Freed: A Dark Fantasy Reimagining (The Jungle's Queen Book 2) by Cara Clare

Author:Cara Clare [Clare, Cara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Plume Noire Books
Published: 2023-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

17

QUEEN ELIYAH

The air is stale, the light dim. Manacles weigh down my wrists, their cold steel chafing against festering sores. Each clink of the chain is a reminder of the life I once had, the freedom that was stripped away from me.

I've been in this wretched place for what feels like an eternity. The castle that was once my home has transformed into a loathsome dungeon, the embodiment of my misery. Every part of me screams to escape, to breathe air that doesn’t smell of rust and despair. And yet, I know this is where I will end my days.

I know this is where I will die.

My stomach groans, empty for far too long.

They feed us scraps, barely enough to keep a bird alive. I'm wasting away in this darkness, both in body and soul, and I spend my days thinking of ways I might hasten my own demise simply so I do not have to bear this torture for one more moment.

When we were first locked away here, I was buoyed by hope. I believed someone would come to our rescue. I believed that Kaa would be overthrown and that my husband would retake his rightful place as ruler of Valoria.

Twelve months have passed. Time has slipped away, and it has taken all slivers of hope with it.

Shifting onto my other hip, to ease the ache from being pressed against the floor for so long, I turn to the outermost wall. My eyes have grown accustomed to the scant light that filters through the cracks in the stone, and I am now quite adept at using it to judge the time of day or night.

Moss creeps along those walls, and sometimes I fantasise about it overtaking the entire cell, swallowing us whole, ending this perpetual nightmare.

With great effort, I rise to my feet. My joints protest, sore from inactivity and the cold, damp conditions. I take a shaky breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to do.

In the corner, my wretched husband sleeps.

He is even uglier now he is so thin.

Gathering my tattered skirts, I cautiously approach the tipped-over pail lying in the corner. With each step, the sound of my shackles scraping against the floor fills the cell. The sound is a harsh contrast to the silence that dominates this place – a silence broken only by the distant cries of other prisoners, or the footsteps of the guards who revel in our suffering.

I position the pail carefully, hoping it will hold my weight. My heart pounds as I place one foot on its rim, and then the other, slowly standing upright. For a fleeting moment, as I unfasten my belt and stretch up toward the beam above me, I catch the smell of damp earth and foliage—the smell of the jungle.

I tiptoe higher, my eyes fixed on the rotting beam, praying it will hold my weight long enough for the noose to do its job.

But just as I am lost in this minor, stolen joy of imagining how it will feel to stop breathing, the pail topples.

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