Prison is exactly how you imagine it to be: Dark and cold. A small room with an uneven floor, bloody stones with scratches and cracks (Ignoring the implication of no escape of no hope.) The only way out is through a heavy metal door. It is built to isolate and drive anyone mad. It does the job.
The first day was spent complaining
" I'm a royal the next in line to get the thrown and you give me water and bread."
" I deserve a bed at least."
" I want strawberries...Guards!"
" Get the maids and tell me to prepare a bath."
" Is anyone listening to me!?"
Darkness surrounded the space. An endless space full of stale air so you trace the walls while talking. The nobles would laugh if they could see you; Pacing around the space and talking to an audience made of the mind and shadow.
Their cruel laughter rang out. A crowd of nobles looking on in amusement and contempt. A circus of a trial was coming. If not then left to rot would be the silent command. An unwavering faith remains in your vassals and retainers. Generations of loyalty can not be undone in a matter of two years, especially by an illegitimate child.
The meal was delivered, but with a single sip, you started to gag.
"Is this some sick joke!?" You bit the bread. "It's harder than stone!"
You took a deep breath. " So funny now take this away!" A few minutes pass but no one came. A scream erupted. You threw the glass and bread at the door.
" I rather starve!" You snarled.
Three times reduce to one but the food quality only decreases; muddy water and hard moldy bread.
Nails and hair became brittle. Muscle and fat atrophied to nothing. Skin clinging to bone. Royal turn living corpse. You stuck to your word as moldy bread enter your mouth. You wasted away to prove a point, but that only works when people care. Your stomach gnawing in hunger.
"You need to hold. They will come. Just hold on." A mindless chant. " I wonder if Lady of Ranomid gave birth? I hope it was a girl...I'm going to knit it something. It can't be too hard. Right? Right. I can do anything. I'm the most eligible spouse. I'm going to be the ruler. A sweater or scarf. Taylor being a tailor. Haha. Funny... Do horses hate those hats? Feathers are itchy and unfashionable choice. Someone should make a law against it. Call it animal abuse if anybody disagrees........ I want to go home. Please." Tears began to collect at the bottom of your eyes followed by short breaths.
No one is getting you out.
This prison is your room and coffin.
Food was unreliable; Once a day or twice, a week, death. Will food arrive became the game.
" HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME WHEN I GET OUT YOU'LL REGRET THIS!"
After screaming, you slump onto the floor. The heavy feeling in your heart lifted. Nothing remains as you lay down. The burn running in your veins cools down. There is no point. You have nothing. Those hours spent completing stacks of paperwork are now a memory. The political plans that are in motion and all future ones have been stolen. Alliances broken. Everything you work for in ashes. Everything you have taken. Survival means nothing... You are nothing.
You used to count the days. You stop after 111: it felt too mocking.
Silence sang so loud in prison and your mind. Food was thrown in but you did not bat an eye much less eat.
A silver of light woke you up. Two male voices conversed.
"Are...Are they dead?" He sounds young.
The loud clank of metal headed straight to you. A harsh kick made your body turn away from the guard. No sound came from you.
" I think a saw them move." This guard is obviously older and more experienced.
" Reeally!?" The young guard squeak.
" Are you my executioner?" It hurt to speak. How long since you drank water?
"You are not here to die." A soft male voice answered. The light flooded the room.