The news reached the king at noon while he sat on his grand throne. His daughter stood on his right side, listening intently. The entire throne room gasped at the message. The king stood, his eyes searching the man with the message.
“Is this true?” he asked firmly, his deep voice bouncing off the walls of the throne room.
The messenger nodded.
The people in the throne room laughed and shouted in triumph. The king smiled.
“Well done! At last, Normandy’s greatest assassin has been captured and will no longer terrorize our people! He shall be hanged in the morning!”
The princess gasped in relief. At last, the horrible man had been caught! Although the thought that the assassin Javelin was is a cell in her castle slightly unnerved her, she was glad he was in a place where he could do no harm till his execution.
“Let us celebrate this great triumph!” a well dressed man near the door called out to the king. People nodded and voiced their agreement. The princess grabbed her father’s arm.
“Oh, yes, Father lets! This should well be a reason to host a feast or a party!” He turned to her.
“Ember, if you desire a party or a feast, why not do both!” the king laughed. Everyone was joyful.
The man snuck out the door.
Brock shifted uncomfortably while he traveled down the long corridor. Why do these royal people wear uncomfortable stuff like this?
“You’d think they’re trying to suffocate people by giving them this crap,” he grumbled to himself. He brushed his brown hair out of his face and started jogging, desperate to slip out of sight and rip off the pants and jacket. His normal, comfortable clothes were under them and he was desperate to be set free.
He started a brisk walk and turned a corner. The door that led down to the dungeon stood right in front of him.
“Bout time,” he said as he walked in. He slowly walked down the staircase. It was dark and musty. Even the lit torches that hung on the wall didn’t pierce the darkness. A guard, who was walking up the stairs as he was walking down, saw him.
“Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing?” Brock silently rolled his eyes.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I was on my way down to visit my father. He’s getting quite lonely in his cell. He keeps saying that it’s quite unfair for a man who only stole one piglet to be in a jail cell-”
“Okay, whatever. I don’t care,” the guard said, irritated. He was scared to ask another question. All the man did was ramble on, and he had work to do.
The man rolled his eyes and passed Brock. Brock smirked. He was good at lying and irritating people.
When he reached the bottom of the staircase, there was another guard sitting at a desk, in front of the door that led to the cells. He had a twitchy mustache and a single candle sat on his desk, lighting the paper as he wrote with a feather pen.
