Celine's body ached as she shifted against the cold stone wall of her cell. Sleep had been impossible, not because of the damp or the chains, but because the prisoner's words still echoed in her mind. "Yours, mine, the king's." Those three words haunted her like a mystery that refused to be forgotten. She recalled the conversation from last night in vivid detail, every syllable weighing on her heart. That man, hidden in the darkness of the cell across from hers, knew something, and she was determined to make him talk.
The dim light of a flickering torch outside her cell cast long, wavering shadows that danced on the walls as she forced herself to stand. Her muscles protested with every movement, but her resolve was stronger than the pain. "You owe me answers," she declared firmly, her voice steady despite the exhaustion.
The silence in the dungeon seemed to stretch on endlessly.
