Solitude

The King and Queen had sent dozens, what felt like hundreds, of their knights to go and retrieve their daughter from the citadel where she was kept. None of them had prevailed, and a good portion of them had not come back at all. The ones that did were in one piece, but seemed to shake in terror even as the healers saw to their wounds. There was no hope, they would say, no use. Whatever curse had befallen their first born child, it was best they just forget about her entirely. The royals were young, some of them begged, they could manage another child. No one could fault them.
The royals balked at the very suggestion, refusing to see reason. They resorted instead to contracting the mercenary guild ands other hired blades. These sorts always asked for half up front, especially when confronted with stories of kingdom-trained men coming back with their tails tucked between their legs. Money was no object, the royals assured them. Their daughter back in their arms was worth every copper it would cost.

When the first three men didn’t show back up to the the headquarters, they weren’t all that surprised or upset. You always throw trainees at the problem first: a trial by fire and if you can’t hack it, you’re no great loss. When the first company man was gone a week beyond what was expected, they asked for more money. It should have been worrisome when it was given so easily, but the Guild master was too busy counting coins to see it. Instead of sending another brute, this time they sent one of their “item recovery” experts. This one could slink through shadows, move through traps. Sure he could stab as well, but if there was some truly horrendous monster, they were much more likely to be able to get out with the information.
It was a two day trip out to the abandoned settlement. The second day was a climb too steep for horses, so he paid to board it up at the inn. The last man’s steed wasn’t still there. A deserter than. More annoying than just dying, someone would have to be sent to hunt them down and enact the…Termination clause of their contract, so to speak. Wouldn’t be him though, so he didn’t linger on it for too long.
The tower in the center of the dilapidated ruins glinted as the golden-capped roof caught the rays of the morning sun. Pristine in its alabaster stone, the sole window at the highest point looked out over the rolling hills. Too high to toss a hook into, and as the man brushed his fingers against the stone they were disturbingly smooth. Not even mortar between them. It was like the whole thing had been carved from one impossible piece of stone and then the roof was dropped right on top. One of the wizards they contracted traced leylines in the area, said a pair of them converged under it. The weave was hyper-dense. Whatever that meant.
The single door was unlocked, the hinges not even creaking as it opened. As if it was maintained and oiled still. No puzzle, no oddities, and no claws or teeth. A twenty by twenty foot room, seemingly empty save for the stairs that wound around the perimeter, starting at the side opposite him. The way the reports had come from the kingdom, he assumed there would be some fire breathing bit, or a floor open immediately into a massive spike pit. Knights truly were turtles, he reasoned. Fleshy, vulnerable bellies under armored shells.
He shook his head and took a single step inside. The door behind him slammed and clicked closed. Locked. He didn’t even have to try to tug the handle, he just knew. That was much more like what he was expecting. The mercenary rolled his shoulders and took another step forward. A pressure plate of some kind, the cracks as thin as parchment that the fire jetted up from. He pulled his foot back, stamping out the flame from his boot.
Traps. Wonderful! This might just be a challenge after all.

By the time he could see the end to the staircase, he was practically crawling. Covered in slime, blood that was partially his own and partially something else’s it had been days. Weeks? With no clocks or any other way to keep track, he couldn’t be totally sure. The exhaustion seeping in to his bones was the only metric he had for time. When he stepped into the light from the windowsill, it felt warm on his skin. And not like the blaze from the dracolisk lower down.
“How did you get up here?”
A woman’s voice. The first sound other than a growl or a scream that he had heard since he first opened that damn door. He pulled himself to his feet, using the wall to help him stand and turn towards the sound. It took him a moment to focus on the slim, fair haired figure. The princess, if the paintings he had seen were to be believed. Three years older than the last one that was completed when she was sixteen, sure. The star-shaped birthmark below her left eye was unmistakable.
“You parents have sent me-”
“Sent you? Is that what all the noise has been?”
The scoff was…Not what he expected. He watched as the woman walked to the window and stared out it. In the bright light she was strikingly beautiful, seeming to glow with an inner radiance. Except for the snarl on her lips.
“Well, I am sending you back. Feel free to tell them so.”
“What-” Now it was his turn to growl like the beasts below he had cut down or fled from. “Look, they’re paying a pretty penny for your return. Curse broken or not.”
The laugh. It was more terrifying than any of the sounds of the tower so far. It seemed to echo down from the very base of it, hitting every wall on the way up.
“Curse broken.” She shook her head and clicked her tongue in a sort of scolding.” You seem to be mistaken, Sir. You see…”
The room grew icy cold as she turned back inward. The bright blew eyes grew dark, their whites disappearing in a sea of inky black.
“The tower isn’t here to keep me in. It’s to keep you out.”