Lyanna's words seemed to echo off the grand tapestries adorning the walls of the chamber, each thread a testament to the intricate dance of diplomacy and power. She stood firmly, her gaze locked with Edric's, as if she could will him to see the world through her eyes.
"Consider the future," Lyanna implored, her voice imbued with a passion that made the air around her thrum with urgency. "An alliance is not just a treaty; it is a beacon of hope for our people and a marriage is the ultimate symbol of unity and hope."
"Hope?" Edric sneered, the word a serpent coiling from his lips. "Hope is a dangerous luxury in these times, Princess. It blinds us to the daggers concealed in smiles and treaties."
"Yet without hope, what are we fighting for?" she countered, her caramel eyes alight with an inner fire that refused to be quenched by his cold philosophy.
"Survival," he shot back, his fingers drumming against the mahogany table that stood like a chasm between them. "Control. Order. The very things your 'beacon' would cast into shadow."
"Hope is not the enemy," she asserted, her hands clenching at her sides, knuckles whitening like flagstones under moonlight. "And it is in the darkest of times that hope becomes the brightest star guiding us forward."
Edric's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through her like a shard of ice. "You speak of hope as if it were a tangible force, capable of warding off all evils," he said, his voice low and venomous. "But hope alone cannot protect us from the treacheries that lie within this world."
Lyanna stood abruptly and took a step closer, refusing to back down in the face of his cynicism. "No, hope alone cannot shield us," she admitted, her voice steady and resolute. "But it can ignite the fire within our hearts, giving us the strength to forge alliances and overcome the darkness that threatens our lands."
Edric's brow furrowed as he stared at her, searching for cracks in her unwavering facade. "How can you be so sure?" he challenged, his words laced with skepticism.
Lyanna met Edric's gaze, her eyes flickering with determination. "Because I have seen hope at work," she responded, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "I have witnessed its power in the eyes of those who have lost everything yet still rise from the ashes. Hope is not a mere concept; it is a force that propels us forward when all seems lost."
"Who know who else has hope?" Edric spat, rising abruptly, his silhouette a dark blade against the flickering torchlight. "The witches, those abominations."
Lyanna held her ground, unyielding in her beliefs. "Hope knows no boundaries," she countered, her voice calm yet filled with conviction. "It does not discriminate or align itself with any particular group. It is a flame that burns within every soul, including theirs."
Edric's face contorted with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. "You defend them? Those who would use their magic to manipulate and deceive?"
"It is not a blanket defense," Lyanna clarified, her words measured. "But rather an acknowledgement that even within the darkest hearts, hope can still grow. If we deny hope to those who have strayed, what chance do they have for redemption?"
Edric snorted, a mixture of anger and disbelief flashing in his eyes. "Redemption? You talk as if they can change."
"I never said..." Lyanna began to defend herself but was interrupted.
"Your words betray a softness for their kind," Edric growled, his doubt turning into something much more threatening. "Tell me, Princess Lyanna, do you share more than just compassion with these...witches?"
"Compassion is not a crime," she said, but her voice wavered, a bowstring drawn taut with the realization of where this discourse was leading.
"Perhaps not," Edric murmured, a venomous smile curling his lips. "But harboring sympathies for witches is."
He gave a curt nod, and before Lyanna could react, two guards stepped forward, their gauntleted hands gripping her arms with bruising force. She struggled, not against the iron embrace but against the tide of disbelief that threatened to drown her.
"Lord Edric!" she protested, her plea slicing through the chamber's stillness like a shard of glass. "This is madness!"
"Take her to the dungeons," Edric commanded, turning away as if dismissing an insignificant servant rather than a princess.
"Edric, please," she implored, desperation lacing her voice as the guards began to drag her from the room. "You must listen—"
"Enough," he declared without so much as a glance over his shoulder. "I will not entertain witchcraft within these walls."
Lyanna's golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light as she was pulled into the shadows of the corridor. Her mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another—a cascade of fear, indignation, and a dawning horror at what her fate might be. The clink of her captors' armor was a dirge accompanying her to the depths below, a grim prelude to the cold embrace of stone and iron awaiting her.
As the heavy dungeon door closed with a resounding clang, sealing her fate, Lyanna's thoughts turned to home. Suddenly all of her brother's fears came to life and she had no way of getting word to Captain Thane.
The dampness in the dungeon air clung to Lyanna as she sat in her own cell. The once distant tales of persecution against magic users were now a story she lived, an irony not lost on her.
Her hands gripped the cold metal bars, her knuckles white from the tension as she listened to the echoing footsteps of the guards patrolling the corridor. Each passing minute only heightened her anxiety, her mind racing with thoughts of what would become of her.
But despite her fear and uncertainty, Lyanna refused to succumb to despair. This was all a mistake, she told herself firmly. She had done nothing wrong. And yet, here she was, imprisoned for simply voicing her beliefs.
The guard's voice dripped with contempt as he taunted her from the other side of the cell bars. "What's it like being locked up for conspiring with witches?" he sneered. "I hear they can turn you into a toad."
Lyanna lifted her head, her gaze unwavering and filled with defiance. "This is all a mistake," she declared, her royal upbringing shining through even in her imprisonment.
The guard laughed cruelly. "Mistake or not, you're still here," he said mockingly before walking away.
But even if Captain Thane and their soldiers did come for her, would they be able to save her? Edric had made it clear that he would not tolerate witchcraft within his kingdom's walls. And any attempt at rescue could mean war between their kingdoms.
A shiver ran down Lyanna's spine at the thought of war breaking out because of her foolish actions. The echoes of her own resolve reverberated off the stone walls, a stark reminder of the isolation that surrounded her. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness behind her eyelids blend with the shadows around her. Elara had endured this and worse, Lyanna knew, her thoughts drifting to the white-haired witch who had sparked such fear in powerful men like Edric. Her hands curled into fists, the sting of manacles still fresh on her wrists.
"Tell me," Lyanna began, her words slicing through the silence, "have you ever questioned what you stand for?"
"Orders are orders," the guard grumbled, shifting uncomfortably.
"Even when they command you to imprison those fighting for freedom? For life?"
The guard was silent now, the question hanging heavy between them.
Lyanna's thoughts raced back to the grand hall, where her ideals clashed against Edric's hard pragmatism. His accusations still rang in her ears—a witch sympathizer—words that sealed her fate as much as any lock and key.
"Enough!" The guard barked, though his voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty. "You'll have time to preach your sympathies at your trial."
"Will I?" Lyanna asked, tilting her head. "Or will the truth be as shackled as I am now?"
She could feel the tension in the air—the same tension that had crackled between her and Edric in their heated exchange. Only now it was laced with something more: the grim realization of the cost of ignorance, the price of unwavering belief in a flawed system.
Elara interjected into the conversation, "You could attempt to persuade them to release you, but they are extremely strict about following orders."
Lyanna let out a small gasp as she noticed Elara lying on the floor of the cell next to hers. The sight of her bloodied and wounded body tore at Lyanna's heart. Without hesitation, Lyanna reached out a trembling hand through the bars, desperate to offer comfort and support. Elara's breathing was shallow, her face pale against the darkness of the cell. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a glimmer of determination amidst the pain.
"Who are you," Lyanna whispered, her voice filled with both concern and resolve. "What have they done to you?"
A weak smile tugged at the corners of Elara's lips. "I'm just a witch."