The guild hall is far from the civilized place it once was. There are countless angry adventurers shouting at the receptionists, demanding they fix the issue with the dungeon and its nonsense. The building is a complete mess of bodies barely held at bay by the small contingent of guards brought from Daywark proper.

  Thank god I'm on the balcony overlooking the ground floor. Can't imagine any of those fools below can so much as breathe with that amount of room.

  "Remind me, Miss Hawthorne, what it is that's got them so up in arms?"

  Miss Hawthorne stands beside me with pursed lips. She has a sour frown on her face, and her normally energetic and confident aura is subdued today.

  "The dungeon has changed, again. Now only six people can enter it at a time."

  "Hah! I swear that place has a mind of its own. Perhaps those crazy guards were right about a demon running things from behind the scenes."

  "If anything is demonic here, it's these people. They're like a flock of hungry vultures..."

  She is right about that. The greedy and opportunistic have swarmed Daywark in recent days. It is not so bad that there's mass migration or anything like that, but nearby townsfolk with an eye for gold have started moving here to take advantage of the dungeon. Crime has become more prevalent since the adventurer guild's founding. So much money in such an under defended area is bound to spell trouble. Hopefully those additional soldiers I requested from the capital will arrive soon.

  I stride up to the edge of the railing. Many of the irate adventurers below give me dirty looks. They know my face, either through word of mouth, my status as a prince, or from the recent events and my speech in the square.

  "Adventurers, I bring good news!"

  The shouting slowly starts to die down as the crowd below listens. They don't look convinced I'm going to bring any positive changes to the admittedly dire situation. I clear my throat to get the last few barking men to shut up and listen to me. They oblige.

  "The recent restriction on how many people can enter the dungeon is unfortunate, but we can work around it. To cope with these circumstances we will be enforcing a time slot based system!"

  Many eyes stare back at me. They don't understand a lick of what I'm saying.

  "You'll pay a fee to the guild to reserve any number of hours up to a maximum of six, with larger amounts of time costing more money. This will be on a first come first serve basis."

  Understanding ripples throughout the crowd as heads turn and words are exchanged. Parties of adventurers are already deciding the best course of action. The mention of money being involved has a few of the shadier types looking forward to the opportunity. I'll have to add a little extra bit of restriction to ensure no scalping or third party time slot trading takes place.

  "However!" The crowd refocuses on me "You may not have more than six hours of time reserved. Names will be checked at the dungeon door and when you reserve time. Those found in violation of the six hour reservation limit will have their license suspended!"

  Irritated remarks pepper the crowd. Some people see the merit in such policy, nodding their approval and professing the logic behind the rules to their fellows.

  A quick nod directed to one of my men below ensures the peace is kept. Adventurers are organized into lines, while others are escorted outside to wait until the building clears out somewhat. I turn to Miss Hawthorne, who looks visibly more relaxed after my announcement.

  "I believe I've tamed the vultures, Miss Hawthorne."

  She smiles slightly, nodding her head.

  "Indeed, Your Highness. Though, there are other matters I require your counsel on."

  "Other matters?"

  Miss Hawthorne nods. Her eyes are not focused on me, but rather the adventurers beneath us.

  "We need someone to teach the adventurers about the dungeon."

  Now that's odd. I could have sworn the guild already hired several people to do exactly that, teaching the newcomers so they would actually be of some use in exploring the dungeon. I remember witnessing one such lecture the last time I visited. They were going over information on the monsters, what to look for, and what the dungeon is.

  "You already have many men assigned to that exact task. What more could you need?"

  "It isn't quantity we need--it is quality."

  I nod slowly to indicate I'm listening. She goes on with her explanation, glancing at her little book. Perhaps it contains notes on her talking points.

  "While we have plenty of information and people to relay that information, we are lacking in true understanding. None of the lecturers have been in the dungeon for very long. Those who spend more time within aren't interested in the position."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "So you need a true veteran who doesn't have a reason to enter the dungeon."

  "Yes, exactly, Your Highness."

  Miss Hawthorne looks at me with hopeful eyes. I don't know what to tell her, as I've got no more information on this topic than she does. I suppose I can try to help find someone--but who can I bring her when she's got all the adventurers right here at the guild?

  "I'll see what I can do, Miss Hawthorne."

  "Thank you," She bows her head with a slight smile.

  "Oh, Miss Hawthorne, has anything come of your attempts to breed those birds?"

  An unpleasant grimace gives me my answer. Miss Hawthorne quickly schools her expression before replying verbally, but I already know how her efforts are faring.

  "We're still testing different methods, but no eggs have hatched thus far."

  "That's a shame. Let me know if anything changes."

