The Crowned Captive

Morana stared down at the items in her hands, her heart breaking all over again. Lorenna stood beside her, likely unsure of what to do, as Morana battled with the emotions within her. A damned fertility tonic and a note was all she had gotten from Cordan. Even then, the note was a pathetic excuse of communication.

I am not avoiding you, I just need my time. I am sorry for the mess I have caused.

- Cordan

That was the extent of what she got after her heart had been trampled upon. She resisted the urge to smash the bottle of tonic against the wall, knowing it would be smarter to take it. She had made a mess, a damned mess out of everything. She wished she could blame the faerie wine, but she had been well and truly sober when the damage had been done.

“It will be okay, your Highness. Things will work themselves out,” Lorenna said behind her, trying to comfort her.

“For the gods’ sake, Lorenna, my name is Morana!” She cried, and then immediately began laughing through her tears. Damn the whole thing, damn men and damn the crown. Lorenna seemed to understand some, rubbing her back as she downed the stupid bottle of liquid and assisting her as she dressed in her leathers. Whilst she may have lost a friendship with Cordan, maybe her poor lady’s maid would be stupid enough to put up with her.

Training was different without Cordan’s company. Morana looked across the training field as she and Rowan arrived, expecting to see him grinning back at her. However, he was not there. He did not come whilst they warmed up, Rowan praising how far she had come with the strength of her stances. He did not arrive as they sparred, Rowan grinning at the veracity of her punches despite her sadness. He did not come when Rowan handed her a wooden sword, the first weapon she had been truly allowed to have since her arrival.

“I thought you would be more excited to finally be training with a weapon,” Rowan said as she looked at the weighted wood he handed her.

“Sorry, I’m just having a little trouble concentrating,” Morana replied, offering him an apologetic smile.

“Still thinking about last night, Princess?” Rowan asked, his voice sultry. Morana’s tight face gave away her true concerns, for he sighed and dropped his sword arm. “I know of Cordan’s and your continuation of last night’s events and I am not mad. I have staked no official claim upon yet, and Cordan and I had a deal that whomever you chose, the other would respect your decision. How can I be mad that you chose me?”

Morana frowned and turned away, knowing that had not been what she was upset about but feeling guilty regardless. She had not thought of how her actions may upset Rowan, but now that weighed on her too. She had just managed to hurt everyone because she wanted something fun and forbidden, the thrill of two men worshipping her when she had previously had none. Shame filled her at the thought, and she pushed it from her mind. It would not serve her now. She would use her head in the future and make it up to Rowan. Trying to apologise to Cordan would be another issue, and she doubted they would ever go back to the way they were before she had messed everything up. Her heart ached at the thought of a lost friend, but maybe they could get somewhere close to where they were.

“If you are done daydreaming...”

Morana snapped her head up and apologised to Rowan again. Not wanting to upset him further, she got herself into the indicated stance and waited. With a nod of his head, Rowan prowled around her, assessing her faults. She gritted her teeth against her aching muscles as she struggled with the weight of the steel-filled wood, knowing he would take his time to assess her. Sure enough, his fingers trailed over her skin as he watched her, testing to see the strength of her stance. Finally, after Morana felt like she could hold position no more, Rowan signalled her to stand down. Her arms thanked her as she let the point drop to the ground.

“Cordan has taught you well so far, at least. Your stance is near perfect. Has he taught you many variants?” Rowan asked.

And so she was taught the stances Rowan favoured most. She followed them exactly, losing her mind in the burn of her muscles as she hefted the sword around. Under his direction, she flowed like water, hearing only the words he shouted and knowing only where to move her body. Sweat beaded on her skin, dripping down her face as the sun rose higher, but she tuned the distraction out. Faster and faster she moved, switching between stances with ease, her feet dancing over the earth. Finally, when her breath sawed from her chest in ragged gasps and her muscles shook with exertion, Rowan called for her to stop.

