldn’t have been here for long. My head still swam from the remnants of alcohol in my system mixed with whatever they had drugged us with.
The sound of a throat clearing abruptly cut off my search.
My gaze snapped up to a startlingly handsome face. Swarthy skin contrasted with pale blonde hair and eyes on the greener side of hazel, eyes that were currently narrowed in a haughty sort of bafflement, like a housecat watching two drunken mice.
He cut an imposing image, tall with broad shoulders filling out a pristine navy double-breasted coat with polished gold buttons. It fell nearly to his ankles on matching trousers that were tucked neatly into his shiny black boots.
A guard, perhaps?
I resisted the urge to smooth down my unruly scarlet curls, for all the good it would have done, lifting my chin proudly instead.
The man’s gaze moved to Davin.
“I see you’ve recovered.” He spoke the common tongue, but his accent was harsh, with thick, rolling Rs and a guttural sound.
“You mean from your men drugging us?” Davin asked.
“I actually meant from the copious amounts of vodka you consumed, given that we found two empty bottles among the several you were smuggling.” His eyebrows rose slightly, and I couldn’t tell if he was mocking us or merely being matter of fact.
Probably the first one.
Still, at least he didn’t seem to know who we were. It was only the vodka he was concerned about. Surely, that’s better.
“We would recover better with some water.” I forced myself to my feet, though the action made black spots appear in my vision.
He only gave me a cursory glance before addressing my cousin as though he were the one who spoke.
“Tell me what you were doing in the tunnels, and I might look into it.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Davin spoke first. “Tell us who you are first.”
The man pursed his lips like he wanted to argue, then let out a short breath. “I am Lord Theodore Korhonan, brother to His Grace, Iiro Korhonan, Duke of Clan Elk.”
Not just a guard, then.
“Well, Laird Theodore—” I began.
“It is Lord, here,” he corrected, still mostly avoiding looking in my direction.
I blinked. Lord sounded ridiculous, but if that’s what he wanted to be called… Davin made a face like he was biting back another laugh.
“Very well, Lord Theodore. As I’m sure you noticed, we were…procuring a few items that are difficult to find in Lochlann.”
“Stealing,” he clarified.
“Of course not,” I answered. “We paid for it.”
“Overpaid, at that,” Davin added.
“And where did you plan to consume it?”
Davin and I exchanged a confused look. “At home. In Lochlann.”
There was a tense silence before Lord Theodore spoke again, his voice a deep timbre echoing off the stone walls. “The punishment for stealing is losing a hand.”
“I told you, we paid—” My words cut off abruptly when he finally turned the full force of his gaze on me.
Torchlight flickered in his golden green eyes, and for the smallest fraction of a moment, pity broke through his stoicism. For the first time since we discovered our route home obliterated, I felt truly afraid.
His features hardened into resolve, though, as he finished his thought. “But the punishment for smuggling is death.”
