"This was Daniel's plan all along," Thomas muttered, his voice low and grim as he sat beside Edward in the cold, damp prison cell. Shadows danced on the stone walls, flickering with each torch that lined the distant corridor. The stench of mold and sorrow hung heavy in the air. Dawn, and death, waited just beyond the horizon.
Edward turned to him, confusion clouding his weary eyes.
"What do you mean?" he asked, struggling to piece together the puzzle.
"Are you saying... the prince killed his own brother?" His voice trembled, barely able to believe the weight of his own words. "That's... that's not possible."
Thomas turned to him then, his eyes burning with a quiet fire.
"Then tell me, Edward," he said, his tone heavy with accusation. "Did you kill the king?"
Edward recoiled at the question, stunned.
"Of course not! Why would you even ask that?"
Thomas leaned back against the stone, his face grim, shadowed with sorrow.
"Because I saw it."
Edward blinked, heart pounding.
"Saw what?" he whispered.
Before Thomas could reply, a harsh voice rang through the dungeon.
"Silence!" the prison keeper barked, his tone soaked with disdain. The sound of his club striking the iron bars echoed down the corridor.
But Thomas paid him no mind. His voice was calm, cold, and steady as he spoke.
"Daniel poisoned his brother. Not out of loyalty or fear—but greed. He wanted the crown, and now he has it."
He took a long breath, exhaling with a weary sigh.
"In truth, I'm glad my time is ending. I've no desire to raise a child or build a life in a world as twisted as this one." His eyes stared blankly ahead, resigned.
"Yes... perhaps it is a blessing that I leave it tomorrow."
Edward sat frozen, the truth pressing down on him like a mountain. The weight of betrayal, the sting of injustice—he was to die for a crime he did not commit. And the one who murdered the king now sat on the throne. His fists clenched.
He shook his head.
"No... I can't accept this. I won't accept this."
Thomas's gaze flickered to him, eyes void of hope.
"And what can you do about it?" he asked, voice like frost. "Nothing."
Edward leaned back against the cold stone wall, his heart heavy with sorrow, broken beyond repair. Tears brimmed in his eyes, shimmering in the dim light of the flickering torch outside their cell. And yet, through the veil of pain, a faint smile crept across his face.
"At least I tasted meat before death came for me," he whispered, a trace of bitter humor in his voice, as though trying to laugh at fate one last time.
That night, as the stars hid behind thick clouds and the prison remained cloaked in silence, Edward wept. His tears soaked into the straw beneath him, unheard by any but the darkness. And as the hours crept toward dawn, the two men—once heralded as brave and noble—took fate into their own hands.
And in the hush before morning, they ended their lives. Not as traitors, but as forgotten warriors in a world that no longer deserved them.