She stood for a moment, letting the ache from the session set in before walking over to the rack to return the training sword. Her gait was unsteady and the sword fell onto the rack with a clatter that could wake the dead, but she did not care. Nobody here would judge her for trying to better herself, and if they did they were fools. She had gone from someone who believed they were and acted like a half-Fae to someone who could stave off an attack from the leader of the Rebellion himself. She continued her sore shuffle over to the edge of the ring, collapsing under the shade of a tree and drinking deeply from the waterskin she had left there.

“If only every recruit trained as hard as you, Princess,” Rowan began as he sat down next to her, smiling down at her with pride. Of course, he seemed completely unruffled. “We may just have an army that could finally put an end to this incessant war by the end of winter. Alas, you are completely individual in every way.”

Morana frowned, processing the comment. “I believe I should be saying thank you? Really, Rowan, if that is the only non-sexual compliment you could come up with, there is no wonder you have managed to remain without a partner after two centuries.”

“There are plenty of other faeries who have been left unspoken for longer, Morana. We are not as quick to choose as mortals. Anyways, I like to think the lack of betrothal is completely my own choice. Trust me, I have had a long list of women who have fought for my attention.”

“′Oh, Morana, the two centuries wait was worth it to get to meet you.′ That is the type of compliment a woman wants,” Morana mocked, rolling her eyes. Despite her exhaustion and her guilt, a smile rose to her face. Beside her, Rowan had the goodwill at least to snicker.

“If you have not worked out yet that I am far from a wordsmith, I hate to break it to you now. I can think of something better to win your affections though,” Rowan replied, and Morana turned to raise an eyebrow at him. He grinned down at her before catching the eye of the rest of her guard. “Wait here, I will be back.”

Morana gladly waited below the tree, her breath finally calming. As she waited, she looked over the training field, wondering if her mind was strengthening as her body was. Surprisingly, she felt no fear, no remnant of worry from that night a week ago when she had nearly lost her only two true allies in this world. She simply saw new guards being trained and people milling about. Amusement filled her at how many of them fumbled with their exercises, and she wondered if she had looked quite so useless when she arrived. Would they learn as quickly as she had?

Rowan was soon returning, and Morana watched him as he stalked back. Even when he was in high spirits, his movements were like that of a predatory cat. She rolled her eyes as people hurried out of his way, wishing they would not stroke his ego so. As he grew closer, she saw the object he had gone to retrieve, and her pulse quickened. The ebony sheath seemed to drink the sunlight, absorbing it into the blood-red garnets that ran up the middle of the scabbard. More detail came to light as he came closer, and Morana marvelled at the intricacy of the covering, how well it matched her ill-won dagger. Her hand flew to it now, and she wondered if she was truly being given something so beautifully lethal.

Indeed, Rowan handed it to her, eyes expectant. Without hesitation, she withdrew the blade, gasping at its elegance. The blade itself was black, not painted but truly metal forged to be as dark as the walls of the Temple of Acheros. Its pommel was accentuated with a garnet the size of a chicken’s egg, the grip a soft black leather to match the blade. The cross-guard completed the piece, accentuating the artistry with its delicate whorls and swirls carved through the metal.

“If I catch you with that blade out before I give you permission, it better be life or death or you will never see it again,” Rowan said matter-of-factly as she sheathed it once more.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful,” was her reply, ignoring the threat. She was not stupid enough to go flailing it about when she didn’t know the first thing about swordsmanship.

“Let me tell you, it was not easy tracking down the maker of that dagger. She had retired and refused to craft another sword no matter how much money I offered. It was just coincidence that she had not yet moved on that blade.”

“I suppose it makes up for your bad attitude,” Morana said, the corner of her mouth turning up. Unable to help herself, she wrapped her arms around Rowan. It was the first true public display of affection she had ever given anybody, but he had earned it and she cared not what others thought; her guards were the only ones who could see them, and they had heard far more on their relationship. After a moment’s hesitation, his arms wrapped around her too.

“Come on, let’s go and get cleaned up for today’s work,” Rowan said after a pause, his voice heavy. As Morana pulled back, she saw a curious look flash over his face but pushed it to the back of her mind.