**Chapter 2: Confinement**

The brig was a tiny, cramped space with walls made of cold, grey stone and a low ceiling that forced Hans to hunch over to avoid hitting his head. The air was thick with the stench of mold, sweat, and the faint tang of saltwater from the sea. A narrow bench, barely wide enough for a person to sit on, was bolted to the wall, serving as the only furniture in the cell. A small, barred window high up on one wall allowed a sliver of sunlight to enter, casting a faint glow over the dingy interior. Hans paced back and forth across the narrow space, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The iron cuffs that bound his wrists behind his back clanked against the wooden slats of the bench, a constant reminder of his confinement. He was a prince, used to the finest things in life, and this cramped, dirty cell was an affront to his dignity. As he paced, Hans's mind turned to his situation, and he grew increasingly agitated. He had been accused of treason and deceit, and the French dignitary had made it clear that he would be lucky to escape with his life. Hans's thoughts were a jumble of anger, fear, and frustration, and he couldn't seem to calm himself down. The guards who brought him food and water seemed to take great pleasure in his discomfort, their faces expressionless as they handed him a bowl of thin gruel or a cup of stale water. Hans would try to engage them in conversation, to wheedle information out of them or persuade them to help him escape, but they remained stubbornly silent. As the hours ticked by, Hans's pacing grew more frantic. He was trapped, with no way out, and the thought of being stuck in this tiny cell for who-knew-how-long was driving him mad. He began to hallucinate, seeing visions of his brother Lars and his sister-in-law Anna, who he knew would never come to his aid. The lines between reality and fantasy began to blur, and Hans found himself lost in a world of his own making. The darkness closed in around him, and Hans collapsed onto the bench, exhausted and defeated. He lay there, his head in his hands, and wondered how he had ended up in this situation. He was a prince, after all, and he should be above the law. As he lay there, Hans's thoughts turned to his family, and he wondered what they would think if they knew he was trapped in this tiny cell. His father, King Westergaard, would be furious, and his brothers... well, they would probably just laugh at his misfortune. The thought of his brothers' ridicule was enough to drive Hans to tears, and he lay there, his body shaking with sobs, as the darkness closed in around him. The sound of footsteps outside his cell was a welcome distraction, and Hans looked up, hoping to see one of his brothers come to his aid. But it was just a guard, come to bring him more food and water. "Please," Hans said, his voice shaking with desperation. "You have to help me. I'm a prince, and I demand to be treated with respect." The guard looked at him, expressionless, and handed him a bowl of gruel. "Eat your food, prince," he said. "You'll need your strength." Hans took the bowl, his hands shaking with frustration, and began to eat. He knew that he had to keep his strength up, if he was going to survive this ordeal. As he ate, Hans's thoughts turned to escape, and he began to formulate a plan. He would get out of this cell, no matter what it took, and he would make sure that those who had wronged him paid for their mistakes. But for now, he was trapped, confined to this tiny cell with no way out. And as the darkness closed in around him, Hans couldn't help but wonder if he would ever escape.