Gale’s head felt like it was spinning as the torture continued. The darkness in the room was a constant pressure against his eyelids, his vision blurred from the sweat and blood that clung to his skin. He hung suspended by his wrists, the weight of his own body pulling on his arms, making every breath feel like a battle. His chest was tight, every breath a struggle against the crushing pain that radiated through his body.

The King was still here—always here. His presence was an unyielding shadow, a reminder that no matter how much Gale wanted to escape, he was trapped. There was no way out.

The stench of something vile reached Gale’s nose—poison, something toxic. The familiar burn in his throat was enough to tell him what was happening. The King had come prepared, and this time, it wasn’t just the physical blows Gale had to worry about.

With slow, deliberate movements, the King stepped forward, holding a vial of dark liquid in his gloved hands. He examined it with the kind of care a man might give to a priceless treasure. It was clear what he intended to do.

“Do you know what this is, Gale?” the King asked, his voice low, almost like a whisper. “It’s a poison—a special kind. Slow. Very slow.”

Gale’s stomach churned at the sight of it. He had been poisoned before, in different forms, but this—this felt different. It was worse. The King uncorked the vial, the faintest scent of rot filling the air. The liquid inside glinted in the dim light like something foreign, unnatural.

Gale tried to pull away, tried to shift his weight, but there was nowhere to go. The chains held him fast, his body weak, his limbs trembling with the effort to stay conscious.

“No,” Gale rasped, his throat tight with fear. “Please...”

The King didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He simply poured the dark liquid into a small cup, the poison swirling like a liquid shadow. Then, with an eerie calmness, he brought the cup to Gale’s lips.

“Drink,” the King commanded, his eyes cold and pitiless. “Drink, or I’ll make it worse.”

Gale’s heart raced, panic rising in his chest like a tidal wave. His mind was screaming, No, but his body was already betraying him, too weak to resist. He tried to push the cup away, but his arms were like lead, and the King’s grip was like iron.

“Please,” Gale whimpered, the words barely making it past his lips as the cup was forced to his mouth. His vision flickered, the darkness creeping in at the edges. He could feel the cold, sharp sting of the liquid as it touched his lips. The poison... it burned as it slid down his throat, and a wave of nausea swept over him.

But it was worse than that. The poison began to work immediately. His skin felt like it was on fire. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony as the burn of the toxin spread through his veins, making his heart race faster, his muscles twitch with spasms.

Gale's breath hitched, and without warning, the pain broke through his defenses. His body convulsed, his chest seizing as the poison took hold. He gasped, the air feeling thick in his lungs, the world narrowing to the agonizing sensation of the poison ripping through him from the inside out.

“No—no, please!” Gale cried out, his voice high and desperate, a raw sound torn from deep within him.

The King watched, unmoved by the desperation in Gale’s voice. He wasn’t here to show mercy. He was here to break Gale completely.

Gale’s legs buckled beneath him, and the pain surged, a fire that seemed to burn through his very soul. His vision went black at the edges, the world spinning into a sickening blur.

“Don’t worry,” the King said, his voice almost affectionate in its cruelty. “This is only the beginning, Gale. You’ll tell me everything I want to know. You’ll tell me everything.”

But Gale couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. His body shook with the poison, his mind drowning in the agony, and as his breath hitched in his throat, his chest seizing from the torment, all he could do was scream—his voice breaking in the empty room.

Kayla heard Gale's pleas and became furious. She stormed back upstairs and found her husband. "Darling, where have you been? And what are you wearing?" He asked, a shocked smile plastered across his face. "I have a request." Kayla said, putting on a fake smile to please him. "Anything for you" He promised, smiling at her and searching her eyes. "Stop toturing the prisoners. It makes me so very upset" She said, pouting a bit. "I can speak to my father" The prince said, curious

Kayla smiled at the prince. "I should go get ready for bed, but i'll see you tomorrow" She said, feigning kindness. Her smile dropped as she turned away from him and walked back down to the dungeons. She sat back down beside Gale's cell, twirling the apple in her hands

The silence of the room pressed in on him like a weight, the darkness heavy and suffocating. Gale’s chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, each one more labored than the last. His body felt like it was on fire—numb and aching at once, every part of him screaming for release. But he didn’t allow himself to lose control. Not yet. Not here.

