The clatter of boots echoed against damp stone as two burly guards descended into the gloom of the dungeon. A third followed, swinging a lantern that bled a thin, sickly light into the cell.
Prince Stefan, who had been crumpled against the far wall like a discarded doll, raised his head weakly at the sound. Shadows played across his gaunt face, and his hollow eyes followed their approach with a glimmer of wary recognition.
One of the guards unlocked the door with a loud, reluctant scrape of iron.
"On your feet," barked the one holding the lantern.
Stefan didn't move at first. Hunger and exhaustion had stripped his strength, and the cold seeped into his bones like a second skin.
When he failed to rise quickly enough, the other two stomped inside and grabbed him roughly under the arms, hauling him upright. Stefan's knees buckled, a groan tearing from his cracked lips as pain shot through his body.
"Easy," muttered the one with the lantern. "We've orders not to kill him."
The first guard gave a curt grunt, dragging Stefan toward the door. "Master's decided. He's to be moved today."
Stefan's heart thudded dully. Wherever they were taking him, it could only mean one thing: the game was shifting again.
He staggered as they pulled him along the narrow passage, his bare feet scraping across damp flagstones. Up ahead, a wooden staircase spiraled up into darkness, and beyond that, whatever fate awaited him.
As they reached the threshold, a faint draft whispered past him a reminder that, for the first time in too long, he would leave this prison. Whether that was a mercy or a prelude to something far darker, Stefan could not yet say.
And then the heavy door groaned open, spilling a breath of hot air into the stale corridor as they hauled him up into the unknown.
They dragged him up a narrow, winding staircase, the light growing brighter with every step. Finally, they emerged into a courtyard, and Stefan raised a trembling hand to shield his eyes. The sun hit him like a blade.
He stood swaying in the dirt as several armed men took up formation around him. A covered carriage waited nearby, a dark wooden box on wheels, its door swinging open.
"Get in," one of the guards ordered, pushing him forward.
Stefan climbed awkwardly into the carriage, chains rattling with each painful movement. Moments later, the door was slammed shut and latched from the outside. The interior smelled of stale hay and damp wood.
He heard the scrape of boots, the sharp snap of leather harnessing horses. Then the lurch of the wheels began, the sound of hoofbeats ringing in his ears as they carried him away into the light.
He sat trembling in the darkened box, hands cuffed together in his lap, heart pounding as the carriage rolled on toward an uncertain fate.
Meanwhile at the Somerset House
Late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows of Somerset House, casting a warm glow over polished wooden floors and embroidered tapestries. Marianne Somerset sat poised in her chambers, her hands folded gracefully in her lap as she waited for her father to arrive.
The sound of boots on marble signaled her father's arrival before he appeared in the doorway of her room. Tall, silver-haired, and dressed in a sober black coat embroidered only with the Chancellor's seal, Lord Eldric cut a formidable figure even at his most weary. When the door opened and Lord Chancellor Eldric entered, she rose with a bright, practiced smile.
"Father," she greeted warmly, brushing a kiss against his cheek as he took her hands.
"My dear Marianne," he said, his gaze lingering on her face. "You look radiant."
He gestured for them to sit. Almost immediately a servant appeared with a tray of tea and small pastries, then vanished soundlessly.
"You sent word you wished to speak," Lord Eldric began, lifting a brow as he settled into his chair.
"I hoped you might have a moment," she replied, smoothing her hands across her skirts to steady herself. "The servants say you've hardly been home."
He nodded, "There's much to see to. The King's condition has not changed. The council is fidgeting."
That was an understatement.
Marianne searched his face. "And Stefan? Any word of the prince at all?"
Her father's mouth pressed into a firm line. "None," he admitted. "But I have my best men scouring every port and province. Wherever he's hidden, I will find him."
That promise was weighty, and it should have been reassuring. But her hands clasped a little tighter.
"I was at the palace earlier. The queen invited me for tea."She said.
Lord Eldric arched a brow, leaning back. "And what was discussed?"
Marianne lowered her gaze a moment before replying, choosing her words with care. "She asked about my well-being and spoke kindly of my engagement to the crown prince. Mostly polite conversation, but I could sense her unease. The prince's absence weighs on her."
A flicker of determination crossed her father's face. "As it would. The whole court grows restless."
She searched his face. "Do you truly believe you can find him, Father?"
Lord Eldric's expression softened, but his tone was firm. "That is my burden to bear. And I will not fail you."
He reached across the table, clasping her hands in his. "Your future depends on his return, and I mean to see you crowned queen. Every resource, every favor I have, will be turned toward that end."
Her eyes glistened. "And if he cannot be found?"
"Then we will make sure the throne is secured by those who deserve it," he replied, voice low and measured. "Trust me, my dear. One way or another, you will be queen."
A small, resolute smile curved her lips. "I do trust you, Father but..."
"...Prince Benedict's influence grows by the day," she ventured carefully. "I've heard the rumors. If the King dies before Stefan is found…"
Lord Eldric's gaze darkened. "Then Prince Benedict will make his play."
The air between them felt heavy with unspoken fears.
"You know what that would mean for us," Marianne continued, her voice softer now. "For me. For you. Every house that has stood by Queen Isolde and my betrothed will be swept aside. Perhaps worse."
Her father's hands curled into fists against his knees. "He would dare," he muttered bitterly. "And we cannot allow it."
Marianne rose and crossed to him, pressing her palm lightly over his clenched hands. "If Stefan cannot be found…"
"He will be found," Lord Eldric interrupted, meeting her gaze fiercely. "And you will be his queen."
There was a rawness in his voice, a glimmer of steel. "No matter what lies Prince Benedict spins, nor what armies he musters, we will see Stefan back on the throne."
Her heart gave a small ache at the depth of his resolve. This was more than politics, this was his promise as a father.
"I trust you," she murmured.
Lord Eldric covered her hands with his own, his voice dropping to a low vow. "Whatever it takes, Marianne. Even if I must turn the whole of England upside-down, I will put you at his side. Until then, we wait and plan. Nothing is as it seems in these halls."
She gave a single, solemn nod.
And for a brief moment, though uncertainty still weighed on them, a quiet understanding passed between father and daughter, they would face this together, until the prince was found and the tide could turn once more.
He gave a single nod and rose. "Rest now. Let me do the worrying."
And with that, he left her chamber, his hands clasped behind his back, already planning his next move.