Chapter 18: Darkness Beyond Bars
Darkness swallowed every ray of light, crushing Shapira's soul under the weight of unimaginable accusations. Cold chains bound her wrists, chafing her soft skin. Shapira huddled in the corner of the damp cell, her body trembling uncontrollably. Not just from the bone-chilling cold, but also from a fear so suffocating. The coppery, fishy, and nauseating scent of blood pierced her nostrils, mixing with the musty, cloying stench of filth. Her once elegant clothes were now ragged, worn, and soiled. Every movement triggered a sharp pain, reminding her of the bruises and gashes adorning her body. The accusation of poisoning Lady Isabelle, a vile slander perfectly executed, had cast her into the palace's underground hell.
"How long have I been curled up like this?" she whispered to the moss-covered stone wall, her voice hoarse and raspy. "One day? Two? Or a week? Why does time move so slowly in this cursed place?" Shapira crawled deeper into the corner, seeking warmth she would never find. "William... you have to believe me," she uttered, tears beginning to stream down her dirty cheeks, carving wet paths through the grime. "I didn't do it. I didn't poison anyone." She punched the hard stone wall, though it only added to the pain in her fingers. "It's a trap. It must be Isabelle's doing! She wants to get rid of me, Lady Isabelle has always wanted William for herself!" Her head throbbed, her mind reeling between hazy memories and piercing pain. "I have to survive. I can't give up here. Not after everything we've been through," she whispered again, trying to fortify herself. Yet, fear, like a gnawing worm, made every cell in her body tremble.
Every morning, the iron door creaked open, tearing through the thick silence with a dreadful sound. Then, heavy footsteps, accompanied by the clinking of keys and the flickering of torches, approached, bringing new terror. Shapira knew the interrogation session was about to begin again. Every day, she was interrogated harshly, relentlessly. There was no decent food, only murky water, and every plea for mercy was met with blows or insults.
Lady Isabelle's father, Lord Valerius, a royal advisor of great influence, was her chief tormentor. The man, with a cruel face, sharp furrows between his thick brows, and eyes as cold as obsidian, tormented her mercilessly. He wanted Shapira to confess to a deed she had never committed.
"Confess, you harlot! Confess your crime!" he roared, his voice booming in the narrow space, making Shapira jump. "You tried to murder my daughter! No one will believe your nonsense about another world!" Lord Valerius brandished a snake-leather whip, cold and supple, lashing Shapira's back. The whip tore her already ripped clothes and left an unbearable sting. Shapira screamed, begging for mercy, but the man was unyielding, his face full of hatred.
"No!" Shapira shrieked, her voice desperate, mixed with sobs. "I am not guilty! By Nymira, I swear I am innocent!" She lifted her face, stained with blood and tears, meeting Valerius's eyes with the last of her courage.
"Lies! All lies!" the man retorted, slapping Shapira's face with his rough palm. The blow was so powerful that her head reeled and her vision swam. "You tried to charm our prince, then eliminate your rival. The old pattern of cunning witches like you!" He pointed at Shapira with his index finger, as if she were dirt.
"I am Shapira Elanora! Not a witch, not a murderer!" Shapira cried out, her voice hoarse from constant shouting. "I am not Isabelle! I would never do such a thing!" She felt a burning rage within her, anger buried beneath fear and pain.
Lord Valerius laughed sardonically, his voice piercing Shapira. "What kind of name is that? A strange name from what world? We know who you truly are. Isolde is your mother, isn't she? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!"
Valerius's words struck Shapira like lightning. She fell silent, her breath caught in her throat. The hand that had just slapped her had revealed something horrifying, a secret she didn't fully comprehend herself. "Mother ... my mother ...," she whispered, her mind spinning, trying to understand. "Isolde ... my mother?" The question hung in the damp prison air, a dark shadow now enveloping her more deeply than before. She didn't know how to defend herself against the terrible accusation, an unasked-for legacy.
While Shapira suffered underground, above, in the magnificent palace, Prince William was beset by intense inner turmoil. Despite persistent doubts gnawing at his soul due to the incriminating evidence, the poison had indeed been found in Isabelle's goblet, and Shapira had poured it, he couldn't ignore his profound feelings. The love he felt for Shapira, though new and fraught with obstacles, felt so real and strong.
"How could she have done it?" he murmured to himself in the thick night, staring blankly at the wine goblet in his cold hand. "Shapira ... she's not a murderer. I know her. She would never commit such a crime." He rose from his chair, pacing his chambers, his heart heavy.
