Melissa Spatiatis.
House of stewardship hall.
Servants dungeon.
I exhale, losing every fibre of strength in my body. I can hardly move my legs, my hands or feel my own heartbeat. My back is resting against the cold, ceramic walls of the dungeons as I make shallow breaths. Just outside, I can hear servants having conversations so I’m not afraid. If I were taken to the underground dungeons where fugitives, traitors and the treasonous are held—then, I would be freaking out because there is usually no hope of returning.
However, I’m still in the castle. I’m in the stewardship hall and I wonder if Elizabeth has relayed everything to the king. It has been eight hours. Eight weak hours of thirst, hunger and anger. I am aware of the hours that are passed because of the giant clock in the cas
