Crushing his neck under the heel of her block boots, Princess Claire Reynolds smirked, emerald eyes gleaming with malice.
"Mind the blood you choke out, love, these heels cost more than thirteen generations of your filthy family full of traitors."
The man underneath sputtered out incoherent words, probably begging apologies that satisfied the princess' already inflated ego.
The princess' manservant rushed beside her with a silk handkerchief in hand to grab the bloody dagger that was balanced on her dainty fingertips and another manservant rushed to clean her pale hands and meek wrists from the stuck remains of his disgusting blood.
They stood in a underground cellar, dark and musky, hidden under the castle grounds and known to only a selected few nobles, for purposes quite not so noble.
The traitor bled into the cobbled floor, his crimson waste mixing with the scent of already rotting blood. The manservant moved to clean his princess' other hand, minding her jewels, while Claire maniacally pressed down on his throat and teased his already crushed fingers.
The traitor screamed wildly.
"You know I love it when you scream, but let's keep that for the bed. Okay, love? At the moment, I want you to tell me—why were you after my sister? Who do you work for? And how in the name of the king and queen did you think that you could get away with it?!"
Claire's tone rose in pitch with accordance to his screams. Her manservant flinched away after cleaning her hands.
"He's a prince, you know, chill out a bit?" Prince of Alamate mused out, leaning against the cold cellar walls while sharpening his blades. His tall silhouette hidden on the darker side of the room, brown hair looking a blazing red under faint glow of the fire torch lit opposite to him.
Claire scoffed out a dry laugh, removing her foot from the traitor's throat but not before kicking him in the gut.
"Chill out? After all he did to the girl you love? That bastard is lucky Sabrina didn't catch him first; he'd be shark food in seconds." Claire lowered her red hood, letting her icy blonde tresses fall on her shoulders like a pool of sparkling first snow in winter. She stepped away from his withering body, red footsteps in tow.
"By Merlin, you sisters are so aggressive and...tactless, might I add," he smirked.
The traitor breathed in the oxygen, greedily, pathetically dragging himself towards the wall for support.
"Th-ha-haan-an-k y-y-you!" he managed to wheeze out, flailing around the ground, as Claire rolled her eyes.
"Oh! You don't say," Prince of Alamate smiled brilliantly, throwing a dagger straight to his forehead.
"And you call me tactless," Claire rolled her eyes at him, again, as her menservants immediately got to work with dumping the body.
"We can't have a princess held on trial for murder," he shrugged, walking out of the cellar room.
"Are you being sexist, brownie dearest?" Claire all but chuckled, walking beside him with a skip in her step.
"Not really, but a hypocrite, yes," the prince smirked while Claire scoffed.
Their conversation was cut short when a royal guard ran down the dungeons, heavy steps and exasperated breaths resounding within the closed walls.
"Your royal highness!" he called out, shooting into a right-angled bow with his face pointed at the ground.
"What is it Tobias?" Claire questioned, halting midway and standing in front of the Prince who turned his back from the guard.
"WE FOUND THE GIRL! WE FOUND HER!"
Claire's breath hitched, emerald eyes gleaming in ecstasy.
It was her freedom!
Finally!
She could be free!
While on one hand, the princess hugged the guard in congratulatory mirth—and on the other, the prince's breath hitched for an entirely different reason.
But it all happened too quick to register the remnants of mirth or misery.
Not the freedom Claire wanted—but you don't get what you opt for when it comes to life.
A gunshot.
Another betrayal.
And yet another death.
This wasn't a place for some country girl.
He wanted to protect her.
But it was too late.
All that remained were the red footprints of dried blood.