Royal Notice
The next few days you are confined to your room, where the maids and guards refuse to hear your argument that your wounds will heal just as well while on the grounds as they will in your bed. A guard is stationed outside of every contestant’s door to make sure everyone did infact stay in their assigned rooms. You were growing more and more restless, not only from the growing cabin fever, but from still having no news of Francis. You ask daily for an update but your questions are ignored or the response is noncommittal. Each day you are unable to get a concrete answer you lose hold on your optimism, more than once you have swallowed the lump in your throat or angrily wiped away the tears that dripped from your eyes. Maybe it wasn’t completely due to Francis, but the lack of information weighed heavily on your mind.
By the fifth day you are at your breaking point. You are extremely irritable when your team arrives to see to your needs. Subconsciously you know they don’t deserve your harsh tone and slur of angry words, but it is as if you had no control of it. You throw yourself down by the window which, by now, feels like it mocks you with its glimpse of freedom. There have been more guards patrolling the grounds since the attack and even with the increased manpower, you would rather be walked about with a guard than spend one more moment in your room. You look at your team as they tut and seem sympathetic as the beckon you to come bathe and dress. You don’t see the point why look presentable if it is only for your reflection? But in apology for your poor attitude you go and allow them to do their job without any further lip. Once they are gone, you were again distraught over lack of information and you fight the urge to cry and scream at the same time. The click of the latch was deafening and you were unsure if you could go another day.
A while later you hear a knock. You are in such a mood you don’t bother to respond. Unless it is someone coming to take you out of your room or Francis, you didn’t care what they wanted or had to say. The knock sounds again and a voice rings out tentative, and unsure. Muffled by the thick wood door, it takes a moment to realize who it was - Francis. You fly to the door, throwing it wide. Immediately you are in the heir’s arms, before pulling back and searching for the sign of the wound that kept him away for so long .. but see none. Your ellations sours as you realize Francis has allowed you to stay locked away worried for days. The Heir notices your change and with a sigh, explains the situation. ”Father locked everyone away for the first day, minus his personal guard which searched the palace. He has been .. questioning .. everyone one at a time to find out everyone’s loyalty. He thinks it’s one of you; The Selected. He demanded you all be kept away while the castle was cleaned and the staff was tested. He has yet to find a spy and believes he is right in his logic. The cleaning finished a day and a half ago, he finished questioning the last servant last night. I have been fighting him on this matter for most the night. He will not be persuaded. Three of the Selected I was unsure of have already gone, and hence been removed from the Selection. It is now your turn. ...I’m sorry about all this, but it is necessary. Francis’ words drop off in defeat and you are instantly nervous.
Immediately after he falls silent two guards enter and guide you down the hall by the elbows. The walk takes you to a wing you had yet to encounter and it is not the vibrant and textured decor you had come to know in the palace, but barren, cold and dark. It is similar to a dungeon in feel - it is cold, brisk, unwelcoming. A place lacking shackles but all the same feels just as intrusive. You are lead to a room with a wooden chair that is designed to have a slightly reclined back. The guards set you down on the chair with a small thump. Your hands are secured with leather clasps and the guards leave you to alone. You wait a moment, trying to figure out how this all happened, how you went from welcomed guest to restrained suspect was hard to come to grips with. Francis sits in a corner on a stool, looking equal parts worried and angry.
Francis’ head jerks to the door as the King enters with a man. You have seen the King, and had a few formal interactions, but mostly he observes the Selected from afar or from reports from the tutors. The King explains that the man is one of his interrogators that specializes in a form for “truth-telling” (as the King calls it). With that the King joins Francis in the corner, and the interrogator informs you to drink, while shoving a horrid smelling liquid in front of you. Apparently it is a minor neurotoxin that helps make you susceptible to hypnosis. You panic at the information the interrogator chatters off as if he were discussing the weather - but the toxin is already working, swiftly coursing through your veins and you find yourself loosening, emotions dampen and you feel a little less wound. A moment later you distantly hear the interrogator say he is ready to begin. You try to fight it at first but the toxins make it impossible to close your mind off, and next thing you know, you drift off into the conscious blackness of hypnosis. Somewhere in your mind you hear someone telling you that you will tell them everything you see in your mind. They prompt you with questions about loyalty, your best and worst leadership qualities. All the while these questions morph into a realistic vision, and you lose track on what is real and what is not ...
Questions?
PM: The Selection Committee
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