  "Of course, Your Highness."

  ~

  Quiet coughing is all the indication I get that there are others imprisoned here with me. I don't bother talking to them, as they're the type of people I'd rather not associate with. Ironic to regard them as any different from myself. I'm a criminal now, too. The best of intentions can't save anyone from the law.

  Footsteps echo down the corridor. They're not the heavy metallic clang of a guard's boots, but a softer kind of sound. I don't bother looking up to see who's walking past. There's no point hoping for release when I'm confident they will let me rot in here for the rest of my days. Perhaps they'll execute me instead, but I can't say for sure.

  To my surprise, the footsteps stop just outside my cell.

  "You look like quite the mess, Billy."

  Glancing up, I make eye contact with Prince Theobald himself. The very man who dragged me out of that office many days ago. He was oddly eager to capture me and put me in this cell. Today he looks unamused, and he's come here without any guards.

  I don't reply to Prince Theobald's greeting. I doubt he expects me to, considering we aren't exactly on good terms.

  "I've come to ask you something."

  He pauses, as if expecting me to finally reply to him. I don't.

  "Would you like to be free?"

  What a funny question. It should be a no-brainer, of course I should want to be free. Who would want to rot in a dingy prison for an uncertain amount of time?

  "I don't know."

  My voice sounds a lot rougher than I remember. The growl of a bear might sound friendlier. Prince Theobald hardly seems fazed by my unused voice, as he doesn't react. He looks at me with pity in his eyes. It would be infuriating to me if I still cared.

  Prince Theobald doesn't ask me any more questions. He pulls a ring of keys from his pocket, and carefully sifts through them in search of a specific one. He finally finds that key several seconds later. I watch blankly as he unlocks the door of my cell, casually pulling it open. He watches me for a few moments after that.

  I don't move. I'm not sure I deserve to be free.

  Two men in expensive armor step into view after the prince makes a subtle gesture with his eyes. They were both positioned to the side of my cell, as if lying in wait for some sort of emergency. No such emergency came.

  I watch silently as the armored men--likely Prince Theobald's personal guards--step into my cell. I half expect them to cut me down where I stand, but no such thing happens. They grab me by my arms and heft me up in one fluid motion. I'm carried out of the prison cell on unsteady legs. Prince Theobald follows as they lead me out of the prison.

  Cold dirt stains my hands and face as the guards toss me out of the prison. Prince Theobald stands between them, his arms crossed. They don't give me any kind of explanation for why they're setting me free. I don't get it.

  "Why are you letting me go?"

  My question is ignored by the two guards. Their only focus is on making sure I don't do anything I'm not supposed to, like approach Prince Theobald.

  "You're a broken man, Billy. Killing you would be a waste of everyone's time."

  The dying embers of my pride flicker to life for a moment. I clench my dirty hands into fists, pondering the consequences of punching a prince right in front of two of his guards. I'd most certainly die on the spot. Would it be worth it?

  Prince Theobald shakes his head at me. I don't know what he means by it, but the lack of interest in his eyes causes all my rage to evaporate in an instant.

  I'm really nothing to this man, aren't I?

  Just another soldier broken in the line of duty.

  Rain starts to fall as I stand there outside the prison for far too long. Prince Theobald and his entourage left some time ago. The only reason I haven't been approached by a guard is because they know me. I get worried looks, but I'm not thrown into a cell or out of the city.

  My feet carry me down the road and into the seedier part of Daywark. I'm not sure where I'm going, but it feels routine. I've gone this way many times before.

  A sign sways in the wind, marked by a pig with an apple in its mouth.

  I push the door open and step inside. The din of drunken men continues on as I let the door swing shut behind me. Captain Dirk and the boys frequented this place. The old man who runs the bar notices me and waits for me to approach.

  The bar stool creaks beneath me as I sit.

  "What'll it be, Billy?"

  I shake my head. I've not got a coin to my name, so how am I meant to pay for some good drink? They don't give you copper for surviving prison.

  "Flat broke, barkeep. Just came here out of habit."

  Rather than kicking me out for taking up a seat without any money to spend, the old man nods sagely. He pours something dark and strong into a mug. The mug slams onto the table in front of me with a clatter, booze spilling over the lip of the vessel and dripping to the bar top.

  "It's on the house, kid. Drink up."

  "What? But I just-"

  "Got out of the big house? I know. Just take it before I change my mind."

  Protests aren't worth making if he's insisting. I grab the handle of the mug and down the whole thing, gulping the burning alcohol down as fast as I can take it. The stuff is stronger than what I usually have. I can't complain, I need something strong to forget all the things I'd rather not remember. God, now I'm thinking about them again.

  I wish it'd been me instead.