I Cant Be Mated to Him

*Blanca*

I trail my fingertips along the rough stone wall of the dungeon as I walk briskly along, keeping my shoulders hunched and my head down. In my other hand, I carry a bucket of water and a ladle. Down here, I should be safe from the ridicule I face on the upper levels of the castle, but occasionally, a guard or two will mess with me. It’s easier to avoid them if I’m invisible. 

When I was a little girl, I got it into my head that not looking at people somehow made them unable to see me. Now, I know better. Yet, I still find myself staring at my holey boots most of the time.

When I reach the first cell, I pause. “Water?” I offer the man caged inside of the small space the ladle. This cell has no windows, and it’s hard to see because the light from the few lanterns on the walls only reaches so far. But I know his face. I know his name. I know his story.

I know all of their stories.

He comes over and takes the ladle, drinking thirstily before I refill it, and he empties it again. “You’re an angel,” he whispers.

“You’re welcome, Clive.” I smile at him, glad to be appreciated, even if it is by alleged murderers and thieves, and then move to the next cell.

I make my way as quickly as I can, hoping to make it to every cell before I’m discovered and hauled back up the stairs. My parents have forbidden me to come down here, but I do it anyway. I’ve seen the slop and dirty water these poor people are given, and I can’t stand the thought of them suffering for a drink when I can help them. If there was ever such a thing as a trial in all of the kingdom of Dun’s Crossing, perhaps I wouldn’t feel so inclined to help, but in my mind, it should be innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around.

I move to one of the cells that has a window and pause to watch the man inside. Tall, with dark hair the same shade as my own, this prisoner has always been my favorite. When he makes a low humming sound in the back of his throat, several large black birds move to perch between the bars of the small opening high in the ceiling. I can never tell if they are ravens or crows, but their shimmering blue-black feathers are beautiful to me.

“Water?” I ask, like I always do.

He turns to look at me, an amused expression on his face as he saunters over. His long black tunic and pants are filthy and torn, but he looks majestic anyway, like he would be better suited for a wizard’s study or a throne room than a dirty dungeon beneath Wilbury Castle.

“Still playing fast and loose with the rules, huh, Princess?” he asks as he takes the ladle from my hand.

I shrug. “If I get in trouble, it wouldn’t be the first time, Mr. Blake.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me mister? You’re a princess and I’m–”

“What are you exactly?” I interrupt him. I’ve never been brave enough to ask the question of him. Unlike the others, his story is hazy in my mind because he doesn’t want to tell it.  I tend not to speak to anyone when it can be avoided. While Mr. Blake has always made me feel comfortable, I’ve never asked that burning question. I’m not sure what makes me ask it today. Yet, here it is, falling from my lips.

Rather than offering me a suitable answer, he chuckles and finishes the water from the ladle. “I am a prisoner.” 

“Yes, I know that.” I practically roll my eyes, but I don’t. Mother slaps me in the face when I do that. “I mean….” I gesture at the birds that are still sitting on the window ledge, patiently waiting for his attention. “What are you?”

“Some say I’m a madman,” he begins, dipping the ladle back in and taking another drink before he continues. “Others say I’m a murderer. Or a magician. The king thinks that I’m his arch nemesis.”

“But why?” I ask. “Why are you here?”

“Why are any of us here, my little raven?” He reaches up and tugs a strand of my hair the way a father might a beloved daughter. I smile up at him, wishing my own father would take such an interest in me. “Your king spoke the words, and now here I am. And here I shall be until he says otherwise.”