The Crowned Captive

Rowan got to the dungeons too late. The sound of metal on metal echoed up at him as he flew down the passages, each door already open and unconscious or dead guards laying on the ground. He swore, grabbing a sword from one as he flew past. He had been ordered to leave her under the care of the regular guards by the king himself whilst he hunted down the Rebellion soldiers. And because of that, she had been left exposed. He prayed with his entire soul that it had been a capture-only mission. If she was harmed, he would burn the world to the ground.

The coppery stench of blood wafted up to him as he entered the last corridor before her cell. He strained his eyes in the dark, the witchlights dead. Indeed, it coated the entire floor ahead. Dead bodies, sliced and hacked at, tortured, lined the hallway. And there, lounging against Morana’s cell, was a man.

He was a tall man, with a pretty face Rowan would enjoy wrecking. Maybe the king would let him take a pretty ear or one of those pretty blue eyes. Maybe he could be the one to take the worm’s life in the end.

“Finally back, then. Rowan, I hear your name is, yes? Morana has been telling me all of the things you will do to me. She’s such a talkative little doll,” the man called, not even deigning to stop leaning against the cell door. Rowan’s eyes flicked to Morana, who was on her bed wrapped in the damn blanket he had draped over her and nothing else. Her face was pale but she held her head high, indignant. His eyes flew to her hands and saw them unchained. He was going to be in a world of trouble when the king found out.

“I don’t believe that she needs to see what is about to happen,” Rowan growled, looking at the bodies on the floor. Morana had indeed been subject to seeing them slaughtered. “Let’s go back into the last hallway and talk this out.”

“Oh no no, not going to happen little Lordling. I have express orders not to let her from my sight until I sever your hand from your body, and unlock her. If I kill you, all the better.” The man grinned, a frankly charming grin, and Rowan’s eyes narrowed.

“You are never laying a fucking finger on her,” Rowan snarled, his anger coming to a peak again. He would not incinerate this one, oh no. He would hack him to little pieces, hear him screaming the entire time, and then feed him to the pigs.

“Oh, but I am. And even, by some miracle, I do not, I have all the information I need.” The man tapped the side of his head. Rowan was puzzled for a moment before everything finally snapped into place. His eyes were not naturally blue. The man was a seer, and someone looked through his eyes currently too.

“It is settled then,” Rowan spat. “You will not leave with your eyes. I was already thinking about burning them from your head.”

Rowan did not leave another second for insults to be traded. He lashed out first with a whip of fire, which set the man dancing away from the bars of the cage, then leapt forward with his blade. The man met him with steel, sparks flaring in the dimness as they met in their deadly dance. Rowan stared into those eery blue eyes, hoping the man behind them could see the hatred on his face as he twirled away and reconnected, the blow so close to drawing blood. It was the other’s turn to attack then, a slicing blow which came from a knife hidden somewhere within his coat. Rowan dodged, but his very soul jolted as he heard Morana scream out for him. It was milliseconds long enough that the blade came forward a second time, drawing blood against his ribs as he danced away.

Sloppy, it was a damned sloppy block. His eyes flickered to Morana, who was pale with worry. His side burned with unparalleled heat, and Rowan realised the blade was coated in poison. Scrunching his nose up, he placed a hand against his side and burned the wound, scorching the scourge from his flesh. His opponent merely grinned, glee stirring in his eyes.

“You are an interesting one, Rowan. If you ever wish to fight for the better good instead of a king growing fat on his throne, do let us know,” the other man purred. Rowan did not give him another chance to talk, lashing out with whips of fire. The man danced away from three, the fourth connecting with the side of his head, mere centimetres from his right eye. Rowan laughed as the glee dropped from his face, angry welts covering it instead.

Rowan danced forward with more intensity now, using fire and blade alike. He blocked out every sound in his head as he danced, intent on finishing this battle as soon as possible. It was not training or a show to impress his princess. It was life or death.

His blade finally connected with the man’s upper arm, biting deep. The falter in his step from the pain was long enough for Rowan to snake fire around his face, burning his eyes. The man screamed, lashing out violently as Rowan burned. When he was sure the man couldn’t see anymore, he dropped the flame. The man sobbed, clawing at his scorched face, and Rowan kicked out, boot connecting with his chest. Bones crunched beneath the kick, but it wasn’t enough for Rowan. As the man collapsed, he brought his boot down on his head, sending him into the realm of unconsciousness. Even as footsteps sounded behind him, he focussed on binding the man before he could wake, taking his blades. If he had missed any of the poison, the blade would be enough to identify it with any hope.

He looked up finally, eyes first turning to Morana. She was still pale, obviously terrified, but she was collected enough to be looking between him and whoever was behind him without fear. Rowan looked over his shoulder then, to see Cordan standing there in total confusion.

“King’s spies found traitors to the crown in the forest and I was sent to deal with them. A diversion for this one,” Rowan surmised, no longer in the mood to talk.

“That all makes sense, but why on earth is Morana naked?” Cordan asked, still looking at her. Rowan looked back in time to see her pull the blanket higher.

“She was sore from your training,” Rowan replied, caring not to explain further. “Carry this one. Don’t kill him. He is mine to end.”

Cordan stared at Rowan with a mix of exasperation and confusion as Rowan opened the door to Morana’s cell, grabbing the naked woman by the arm. He ignored her yelp as the blanket fell away from her, leaving her as bare as the day she was born. He had seen it before, and he doubted Cordan cared to look. The only other living person was blind, so she had nothing to whine about.

Rowan shoved her behind her screen, then stalked over to her dresser and grabbed a set of the training leathers and threw them unceremoniously to her. She frowned but said nothing as she dressed with Rowan’s back turned. Once she was done, she cleared her throat and Rowan scanned over her. It would suffice. His eyes boring into her, he handed her his dagger. She stared at him slack-faced as he presented her with the hilt.

“It is yours only until the castle is secured once more. If I do not get it back, it will be paid for in the blood of whoever is at fault for losing it,” Rowan said. “Use the pointy end. If it finds its way into anybody that is not actively attacking you, you will lose the hand that wields it. That is if the King allows you your life. Do you understand me?”

Morana merely nodded, wide-eyed, as Rowan removed his thigh sheath, adjusted the buckle and strapped it to Morana. She looked uncomfortable with him touching her upper thigh, but he did not have the mind to care currently. He watched carefully as she sheathed the blade and then nodded. One hand on her back, he led her from her cell and into the bloody hall.