Chapter 90: Captive

Chapter 90: Captive

Trent, the crown prince of Gormona who was currently imprisoned under false pretenses, hit his wooden cup on the metal bars of his door.

All he had was a candle to see by, and as the door's peephole slid open, the bright light of day flooded through. He squinted against the assault before a familiar set of eyes appeared, blocking the sun's radiance.

"Why, good morning, prince," Leroy said, spitting the last word. "What can I do for you?"

"Heeeelp!" Trent hollered at the top of his lungs. "Help me! I'm a prince and I've been captured!"

Leroy sighed, reached behind him, then splashed something through the opening.

It slammed into Trent's face, and he recoiled back, holding his comely features.

"What have you done to me? My beautiful face—what foul attack is this?"

"It's water, you idiot. Screaming for help won't help you—we've insulated your room with mulch."

Trent glared at his abuser.

"Why did you assault me then?"

"Because your voice is annoying, and you looked a little thirsty. Now, did you need anything, or was that pitiful attempt at escape all you had for me...?"

Trent stood, puffing his chest out.

"I demand that you release me. If you let me go now, I'll put in a good word to my father, the king."

Leroy gave him a flat look.

"After what you did, you think we'd release you?"

"I did nothing wrong!"

"You tried to enslave my sister," Leroy replied, his face going dark.

Trent waved a hand, dismissing the accusation.

"I would have released her after a while. It was only to punish you for your insolence, and I wouldn't be allowed to keep a non-cultivator collared after we got back to the capital."

Leroy's expression turned thoughtful.

"You can remove collars?"

"Of course—if one is smart, handsome, and resourceful enough, it's easy."

"So there's a key?"

Trent tried to keep his face neutral, but his eyebrow twitched.

"Yes, fine, there's a key, okay? Now let me out—my crimes are tenuous, and should you leave me in here, my father will have you executed for this. Your only chance of survival is letting me out."

"I'm not letting you out. Anything else?"

Trent thought for a moment, then nodded.

"I'm bored and hungry. It's too dark in here, and I have to go to the bathroom."

"Why don't you play a little counting game, then? See how high you can count—if you make it past twenty, I'll even give you an extra croissant."

Trent sniffed.

"I didn't eat my last one. I need proper food—prince food! Not this peasant drivel."

Leroy shook his head.

"If you knew what they fed us cultivators back in the capital, you'd cry tears of happiness at being given a fresh pastry."

"But there's not even any jam! How am I supposed to eat a dry pastry?"

Leroy rubbed his chin.

"Tell you what, Trent—if you keep on giving me information on the capital, I'll organize some jam for you. How does that sound?"

Trent, the mastermind that he was, reveled in his successful negotiations. He would have told the jailer for free, but now he had secured blessed jam. It would be a far cry from the sweet treats he was used to, but any sugar-based foodstuffs were always a cause for celebration.

He gave Leroy a small smile.

"Yes, I suppose that can be arranged..."

"Good. If that's all you had to say, then I'll be on my way."

"Wait! What about the bathroom? I need to use the bathroom!"

Leroy pointed in the corner.

"I gave you a bucket."

"You cannot be serious..." Trent gazed back at what he'd assumed was some sort of peasant drum for entertaining oneself. "That isn't a musical instrument...?"

Leroy raised an eyebrow, staring at him for a long moment.

"Go in the bucket, Trent."

The peephole slammed closed, and the soft orange light of his candle blossomed following the disappearance of daylight.

***

Leroy shook his head as he lifted the bail of sugarcane mulch, placing it back atop the others and covering the peephole.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Leroy?" Barbara asked. "If you need some space from him after everything that happened..."

Leroy went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"I'm fine, my love. I promise. Having someone to monitor is a good task for me to focus on."

She smiled at him, her eyes brimming with kindness.

"If you're sure..."

"I am." He pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tight. He still couldn't believe that he was back—free of his collar—and he delighted in Barbara's touch at every moment possible.

As their embrace stretched, Leroy replayed his conversation with the prince, and shook his head with a laugh.

"I don't know what to think about our captive..."

Barbara pulled back, smiling at him.

"He's a bit... silly, isn't he?"

"Silly? The guy is a full-blown moron."

"You're sure it's not an act?"

