Deep within the bowels of Westridge Castle, in the dark and dank cells of what had once been cages for tortured prisoners of war, the thunder sounded faint and distant. The constant drip of water slipping through cracks in the ancient stone nearly drowned out the splatter of the heavy raindrops against the ceiling, high above the cell floor. The stale, musty air was heavy, almost stifling.

Orion sat cross-legged on the wet floor, staring blankly across the way at a moss-encrusted skull in the floor of the far cell; the eerie light of the sputtering oil torches made the exposed bone appear ghastly, almost animated, in a strange way. The skull made the prince think of the tales the old sorcerer, Vachel, had told him about the methods of Charon torture, and he couldn't help wondering what the owner of the skull had done to deserve having his head removed from his body by a machine which slowly tore it off.

He turned away, then, as bile rose in his throat. It suddenly struck him that the skull might belong to the man he himself had wrongly condemned for his brother's death. The skull's empty sockets seemed to accuse him as he stared at them. Perhaps I deserve this, he thought.

Orion was not yet ready to face the reality of his own situation. In the last four days, he had fought for his life on a horrific battlefield in the sweltering heat; had watched his friends and his father die terrible, agonizing deaths on the field and at the following executions; had humiliated himself before his country and had been cast away like a piece of garbage into the lower cells of his own castle. He felt numb, dead to the world, and dirty. He felt as though he'd fallen into a chasm of filth, and would never be clean, again. But worst of all, he knew he was alone. Irrevocably alone. And that feeling saddened his soul in a way he had never known, before.

A shadow fell in the center of the walkway, but Orion didn't notice it, until he heard a distinctively feminine gasp. He looked up, expecting to see the crude Benzian servant bringing him his foul dinner and dirty water. What he saw instead took him completely by surprise: a flame-haired girl, about his own age, whose pale beauty drew his dark eyes and locked them into her ice blue ones. Her skin was like ivory, smooth and perfect in tone; her russet hair was dressed in loose curls, and hung almost to her waist. She was, by far, the most delicate, beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

Corea's vision of him, however, was not quite so flattering. She had gone exploring, not expecting to see anything in the lower cells that could still move. She had come to see the "living corpses" her father had once frightened her by describing. She had not expected to come face to face with a live--much less, mobile--prisoner.

She gaped at him, frozen in place by a mixture of fear and repulsion. He sat in the floor, like a peasant, right in the middle of the dirty, wet cell, his long blond curls filthy and stringy, clinging to his tiny, elf-like face. He stared up at her with doleful black eyes, indignation clearly showing in his expression.

The longer the princess stared at him, the more she empathized with him. Orion could sense her pity, and his mind snapped to attention. He had seen a possible way out of this mess. With her natural feeling for him, it wouldn't take much sorcery on his part to secure her help in arranging his release. He fixed his gaze upon hers and began projecting a silent message: Please help me. You must help me. If it worked, he'd have gained a chance at release...and revenge.

And it did work. Corea came closer, grasping the bars with tiny, ivory hands. "You're the prince, aren't you?" she whispered. "They're going to kill you, tomorrow."

"What?!" Orion rose up on his knees, grasping the bars just below her small hands. "I thought Morsa said I wasn't a threat."

She shrugged. "Obviously, he's changed his mind."

Orion sank back to the floor. "I suppose I might as well light my candle, then." He took on the dazed look, again. "I don't know why he put off killing me, in the first place."

Corea knelt until she was almost at his level. "I won't let him kill you. He's only doing it because Malusa is afraid of you."

"Why should he fear me? I'm nothing to fear, now."

"You are to Malusa. He rants about you, constantly. 'Orion this, Orion that.'" The princess stood up, smoothing out her skirts. "I don't know why. You don't look dangerous to me. You look rather helpless."

Orion looked up at her, still projecting his message. "Actually, I suppose I am."

She stared at him for a moment, frowning. "What are they feeding you? You look half starved."

"I don't know," he said. "I can't tell. When they bother to feed me, at all, it's some brown-green mush and dirty water. The rats eat it and die of it. Needless to say, I haven't eaten a thing, since I've been here."

She kept frowning. "I'll bring you something to eat, tomorrow morning. Something fit for a prince."

"A former prince, Corea."

"How do you know my name?"

"How do you know mine?"

She smiled, then, and Orion felt a rush of warmth. "I'll be back tomorrow, with a real meal for you. No sense in starving you; you're too thin, now."

"You're too kind." He raised up on one knee. "If I were clean, I'd kiss your hand, Princess."

"I don't like my hand kissed," she said. "Not even by clean princes. I'd rather you not waste a kiss, like that."

"It wouldn't be wasted on you."

"Such a courtier!" she snorted. "I'd much rather be kissed in the mouth, Orion."

He stood up, a little unsteady, and laughed. "Again, my lady, if I were clean..."

"We'll see to that, anon," she said, smiling coyly.

"If I'm not executed, first."

Corea stopped smiling, suddenly. "I said I won't let them kill you. I meant it."

Orion simply stared at her. "How can you prevent it?"

"My father adores me," she said. "He'll do anything I ask. If he doesn't give in easily, I'll go through my usual routine and threaten to kill myself."

"Suppose it doesn't work, this time?"

"It will. It always does." She backed up a step. "Goodnight, Orion. I'll see you, on the morrow."

Orion watched her stride swiftly out of sight, and smiled to himself. Perhaps I'm not as alone as I thought I was.