Ascension Saga: 7. Grace Goodwin

       Queen Celene, Aleran Dungeon

      Days went by. There were no windows, so I could only tell the passing of time based on the delivery of my meals. My cousin, Lord Wyse, had not returned since his visit days ago, since my captors had transferred me here—wherever here was. He’d said I was no longer his problem, and I now believed it. Yes, he wanted royal power, a privilege that didn’t belong to him. He’d been bent on that for decades. But I had no idea his bitterness had festered and grown into such focused evil.

      He might have been the one who ordered men to Earth to kidnap me, drag me out of bed after nearly three decades, but he must not have been the only one involved in hunting me down. He couldn’t be. If he were, I’d either be dead, or he’d still be using me for his own purposes.

      Instead, he’d just… walked away.

      Then who wanted me here, and why? Had they known about my daughters when they took me?

      No. They must not have known. Otherwise, they would have killed my three girls: Trinity, Faith and Destiny. Or kidnapped them as well. Locked them up, as they’d done to me.

      Where was I, exactly? I could see enough to know that I was in a prisoner block somewhere. The guards all wore clerics’ uniforms. But there were only a handful, and they rotated four times a day. There was never anyone else. No foot traffic. I never heard them talk to one another or question who they were guarding.

      I wasn’t supposed to see any of them, the black hood they’d placed over my head had made that very clear. They’d shoved it over my head, blinding me, and then transported me, marched me, moved me so many times I’d lost count. By the time they’d shoved me into this cell and slammed the door, I had no idea if I was still on Alera or on the other side of the galaxy.

      The lack of buzzing and engine noise under my feet assured me that I was, in fact, on solid ground and not in a spaceship. But that was all I knew. Based on the cleric guard uniforms I could see—thanks to the gift I’d been blessed with by the citadel all those years ago—I assumed I was still on my home planet.

      And for some unknown reason, I was alive. They didn’t want me dead or they’d have killed me on Earth. Save everyone so much time and trouble. If they wanted me broken and destroyed, they would have kept the torture going. Instead, I was fully healed. Clothed, fed, kept in reasonably restful accommodations. I had a real bed. Fresh water. Food. Comfortable clothing and warm shoes. It wasn’t the