As he stepped to the flagstones, Giles emerged from the carriage directly behind him. "I'm sure they can't have forgotten about our visit, Your Majesty," he said, although his tone belied his words.

Apparently deciding to ascertain what exactly was the reason for this unconscionable breach of etiquette, the old man stalked past Wendell toward the thick steel door that barred the way inside. By his stride Wendell could tell Giles was angry. He would storm to the door, pound on it, and demand that Wendell get treated like the prince he was. Wendell did so like having Giles around.

A smile played across the prince's face. He could hardly wait for the confrontation. No one riled Giles without paying for it dearly.

When Giles reached the large, arched door, he grabbed the knocker and pounded so hard, people probably heard the sound three kingdoms away. Wendell hung back within the courtyard, working very hard at keeping a serious expression on his face.

Instead, he found himself looking across the grounds and yawning. Giles glared at him--Wendell couldn't see the look, but he could feel it--then knocked again. The door opened. Wendell heard it more than he saw it. But at that moment an eerie howl echoed throughout the mountainous landscape surrounding the prison, and the prince, startled, turned to look for its source. It sounded very much like a wolf, one of the most feared and distrusted animals in the Nine Kingdoms. The sound faded, but Wendell's wariness did not. As he turned back, his discomfort heightened. The door remained closed, but Giles had vanished.

Could the warden have invited him in whilst his back was turned? But why did he not invite the prince as well? Miffed but still uncertain, Wendell began to walk apprehensively toward the doorstep. When he reached the spot the old man had so recently vacated, he found that the door was ajar a couple of inches. Frowning, he called tentatively. "Giles?"

No answer came, so he reached out and gently gave the door a push. It swung open ponderously, heavily, admitting him entrance to the prison. As he stepped into the doorway, rather unwilling to leave the lighted courtyard and enter the dim interior, he blinked and saw that the entryway was completely empty. No guards stood at watch. Had security gotten that lax at the prison?

Sighing in vexation, Wendell shook his head. Incompetence everywhere! And even from Giles, who seemed to have run off without him. How unlike him...

"Giles?" he called again, more forcefully.

Still no answer came. A deep chill ran along his spine, and without any further dithering he stepped into the entryway. "Hello?" Peering first one way, then another, he viewed an empty corridor in one direction and an equally empty stairwell spiralling upwards, both lit by guttering torches in iron stanchions. Where was everyone? Was this some sort of pre-coronation prank? "Giles?" he called, a trifle shakily.

A whining shriek of metal came from behind him, accompanied by the narrowing of the patch of light spilling through the doorway as the portal swung closed. Turning, his manservant's name on his lips, Wendell gasped, choking as he saw the inner side of the door...adorned with rows of vicious spikes, with Giles suspended upon them, his entire chest decorated with protruding blades and thick, spreading bloodstains. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open in slack-jawed surprise.

Suddenly someone yanked on his arm and slewed him around. Wendell tried to pull himself free, but he couldn't. The grip on his arm was extremely tight. "Hello, princee," a male voice growled with mock sweetness in his ear. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but he knew it involved trolls. He recognized the stink of them--the smell of old leather, sweat, and something rancid, like spoiled meat.

The hand let go of his arm and he stepped forward, trying to get away. Then someone kicked him in the rear. He nearly fell, but righted himself. He started to run, but someone punched him in the face. The voice came again, mocking. "Awwww, did that hurt?" He fell backwards, was caught by heavy hands, and got kicked again. Then he was abruptly thrown into the stone wall. Dizzy, Wendell flailed with his elbows, but it did no good. He had at least two assailants and they had to be trolls. One of them was as big as a house. Dragging him back, they threw him wildly from one wall to the other, bruising the handsome royal visage and dirtying the crisp, white, royal uniform Lord Rupert had personally designed for him, but at the moment Wendell cared little for that, as he was fighting, if rather pathetically, to save his life.

Back and forth he swung, receiving more blows and kicks, until at last he was allowed to collapse. He sprawled on his belly and cringed as a boot headed for his face. He deflected the blow but felt half a dozen others. As he moved this way and that, staggering up only to fall again, he caught a glimpse of the two beating him up. One of them was fairly short for a troll. He didn't punch that hard either. "I'd like you to meet my sister!" he snarled and threw him into the second troll. That one, the one who had some power behind her kicks, was female, with orange hair.

Wendell focused on the gold ring hanging off her nose. If he could grab it, maybe he could get somewhere. But before he could act, she shoved him, and suddenly he was stumbling over the crouched form of the first troll. As he collapsed once more to his hands and knees, he heard the triumphant cries of the trolls change into arguing, almost indecipherable between their growling voices and his own wooziness. Another male, who had joined them, cried, "Now he's mine!" The shorter troll suddenly snapped, quite clearly, "I get the first shot!" He gave the prince another kick for good measure.

The female troll stabbed a finger at her companions, ignoring Wendell entirely as he began to crawl weakly out of reach. "You got the first last time! I always get the first shot!"

"Enough," said a female voice, cutting off the argument. A very familiar female voice.