His thoughts were scattered, floating like fragments of broken glass. The poison was still there, clouding his mind, but beneath that haze, a single thought kept cutting through: I have to survive this.

The chains that held him were cold and unforgiving. His wrists throbbed, bruised and raw from where they had been bound for so long. The pain was so constant now that it was almost a part of him, like an old companion he didn’t know how to escape from.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Gale allowed himself a moment of quiet. No more defiance. No more posturing. No more pretending he could fight back.

It wasn’t that he had given up. Far from it. But he had learned, in these endless hours of torment, that sometimes survival wasn’t about fighting back. Sometimes it was about waiting. Waiting for an opening. Waiting for the weakness in your enemy. And when that time came, you seized it.

The King—his tormentor, his captor—could keep hurting him. He could keep taunting him. But Gale was still here. And as long as he had breath, he was still a threat.

The distant sounds of footsteps outside the cell grew louder, then stopped. Someone was coming. His heart rate spiked, but he forced himself to calm, closing his eyes and breathing deep. Whoever it was—another guard, the King, maybe someone else—didn’t matter.

He was done with fear. Done with thinking he was done.

The door creaked open, and the light from the hallway sliced through the shadows of the room.

A figure stepped in, tall and imposing. The guards were always the same—broad, armored, faceless—but this time, the figure stopped just inside the doorway and waited. Gale’s eyes flickered to him, not moving his head, just his gaze.

“I see you’re still alive,” the figure said, his voice familiar, but cold.

Gale didn’t answer. There was no point.

The man stepped forward, closer this time, and Gale could see it was one of the King's lieutenants, a man with a cruel streak who had taken pleasure in watching Gale suffer earlier. He had a particular fondness for breaking prisoners like Gale, for showing them their place.

Without a word, the lieutenant moved closer, stepping behind Gale. His hand brushed over Gale’s back, and Gale stiffened, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t afford to show weakness—not now.

The lieutenant let out a soft chuckle, an unsettling sound that made Gale’s stomach twist. “I wonder how long you can keep up this silence. Doesn’t it get tiring?”

Gale didn’t respond.

“Well, I suppose the King’s right,” the lieutenant mused, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “You’re a lot more resilient than we gave you credit for. But eventually, everyone breaks. Even you.”

Gale’s pulse quickened at the words, but he kept his face stoic, his body still. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crack. Not now. Not ever.

The lieutenant reached out, taking hold of the chain that bound Gale’s wrist. “Time to move, prisoner,” he said with a sneer. “The King wants to see you again.”

Gale didn’t resist as the man yanked him forward, pulling him roughly out of the chair. His legs barely held him, the muscles sore and stiff, but he didn’t let himself collapse. He couldn’t.

The lieutenant’s grip on Gale’s chains tightened, pulling him forward with a force that made Gale’s muscles scream in protest. Every step felt like an eternity as the guards dragged him down the cold, stone corridors of the castle. The dim torchlight flickered along the walls, casting long, twisting shadows that seemed to reach out for him.

His body ached, every part of him sore, bruised, and battered. The poison was still burning inside, a dull, sickening throb that never seemed to go away. The chains dug into his skin, leaving fresh marks that would no doubt swell into ugly bruises. But none of that mattered anymore.

He had learned, in these endless hours, what it meant to endure. To hold on to the smallest piece of himself when everything around him was designed to break him.

The lieutenant wasn’t gentle as he shoved Gale forward, and the sharp corners of the walls seemed to press in even tighter as they made their way deeper into the castle. Gale barely noticed the sounds of distant voices and the movement of other guards. His mind was focused elsewhere—on the painful, exhausting walk ahead and on whatever fresh torment the King had planned for him.

They reached a large, imposing door. The lieutenant didn’t pause, but instead shoved it open with a grunt. The room beyond was dimly lit, shadows filling the corners and a long, heavy table taking up most of the space. The atmosphere in here was different—darker, colder. A space meant for something far more brutal than just interrogation.

