The Crowned Captive

Morana awoke in dimness, the only source of light something small behind her head. Her head felt like it was swimming in molasses. She tried to piece everything together. She remembered trying to escape, and the burn of the arrow and the feeling of drowning in blood, then an agonising ride back with Rowan holding her upright, but everything faded to darkness after that. She raised a hand to her face to rub the sleep from her eyes, glad to see it working again. She looked around the room then, wondering if she was still dreaming. One wall of the room was barred, like a cell, whilst the rest was ornately decorated, a room fit for a queen. Her hand dangled in front of her face and from it golden manacles. She craned her head around to see golden chains leading to heavy bolting in the wall. A cell then. Yet the bed she lay on was plush, decorated in red and gold with more pillows than she had ever seen in her life.

Morana assessed herself, seeing all of the purpling of the bruises gone, and the wounds from the arrows without scaring. Her shattered arm was indeed in one piece too. Rowan had healed her as he had promised. She was also in a lovely, and more modest, nightgown, and her pendant had been returned around her neck. She prayed it had not been Rowan who had dressed her, for she wore no undergarments beneath it anymore.

Morana’s brow furrowed, wondering why she had been so thoroughly healed and been given such a nice room as a prisoner. Surely, even in the fae kingdom, prisoners weren’t treated like caged royal guests? Her attention turned to her manacles then, which had surprisingly not chafed. She yanked on them, testing their resistance for them to magically extend with a soft clink. Eyes wide, she lept from the bed and started walking to the cell door, seeing just how far they would extend.

“They will stop making more chain at the door,” a voice called from the inky darkness beyond her door. Morana yelped in surprise and focused her eyes on the shadowy figure beyond the cell door.

“Who are you?” She called, not being able to see the face. A second later, a body materialised before her cell door. The man had hair like a moonless night and a face as if chiselled from stone. Perfect strong lips were pulled into a sneer to show fangs that made her pulse quicken. The man was tall, taller than Rowan, and his black and gold tunic and trousers hugged his body in a way that showed the perfectly chiselled face was likely attached to a similarly chiselled body.

“Rowan never tires of keeping the pretty ones to himself,” the man practically, eyes roving over her. “I am Cordan, the poor lonely soul who is charged to keep watch over you currently. I have been told that your every need was to be filled whilst you stayed here. If you have any at all, do let me know.” If this was how all elven men were, she was in trouble.

“What makes you think that I want some stranger touching me whilst I am chained to the wall?” Morana spat, trying to keep her voice from faltering with the powerful elf in front of her, watching her like prey.

“I can always take those chains off if you don’t like them. Just say the words, and I am yours.”

Despite every rational thought telling her to run, to hide, to get away from the elf now casually leaning against her cell, she felt her pulse quicken and her insides turn in a way that was far from fear. Even over the dank stink of the dungeons, she could smell him, his odour singing to her very soul in ways she couldn’t describe. Pine and earth caressed her senses. Judging by the flaring of his nostrils and the darkness in his eyes, he could also smell her body’s every response. A low chuckle emanated from him, and with a casual flick of his wrist, the cell door was open.

“One simple word is all I need to turn your world upside down,” he murmured as he towered before her, a lone finger grazing up her neck as he moved to stand in front of her. Ever so gently, he tipped her chin up to meet eyes of molten honey and sunlight. His scent overwhelmed her, caressing some deep spot in her brain. Unbidden, her lips parted, ready to give him anything he wanted until her rational brain took over once more.

“One simple word is all I need to tear your finger from your hand and shove it so far up your ass you will wonder if it finally found your brain,” Morana replied, her voice as deep and sultry as his. She felt no threat from the man who now grinned at her with surprise and amusement in his eyes. She would still rather have a rat in her bed than any fae currently.

“I think we will get along swimmingly, Morana. I will have to teach you how to turn that tongue on Rowan,” the elf replied, head turning slightly as if he was witnessing an enigma. Morana continued to glare up at him but felt... safe with the strange man. Cordan. She felt safe with Cordan, despite knowing him for all of a few seconds.

“Must you try and fuck the prisoners, Cardon?”

That voice immediately snapped Morana from her thoughts, and she jumped back from Cordan with a yelp. Sure enough, Rowan stared back at her blankly from the hallway. Anger and guilt washed through her, confusing every thought in her head. She longed to tear into him for shooting her full of arrows like a target, nearly killing her. She felt fear creep into her core as the memory of blood bubbling from her lips crept back into her mind. Yet, even now, she wanted to apologise for letting Cordan so near to her. She should owe him nothing, yet here she felt obliged to explain herself.

“Only the ones who refuse you,” Cordan replied, nodding to her before sauntering from the cell. Rowan’s scowl did not quite reach his eyes and dropped completely as the other elf smirked at him. Morana felt her eyebrows jump high on her forehead. Sure, she had been a prisoner but never had he seemed so relaxed around her without being some form of sexual.

“I am more than happy with you taking the dregs from the barrel.” Rowan shook his head at the male, and Morana watched incredulously as Cordan simply leaned on the wall next to him, close enough to invade most people’s personal space.

Dear gods, these two were friends.

“I don’t particularly wish for either of you,” Morana called, feeling all the more silly after doing so. Cordan looked over his shoulder with a heavy-lidded look that suggested he knew better, whilst Rowan merely shrugged.

“I have been sent to bring you before the king,” Rowan said then, removing himself from his position against the wall and walking into the cell. Morana frowned as he dropped a dress, thankfully something she could don herself, onto the bed and walked over to the manacle’s attachment on the wall. A touch from him, and the metal cuffs dropped from her hands and fell to the floor with a clank, before pulling themselves back into the wall.

“Dress quickly. He doesn’t appreciate being left waiting.”

"I am so sorry, Morana, for nearly killing you," she mocked then, anger winning in her internal struggle as Rowan turned to leave. “It is fine Rowan. You are forgiven. It’s not like I nearly snapped my neck falling from my horse, or nearly drowned in my blood, or took an entire night to wake up from whatever damned paralytic you shot me full of. You likely just forgot I was not fully fae like you, that I was so breakable. It is fine.”

“I am sorry Morana, truly. Every second you were in pain caused me pain too. I waited here with the healers until I knew you would not have any lasting damage. But I was not the one who chose to escape after being warned not to. Now, dress yourself before I am forced to find someone to assist you to do so.”

Morana could think to do nothing but glare at Rowan, letting as much fury as she could seep into her stare. Without another word, she stalked behind the screen in the corner of the cell. The fact that Rowan was actually apologetic shocked her, and she knew not what to make of that information. Instead, she chose to store that in the back of her brain as she pulled on the beautiful gown.