"If it's an act, he missed his calling as a mummer." Leroy looked back at the door, imagining the idiot playing his waste bucket as a bongo. "He was just as stupid on our way here, and he had no reason to put on a show then. If anything, I think his idiocy is helping him. He's too daft to work out just how bleak his situation is, and he'd rather negotiate for jam than work out a way to escape—not that there is any."

"Well, I'll trust your judgment. You know him better than I do."

"Of course you can!"

"Here," she said, holding Cinnamon out to me.

I raised an eyebrow as I grabbed and cuddled the proffered bunny, but then Maria took off.

She sprinted, launching herself as she reached the bedside. She crashed down into the pillows, the blanket puffing up at the edges with her collision. A great sigh escaped her as she rolled to her back, lounging on my luxurious sleep vessel.

"It's pretty nice, huh?" I asked.

"Nice doesn't even begin to cover it. I'm not tired, but I feel like I could fall asleep right this second."

"Have a nap if you want—there's still plenty of time until we need to have the fish ready for tonight."

"And miss out on whatever this ‘shower’ thing is? I should think not!" She got up with great effort, but as she was just about to climb from the bed, she let out a sigh and lay back down. “It's just so comfy...”

"Here, I'll help you." I held out a hand. "You'll be stuck in there all day otherwise."

Her small hand slipped into mine, and I helped her up from the pillowy tomb.

I led her out and toward the bathroom, but after we passed another bedroom, she stopped, then walked backward to peek inside.

"... you're serious?"

"Er—about what?"

"You have another bed! It's a little smaller, but the mattress and covering look the same."

"Oh, right. I have three spare beds, actually. Check the closed doors."

She darted around the room, throwing open the other two doors, letting out an increasingly annoyed groan with each one.

"You cannot be serious! Why do you even have four beds?"

I shrugged.

"Just in case I have mates that need to stay the night."

"I know you said the shower was the best feature, but I'm finding that hard to believe..."

"Follow me—I'll let you be the judge of it."

I strode down the hallway, gesturing for her to go inside.

Her eyebrows knitted as she caught sight of the white-tiled floor and walls, and she peaked around the corner with no small amount of hesitation.

"What... what is that?"

"That's a toilet. It's for, uh, doing your business, you know?"

"Oh..." She scrunched her nose. "How do you empty it...?"

I walked over and flushed.

Maria’s face morphed from confusion, to shock, then to awe, and I laughed.

"You don't empty it—you press this button, and water washes it away."

"Okay, that's my new favorite feature. Hands down."

"That brings us the magnum opus of my humble abode—the shower."

I opened the glass screen and turned on the water.

"Oh, wow!" She looked at the falling water, then the toilet, then back at me. "I still think I like the turtlet better."

"It's toilet, but that was close. You haven't felt the shower's water yet, though..."

As if heralded by my words, the hot water finally came through, and steam started rising from the falling liquid.

Maria stared at it, her face going through a series of expressions as comprehension hit her once more.

"No. Way."

"Yes way," I replied, grinning. "Feel it."

She held out a hand under the running water, and a groan escaped her.

"This is really, seriously, absolutely not fair. How does it even work?"

"As with most things, I have no clue! I do love it, though."

"Okay, you were right—this is the best feature of your home."

"Glad you agree! You're welcome to come try it out sometime."

She raised an eyebrow at me.

"That was rather forward of you, Fischer..."

"I-I meant by yourself," I said in a rush, but when I noticed her smirk, I sighed. "And you call me the big meany..."

She covered her mouth with a hand as she laughed at me.

"Come on." She patted me on the shoulder and walked from the bathroom. "Let's get started on the fish. I want to get back and help mom out with the stew at some point."

"You know," I said, following her, "the fish won't take long to cook. Did you want to go help your mom, then come back later? Fish is best eaten soon after it's cooked."

"How long will it take?"

"If I get a fire prepared, it'll only take an hour for seasoning and cooking it."

She nodded.

"That sounds good! I'll come back in the afternoon, then?"

"Before you go, you should see something."

"Oh? What?"

I walked to my bedroom and pointed at the door to the ensuite.

"You should look in there."

She raised an eyebrow, but strode into the room and opened the door to have a hesitant peek.

"Woah! You have two toilets?"

"Look around the corner."

She disappeared from sight, and a shocked gasp escaped her throat.

"Hygieia's cleanly skin!" Her head popped back around the corner, her eyes wide. "There's another shower back here!"