Gale was shoved inside, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that made his heart race.

The King stood by the table, his hands clasped behind his back, his face calm and unreadable. As if he hadn’t just spent the better part of the day breaking Gale down. As if this was just another game to him.

“Ah, Gale,” the King’s voice was deceptively pleasant, like a predator speaking to its prey. “You look… better.” He paused, his gaze scanning Gale’s battered form. “No, you look worse. I suppose I can’t expect much from someone in your condition.”

Gale didn’t respond. His chest was heavy, his body aching, but he kept his head high. There was still a fire in him, buried beneath the exhaustion, beneath the poison. And he wasn’t going to let the King see it.

The King took a few steps forward, his eyes never leaving Gale’s face. “I’ve been patient with you. I’ve given you a chance to speak, to confess. But you continue to disappoint me.”

Gale’s lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing.

The King sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “It’s a shame, really. You could have saved us both a lot of trouble. You could have been released from all this pain. But I suppose you’re too stubborn.”

With a swift motion, the King grabbed a large dagger from the table, the blade catching the dim light as he ran his finger along its edge. Gale felt a chill run down his spine, but his resolve didn’t waver.

“Do you understand what’s happening here, Gale?” the King asked, his voice low, almost intimate. “You’re not in control anymore. You haven’t been for a long time. You think you can hold out. But it’s not about how long you last. It’s about what you’ll break first. Your body? Your mind? Or your pride?”

Gale’s heart pounded in his chest. The poison, the pain, the exhaustion—everything was starting to blur together. But one thing was clear: the King wasn’t done. He was just getting started.

The King stepped closer, the dagger gleaming in his hand. Without warning, he reached forward, grabbing Gale by the chin and forcing him to meet his gaze.

“I think it’s time we get to the real truth,” the King said, his voice colder now. “Tell me everything, Gale. Or I’ll make you wish you did.”

For a moment, Gale’s thoughts flickered. Everything he’d been holding back—the truth he’d buried deep inside him, the things he couldn’t afford to let slip—teetered on the edge of his mind. But he fought against it. He wasn’t going to give the King that satisfaction. Not yet.

The King’s eyes bored into him, studying him like an animal trapped in a cage. Gale could feel the weight of his gaze, the pressure building. The King’s grip tightened on his chin, forcing him to look up, and Gale could feel the cold steel of the dagger press against his throat.

The tip of the blade was so close to his skin that Gale could feel its chill, a threat more powerful than the words that came with it. He held his breath, trying to steady himself. He had been through this before, and he would survive again. He had to.

But the King’s patience had worn thin.

With a sharp motion, the King scraped the blade across his throat, just enough to draw blood. Gale’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t.

“Answer me, Gale,” the King hissed, his voice low and venomous. “What did you do?”

Gale’s heart hammered in his chest. The truth wanted to slip out—wanted to spill from his lips, as if the very act of confessing would make all the pain stop, make the suffering end.

But Gale’s mind was clear. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Through the haze of pain, exhaustion, and poison, Gale gathered whatever was left of his strength. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let the words slip. He couldn’t give the King the satisfaction.

For a long moment, the King stared down at him, his eyes cold, calculating. Then, with a dark chuckle, he stepped back. The dagger lowered, but the threat was still there, hanging in the air.

“Very well,” the King said, his voice quieter now. “You’ll speak when you’re ready. Or maybe you won’t. It doesn’t matter. In the end, I’ll get what I want.”

Kayla waited, anger still coursing through her

The air in the room was thick with tension, the scent of sweat and blood mixing with the sharp metallic tang of the dagger’s blade. Gale’s breath was shallow, his mind spinning from the poison coursing through his veins and the endless barrage of pain. The King’s eyes gleamed with cold amusement, his every movement deliberate, like a predator savoring the anticipation before the final strike.

Gale’s throat burned where the blade had scraped his skin, but it wasn’t enough to break him. It wouldn’t be. He wasn’t going to give the King that satisfaction. His resolve, however battered it had become, still clung to him like a lifeline.

“Still silent?” the King asked, his voice laced with mockery. “You’re a stubborn one, Gale. But that will only make your fall all the sweeter when it finally comes.”