William knew deep in his heart that Shapira, with all her kindness, courage, and spirit, could not have done something so vile. However, he was bound by his position as a prince, heir to the throne, and by the relentless pressure from the nobles. Rumors, whispers, and legal demands filled the palace halls, clamoring for justice for Lady Isabelle, who now lay ill.
"The nobles demand the death penalty, Your Highness," reported an old advisor, his head bowed. "They will not rest until blood is paid with blood. Astellia's reputation is at stake."
William let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. "Blood ... whose? Who is truly guilty?" He opened his eyes, looking at the advisor with a weary gaze. "Are we so blind? Are we so easily swayed?" He felt disgusted by the rotten political games.
One night, the palace's silence was torn apart by a sound William never wanted to hear. Shapira's heart-wrenching, piercing screams, full of suffering, penetrated the thick prison walls, drifting all the way to his chambers. That sound, filled with desperation and raw pain, struck William like a sledgehammer, shattering the last vestiges of his doubt. He knew it was Shapira's voice. He recognized every note of suffering in his beloved's voice.
"No ...." William hissed, his hands clenching tightly until his knuckles turned white. "Enough! This has to stop! I cannot let this continue for another moment!" His heart was broken, torn apart by every sound of suffering he heard, igniting the anger he had suppressed for so long.
The next day, dawn had not yet fully broken, but Prince William was already standing before Lady Isabelle's father, Lord Valerius. Rage burned in his eyes, scorching his usually calm gaze. He no longer cared for court etiquette or social hierarchy. Only one thing mattered to him, stopping Shapira's suffering.
"Stop it!" William commanded, his voice low but full of authority, echoing through the quiet corridor. "The torture, stop it right now!" He stood tall, his shadow falling over the shorter Valerius.
Lord Valerius, startled. He, who was usually arrogant, now seemed to tremble slightly before the prince's wrath. "Your Highness ... but we are only seeking justice for my daughter ... she lies on the brink of death ...," he tried to argue, his voice a squeak.
"Enough!" William cut in sharply, furious at the stale excuse. "I cannot bear to see her tormented any longer. If she is guilty, then punish her according to the rules, in a court of law, not with violence in that hellhole!" His eyes blazed with fire, warning Valerius.
"But ... the evidence ...." Lord Valerius mumbled, trying to maintain his position, attempting to present papers that ostensibly incriminated Shapira.
"Evidence can be manipulated," William stared at him sharply, his doubt now solidified into conviction. "And torture will never yield truth, only despair. If you continue this, I will consider you in violation of the king's command, and I will personally report your crimes to my father!" William was not bluffing with his threat.
Lord Valerius, though displeased, his face flushed with anger and humiliation, was forced to bow. "Very well, Your Highness. I will cease... the interrogation. But let it be noted that I do not agree."
William looked at him once more, ensuring his message was clearly conveyed. "And ensure she receives proper care. Even in a cell, this girl is still a palace prisoner, not an animal. Provide her with food, water, and a healer to treat her wounds. I will ensure she is treated with respect."
After William left, Lord Valerius snorted in anger. "Foolish prince!" he muttered to himself, his fist clenched. "Too easily swayed by the beauty of a cheap witch!" However, the order had been given, and he had no choice but to obey. For now, he could only await another opportunity to bring Shapira down.
A week later, after the commotion had died down and Shapira lay in a more stable, though still weak, condition in prison, a significant event occurred at Lady Isabelle's father's grand castle, far from the palace. Lady Isabelle opened her eyes. The soft candlelight illuminated her luxurious room, adorned with expensive tapestries and intricately carved furniture. Her mother, Lady Helena, her face a mask of relief masking days of weary vigil by her daughter's side, welcomed her with a tight embrace.
"Isabelle, you're awake!" Lady Helena exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion. "Oh, thank goodness! We were so worried! You've had us all in a panic!" She kissed her daughter's forehead, tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks.
Isabelle slowly blinked her eyes, allowing her focus to return. She felt the lingering effects of the poison that had weakened her body, but her mind was now clear and sharp. A thin, cunning, and satisfied smile spread across her pale lips, almost imperceptible.
"How are you feeling, my dear?" Lady Helena asked softly, stroking her daughter's hair with affection.
Isabelle looked at her mother, her eyes gleaming with malice, full of triumph. "I feel ... as though I'm about to win, Mother," she said, her voice low and raspy.