Reign of Wicked Temptation by Jen Bradlee

Author:Jen Bradlee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: medieval romance, steamy romance, wicked prince, dark romance, alt-historical romance, trilogy
Publisher: Blackship Press
Published: 2022-08-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The walls trembled from the force of Crispin’s shouts. Woken from the depths of a restless sleep, Henry searched the dark cell. His good eye adapted quickly while the other refused to even open. His body ached, and the gnawing hunger in his gut refused to relent. The thought of a drop of cool spring water made him moan.

Crispin spun around from his position beside the door. “Remain there. Moan louder and clutch your head.”

Confusion clouded Henry’s understanding. “What?”

“I have a plan.” Crispin tried to pry at the slot in the door where the guards would typically deliver food or water to prisoners. Only they had not delivered a scrap since they locked them inside. Had they been left for dead?

“What plan?” Henry groaned as he shifted his head.

“The escape plan.” Crispin pressed his fingers to his lips. “Trust me.”

Henry was in no position to argue. They had no other alternative. After searching the cell numerous times, from the ceiling to the floor, they found no loose stone or bricks to use as weapons and no secrets hidden within the walls. Their only hope of escape lay through the solid door bolted from the outside.

Crispin shouted again, the sound ringing through Henry’s head. He moaned loudly, but the pain was sincere. The narrow cell did nothing to dull the amplification of their voices. When Crispin raised his voice, Henry wished the sainted archangels would claim him. Anything to stop the torment.

“Help!” Crispin’s pleas reverberated off the walls. He pounded his fists upon the door. “Come quickly!” The touch of panic in his voice told Henry the cries were not completely fabricated.

Henry knew this game well. The plea for assistance for a wounded companion would garner sympathy, assuming their guards even had a conscience or a soul. If they would die here, would that not ruin Francis’s plans? He stifled a chuckle at the fleeting thought even as it grew into a burgeoning reality.

He threw himself into the role. Moaning and thrashing upon the rickety bed. Henry half feared it would break and the pieces of wood might impale him. At least it would end his suffering. Or prolong it? He shivered at the possibility before shoving it away.

“Do you even have a weapon should someone respond?” Henry asked between grunting cries of agony made purely for emphasis on his perceived condition.

Crispin pointedly ignored him, instead focusing on redoubling his efforts to break down the door with his bare fists. His voice grew hoarse with the continued shouts for help.

Henry felt what little strength he possessed slip away. If he lost consciousness again, then what use would he be? He forced himself to remain alert. They must...escape...He took a deep breath and his eyes drifted closed, pulling him into the blissful abyss.

The slide and thud of the wooden slat opening jerked him back from the edge of surrender. A solitary beam of light shone through the slat until a shadow fell over it.

“What goes on here?” a woman’s voice snapped.

Ivy. Henry’s heart twisted at the sound of her voice.

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