Gale didn’t flinch. His eyes were locked onto the King’s, defiant in a way that he knew would only further enrage him. He felt the blood dripping down his neck, warm and sticky, but he ignored it. It wasn’t the first time he had bled. It wouldn’t be the last.

“You think you’re so strong, don’t you?” The King’s voice was lower now, colder. “You think you can outlast me. But you’re wrong. You’re already broken, Gale. You just don’t realize it yet.”

Gale’s lips trembled, but he swallowed hard, refusing to let the King see how close to the edge he was. His vision was starting to blur, his body barely able to support him anymore, but the need to stay focused—on the King, on the moment—was all that kept him tethered.

“I’m not broken,” Gale spat, the words coming out harsher than he intended. The poison, the blood loss, the exhaustion—it all felt so suffocating. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. But he wasn’t going to make it easy for the King. Not now.

The King’s eyes narrowed, his smile slipping into something more dangerous. He stepped forward, closer than before, until the edge of the dagger rested against Gale’s ribs. The cold steel bit into his skin, a promise of more pain to come.

“Then why don’t you prove it, Gale?” The King’s voice was a low whisper now, almost a challenge. “Prove to me that you’re still alive inside.”

Without warning, the King pressed harder with the blade, the tip piercing just enough to send a wave of fire coursing through Gale’s body. He gritted his teeth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain was unbearable, but he refused to give in.

“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll stop,” the King continued, his voice soothing, as though he was offering a kindness. “Tell me who you really are. Tell me what you’ve done.”

Gale’s mind spun, his thoughts chaotic and jumbled. The poison. The torture. The endless questions, all leading back to the one truth that he knew the King wanted to hear.

But it wasn’t a truth Gale was willing to give.

He wasn’t ready to break. Not yet. Not ever.

“I’m… nothing,” Gale rasped through clenched teeth, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m not your toy. And I’m not going to play your game.”

The King’s expression darkened, the coldness in his eyes turning to something deeper. Something dangerous.

“You think this is a game, do you?” The King’s voice was a growl now, his patience wearing thin. “This isn’t a game, Gale. This is life or death. You don’t get to choose the rules. I do.”

With a cruel twist, the King pulled the dagger away from Gale’s skin, and Gale nearly collapsed from the sheer relief of it. His breathing was ragged, every inhale feeling like a battle. The poison was taking its toll. His vision wavered, the edges of the room blurring.

“You’ve made this harder than it needs to be,” the King said, his tone icy now. “But I’ll make sure you learn your place. You’ll break eventually. They all do.”

The King stepped back, the dagger now glinting in the dim light. Gale didn’t move, though he could feel the urge to collapse growing stronger by the second. His body was starting to betray him, his muscles trembling with the weight of his injuries and the poison coursing through his bloodstream.

“Take him away,” the King ordered, his voice sharp and final. “Put him back where he belongs.”

The guards moved swiftly, seizing Gale by his arms and yanking him upright. He stumbled, his legs too weak to support him, but they didn’t care. They dragged him back out of the room, the cold stone floors scraping beneath his bare feet.

Every step felt like an eternity. The poison, the pain, the exhaustion—it was all starting to blur together, a haze that threatened to swallow him whole. But through it all, Gale held onto the one thing he still had: his defiance.

He wouldn’t break. Not yet. Not ever.

As Gale was tossed back into his cell, Kayla walked over and glared at the guards as they left. She sat back down against the cell's door. "Brought you something." She stated, tossing a small bag with food in to him.

(gn)

The guards shoved Gale into the cell with little care, and the door slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang. He stumbled forward, barely managing to catch himself against the cold stone wall. His body was a mess—bruised, bloody, and weak from the poison, the torture, and the exhaustion. But his mind, though foggy, was still sharp.

The darkness of the cell enveloped him instantly, the shadows more suffocating than the chains ever could be. Gale slid down the wall, his legs giving out beneath him as he collapsed onto the hard stone floor. He didn’t even try to soften the fall, letting the pain of impact be another reminder of what he had been through—and what was still to come.

