The dungeon smelled like piss and dried blood, something that had been rotting quietly for years and given up trying to announce itself. I sat with my back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of my gala dress and settling into my bones.
They hadn't even let me change.
The guard who threw me in hadn't said a word, just shoved me through the door and turned the key and left, the sound of his boots fading until there was nothing but the drip of water somewhere in the dark and the distant, muffled noise of the palace carrying on above me as if nothing had happened. As if tonight had been ordinary.
I pressed my cheek to my knee and closed my eyes.
Simon.
