A Cell Stinkier Than Satan's Armpits

                                    

                                          
   Being imprisoned was worse than Frank imagined. His cell was cramped and so short that Frank had to stoop and bend to not hot his head against the ceiling. The floors, walls, and stones were made of stone that seemed to leech all of the warmth from Frank's body. His body became bruised and his skin scraped from laying against bare stone.
                          
     After the jailer left, Frank started to cry. I should have seen that Octavian would betray me, he thought, but it had still come as a shock. The tears were the only water in the cell; the floor was covered in dust. The jail smelled like it hadn't been cleaned since Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden. And this place couldn't have been built until much later, Frank thought; if there is a Hell, it's like this. 
                          
     The overseer of this Hell returned later with a small crust of bread that he tossed to Frank through the bars. Frank caught it before it hit the ground. He took a bite, but then spat it out when he saw a worm crawling out of the food. The jailer, a brown-haired guy with pale green eyes, laughed meanly. "I see you've chosen hunger as your first torture. You only get fed once a day here. Before long you'll be begging for what you just tossed aside."
                          
      "What's your name?" Frank asked, trying to control his nausea. 
                          
     The man's teeth glinted behind colorless lips like the fangs of a wolf. "Bryce Lawrence. I'll be your best friend here; I can get you a better cell or provisions."
                          
      Hoped briefly flared in Frank's chest. He scooted up to the edge of the cell and gripped the bars with both hands. "You can?"
                          
     "For a price," Bryce answered, his voice as smooth and slippery as a snake's scales. 
                          
      "I don't have money on me," Frank answered. 
                          
      Bruce clicked his tongue. "A pity. You could give something else. Your clothes are too dirty, but I hear you have a nice mill."
                          
     "Never!" Frank exclaimed. That's my family's."
                          
    Bryce's face lit up in a smile that made him only more loathsome. "Then you'll have to stay in this cell. I'll see you later — perhaps on the rack."
                          
     He strutted off, laughing manically all the way.
                          
    Frank slumped against the bars in despair. What had he gotten himself into? Was there any way out? Despair swept over him, but finally exhaustion won and sleep claimed him.
***
                          
    Frank woke up to found out that he'd wet himself. Shame curdled in his throat, which was itchy with thirst. His entire body felt as stiff as a board and he wondered dimly if this was how he would pass the rest of his days. Perhaps being executed would be a sweet respite; even torture would spice things up.
                          
       "Are you sure he's gotten proper nourishment?" a woman asked. 
                          
    Frank's heart leapt as he recognized his wife's voice. "He won't have starved to death so quickly," replied a male voice. 
                          
   Hazel came into view, her face wearied by sleep, but as seemly as ever in Frank's eyes. "Frank!" she cried, running forward as she saw him. "How are you?"
                          
   Her golden eyes travelled over his form and figure, taking in the exhaustion etched into his features, his dirt-stained fingernails, the sorry state of his garments. "It's good to see you," Frank said, his voice coming out in a rasp.
                          
    "Drink some almond milk," Hazel insisted. "I procured it from Hecate; it will help soothe your stomach."
                          
     Frank accepted the cup of liquid gratefully. Normally, they only drank almond milk if they were ill or during Lent; otherwise, they stuck to cow's or goat's milk. Almond milk was not as rich or cream as its animal-based counterparts, but it was more expensive and Frank didn't complain as he downed the sweet, neutral-tasting liquid. He finished it in three gulps and then looked up to see his wife, her face folded in concern. "Oh Frank, this is worse than I imagined."
                          
     Her hands came to rest against the bars of his cell and Frank put his palms opposite of them so that their fingers brushed. "I was fortunate to see you so soon," Hazel said, flashing a grateful look at the man a few steps behind her. "Sir Michael has been of great assistance."
                          
      Frank studied Sir Michael. The knight wasn't wearing his armor now, but Frank still recognized him as one of the men who had ambushed him. He looked to be a few years older than Frank and was handsome with strong features and a dark complexion. "I thank thee for your kindness," Frank said. 
                          
   Michael merely shrugged his shoulders and Frank's gaze returned to his wife."Tell me all that's happened," she pleaded. 
                          
    Frank recounted Octavians threats, Frank's attempt to push back, and his realization that he'd been tricked. "I didn't want to get tangled in this business," he concluded, "but he was threatening you — saying he would have you tried as a witch."
                          
    His voice broke near the end and Hazel pressed her fingertips against his own. "Frank, you don't have to — you didn't have to."
                          
     "He seemed to think he could get you killed," Frank said. 
                          
     Hazel's lip curled. "Octavian is a hedgeborn knave. Don't listen to him. Don't trust a word that comes out of his lips."
                          
     Then why did she look nervous, Frank thought, and why did it sound like the two of them had history? "We'll get you out of here," Hazel promised. "Your grandmother and I are preparing your defense. Lord Dare will let you off; he has to."
                          
    She sounded like she was trying to convince herself even more than she was trying to convince Frank. He'd had a rough day, being manhandled and then shoved into this dingy cell, but this was his lowest point: seeing his wife so miserable. "Thank you," Frank said. "I could not not have asked for a better wife. I know we'll get through this."
                          
   Hazel's face briefly lit up, but the rays soon set, making her look more somber than ever. "We'll see if I'm successful. I love you Frank."
                          
     "I love you too," Frank replied, knowing as he said the words how much they meant. 
                          
    Hazel was not just his wife; she was his beloved. She was the mistress of his heart