The silence in the cell was oppressive, almost unbearable. But this silence was different from before. It wasn’t the eerie quiet of waiting for the next blow, or the calm before the storm—it was the stillness of solitude. The kind of silence that could make a man lose his grip on reality if he wasn’t careful.

Gale’s head hung low, sweat and blood matting his hair to his forehead. His breath came in shallow gasps as he lay there, the poison still pulsing through him, slowing his thoughts. Every movement hurt. Every breath was a reminder of the agony he was in. But even in the depths of his pain, a small part of him fought to stay conscious, to stay alert.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there—minutes? Hours? Time didn’t matter much anymore. His body felt heavy, his limbs unresponsive. But there was still a voice in his head, one that refused to let him slip into unconsciousness. I can’t die here. Not like this.

Gale’s fingers twitched, and then he forced his hand to the ground, gripping the rough stone as he tried to push himself up. The effort was agonizing, and for a moment, he thought he might just collapse back onto the floor. But no. He couldn’t afford to let himself go like this. Not yet.

His back screamed in protest as he slowly sat up, his head spinning, but he ignored it. The poison still lingered in his veins, a dull throb, but it wasn’t enough to make him pass out just yet.

He glanced around the cell, his eyes adjusting to the dim light coming from a tiny, barred window high up on the stone wall. There was nothing in the cell—no cot, no blanket, nothing to make it remotely livable. Just the cold, unforgiving stone and the silence.

The only sounds were his ragged breathing and the occasional drip of water from somewhere deep within the castle. The rhythmic sound echoed off the walls, somehow making the space feel even emptier.

Gale closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on nothing but the sound of his own breath. He couldn’t let his mind wander too much, couldn’t allow himself to think about what had just happened or what was coming next. He had to keep himself together.

He had to survive.

His thoughts drifted, just for a moment, to the girl who had tried to help him earlier. She had been kind—too kind for this place. The thought of her made his chest tighten, but he quickly shut it down. Focus, he told himself. Focus on getting out.

A low groan escaped his lips, and for a brief second, he allowed himself to lean his head back against the cold stone. The chill of the wall felt oddly comforting against his overheated skin, the contrast sharp enough to jar him back into awareness.

The door to his cell rattled suddenly, the sound of a guard’s boots echoing through the stone hallway outside. Gale’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t ready for another round of questioning, not after what had already been done to him. But he had no choice but to brace for whatever came next.

The door creaked open, and a guard stepped in, carrying a small wooden bucket of water and a piece of bread. It was the same routine, the same treatment he had received time and time again, but it still grated on him. The sight of the bread made his stomach churn, the food more like a cruel reminder of the power the King had over him.

The guard tossed the food and water onto the ground without saying a word, then stepped back, his gaze lingering on Gale with a mixture of indifference and mild curiosity. He was used to seeing prisoners like Gale—broken, worn down, defeated. There was nothing special about Gale in his eyes.

Gale didn’t move at first. The bread was stale, the water was lukewarm. He didn’t care about either.

Instead, he turned his eyes up toward the guard, meeting his gaze with something close to disdain, though it was a struggle to maintain the intensity. The guard didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. It was just another day, another prisoner.

“Anything you want to say?” the guard asked, his voice almost too casual. As if they were having a normal conversation.

Gale didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mouth felt too dry, his throat too raw. All he could do was stare, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of the poison.

The guard shrugged, clearly bored, and turned to leave. Before the door closed behind him, he shot Gale one last look, a smirk on his face. “Maybe next time you’ll be more cooperative.”

The door slammed shut with a hollow clang, and Gale was left alone again.

He was tired. Too tired. But the thought of giving in, of submitting to the King’s will, was more exhausting than anything. He wasn’t just fighting for his life anymore—he was fighting for his soul. For whatever piece of himself hadn’t been broken yet.

He reached for the bag greedily,eyes drooping as he opened the bag,setting it down after viewing its contents.Gale banged his head against the wall a few times,eventually resting it on his knees as he pulled them to his chest,tucking his face and shutting his eyes,hopig for something he could call rest.

And he knew, deep down, that no matter how many times they came for him, no matter how much they tortured him, he wouldn’t break.

Kayla watched him carefully