The Crowned Captive

She awoke in the darkness, cold damp stone against her back. The musty smell of wet and mould hung over her like a cloak, and distantly she could hear moaning. She knew where she was, without a doubt, and she knew that if she opened her eyes she would be caged once more. Rather than facing the truth of life, she lay there, motionless and alone in the dark. Her sorrow, the ache of her betrayal cut so deep she could not breathe. Not having the strength to fight it, she let it consume her, and the darkness took her down once more.

Eventually, the numbness in her mind split and the echo of footsteps slid in. She tried to shut off the rest of her senses and slip back into the trance that she had quite happily fallen into, but it would not work. When the sound of the footsteps came to rest outside the bars of her cell, she could smell him. Even the thought of his name cut too deep to think. The scent of him wrapped around her, willing her awake, willing her to the world of the living. She tried to ignore it with all of her failing strength.

“Morana,” he called to her, and she could feel the deep recesses of her brain trying to respond. Her hurt blossomed anew at the feeling, and she further willed herself back into unconsciousness.

“Mor, please respond to me. You are worrying me,” he called again. She felt her breathing quicken once more in response, her body ready to move, and she forced it down again. She could not face him, not now. She wasn’t ready. She would never be ready.

She was awakened once more to the clatter of metal, and a yell of protest. “Get off of me!” he yelled, and her body urged her to move, to protect. She did no such thing.

“You know the rules, little elf. No touching until we make sure she isn’t going to try and escape,” a voice scolded, like someone talking condescendingly to an insolent child. She remembered that one, and wished nothing more than to kill that one. Raeth. That was his name.

“How can you think she is going to try and escape! Look at her! Please, Mor. I am begging you, please. Wake up. Talk to me. You are scaring me,” he called again, and she felt her chest hitch. Knowing she would get no retreat like this, she opened her eyes. Dank and mouldy stonework illuminated by torchlight greeted her. As expected, she was trapped again. A worthless prisoner once more. Alone. Hurt beyond repair.

“I hate you,” she said suddenly, not really intending to. The words bubbled from her lips like a cry for help. “I have never hated anybody more. I hope you never pass my sight again, I never hear your poisonous words, no smell your miasmatic scent. If my life is free of your presence, it may finally be a life worth living again. Leave, and don’t come back.”

She knew words were said, movements made in her peripherals, but she did not care. Her sadness had engulfed her once more, threatening to tear her apart, to crush her from within. She stared at the stone ceiling, knowing she was worthless once more, and wept silently. Finally, when the torchlight left, she slipped into her painless coma once more.

When her brain summoned her forward again, she realised some time had probably passed. Her very flesh ached where it sat against the stone, and she could smell the stink of rot. She wondered what had woken her this time. Then she heard it again, the dull thud of flesh on flesh. How curious. It sounded again at the word of someone, a meaty thwack followed by the splatter of liquid on the ground. Somebody laughed. Another order was given, and this time she heard his protests before the crack of bones. He cried out then, a cry of agony, and she could not help but turn her head to look at him as her body urged her to help. She hated him more for it, for breaking her from her eternal sleep.

He looked like death warmed up. Bruises laced his face and neck and dipped below the collar of his shirt, dried blood smearing his skin and his left arm hanging at an odd angle. Currently, fresh blood leaked from his split lip, the copper tang of it calling for her to save him. She ignored it, looking to who stood over him currently. Raeth grinned down at her, licking the blood from his knuckles. Draigh looked down at her too, his face a mix of relief and triumph.

“Finally, you have managed to prove your usefulness. Please, heal yourself,” Draigh spoke, stepping closer to her cell. Behind him, he did as ordered. Morana felt the urgency in her mind begin to abate, and turned to face the heavens and closed her eyes once more. “Not so fast, Morana. You will open your eyes and listen, or your mate will die.”

An empty laugh left her at that, and she kept her eyes firmly shut. “Oh, please do, it will save me the hassle of doing so myself.” Her voice was gravelly and faint from lack of use. She did not care.

“Oh, let me do it. Please? It would be an honour,” the vampry spoke, and the part of her that cared made her pulse quicken. Still, she did not move.

“Do you know how many times they have tried looking for you, Morana? Zero. Your pretty little highborn whore hasn’t left the safety of his castle once to come and find you. You know why, princess?”

Morana was listening now. She opened her eyes, lifting her head enough to see Draigh staring down at her with a grin. She wanted to knock it from his lips, to tear it from his flesh. She wanted to feel his bones crunch beneath her fingers. She wanted to hear him scream in pain the way her body screamed at her now.

“You left of your own free will - happily walked over those borders with your mate at your side. You betrayed them all, and now they don’t care what happens to you. My spies tell you that Lord Greenfeld has even promised to kill you with his own hands. How sweet.”

The pain was too much to bear. She felt that last comfortable refuge of her soul burn away under the agony of her fury. He had done this, had tricked her and forced her tongue into this lie. He had made her betray the one she truly loved out of jealousy, out of spite, to ruin her happiness and her chance at being the heir the kingdom needed. She would not forgive that, not before she burnt the life from his flesh.

"I will kill you all,” she hissed, the words forming in the Old Tongue of their own accord. She smiled at that, then laughed. “I will kill you all! I will kill you all”

Tears streamed down her cheeks at the words, sickening joy on her face. Her grin only widening, she lashed out then, intending death. Her magic bounced off a hard wall, but she did not care to find its weakness. No, she lashed out again, and again, and again, laughing and laughing. She would kill them all - it was promised by Fate. She would kill them all.

She was still laughing when Draigh ordered Raeth and Cordan to leave, still smashing at him with all of the might her magic could muster as he too retreated. And then she sat there, alone in the darkness, whispering her promise over and over again.

She was nothing once more. But nothing in the world was more dangerous than that.