The Crowned Captive

Morana felt utterly naked in the Fae’s damned training leathers. The material was soft and supple and clung to her like a second skin. It did wonders against the smart of sharp blows but left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Had she still been in her little human village, she would have been run out with torches and pitchforks, yet here nobody gave her even a second glance, even with her emaciated form.

It wasn’t the curve of her body or the sexuality of her clothes that embarrassed her the most, but the awkward jutting of her hip bones and the fact her joints looked too angular. The evidence of her starvation was written into her very flesh, and there was no hiding it beneath her clothes. She remained steely-eyed and reserved, hoping nobody would grow to pity her.

Cordan cleared his throat, breaking Morana from her thoughts. The dark and handsome warrior stood across from her in a lazy stance, his dark locks brushing the arches of his brows. He looked expectant, playful even, but did not elicit the violent rage from her that Rowan did with his predatory looks. She had thought on it most of the morning, and decided only one thing was all that different - Cordan looked at her like an ally or friend. Rowan looked at her like a dish he wished to devour whole.

“If you are going to daydream, we can begin today with some breathing and meditation exercises. If you wish not to daydream, we can go through basic footwork,” Cordan said, a playful grin on his lips. She knew that he meant every word he said, though, and did not feel the need to push him into babying her. He had been fair and even kind to her so far, and she did not wish to break that.

“I can focus,” she replied, nodding in determination.

“Very well then. Basic footwork. Show me how you would stand ready for hand-to-hand combat.”

Morana frowned and stood back slightly, her stance widened and her arms ready in front of her body. She was far from a combat specialist, having never hit anybody but the orphanage bully and Rowan, but it was a stance that seemed comfortable to her. A frown passed over her face as she saw Cordan shake his head at it.

“It will serve its purpose, but we can get so much more from a ready fighting stance,” Cordan began, walking up to her. A shiver ran down her spine as he walked close enough to her to breathe the air from her lungs, and walked around behind her. “The way you stand leaves you unbalanced, easy to knock over. Place your legs a little wider, just like that, to help centre yourself. Be loose through your knees, and have your weight placed on the balls of your feet. You want to be sturdy, but ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

Morana’s skin felt alive under Cordan’s touch as he gently guided her body to the appropriate position. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and butterflies danced in her stomach.

“Turn your body now, just like that, perfect. Being side-on means you have less of a target for someone to attack. Less target means less likely to hit, and I would prefer to have nobody hitting you.”

The laugh that erupted from her was the first genuine laugh in months, and certainly since this whole fiasco began. She smiled then, genuinely so, as Cordon grinned down at her.

“I do believe the only person at risk of hitting me is your dear friend, who is in fact the only person over the age of twelve to threaten to do so,” she replied.

“Morana, if you talk to everyone the way you do Rowan, you will have a lot more people trying to land a punch.”

“Yeah, well, he deserves it. I doubt everyone else does quite yet,” she grumbled, earning an affectionate nudge from Cordan.

As they continued through him training her stances, she marvelled at how easily she fell into sync with him. She had very few she had considered true friends, but he made it so easy. She felt no judgement from him, no careful monitoring or distaste. In fact, it felt like he trusted her completely. He was possibly the first person in her life to ever gift her that, despite her prisoner status.

“That’s good, you learn quickly. For someone who has never fought, you are doing well. Next, I have some exercises for you to go through. Every chance you get, I want you to do them. They will help strengthen your core and hold you strong. I will be checking that you have done them.”

Cordan talked her through each of the movements then, not laughing or judging when her arms shook with the strain to push her body from the ground, only giving gentle reminders of how to hold her spine or which muscles to tense. His touches were light and professional, his voice supportive. She did not know what Rowan had been talking about; training with Cordan was quite enjoyable.

Morana ached by the time he had walked her through the handful of movements. Every step she took shot pain up her limbs and through the muscles of her belly, but she welcomed it. It pushed the many unwanted thoughts from her mind.

“If you don’t mind, I believe it is time for Morana’s next lessons,” a voice called out from behind her. She felt herself stiffen as she turned to see Rowan stalking closer to him, strands of copper hair hanging over those tree-top green eyes. Morana felt her breath catch as he caught her gaze, and she hated herself a little for it.

“I require time to wash and dress before our lessons can commence,” Morana found herself saying, standing up against Rowan and his damned sense of self-entitlement.

“Your royal bath is drawn, petals added, and your clothes ready in the guardhouse, your Highness,” Rowan replied, bowing deeply. He must have ready the scowl across her face because he continued. “You do not get to both treat me like a servant to be dismissed and expect me not to treat you like a pampered princess, Morana. Choose one, and stick with it.”

“I choose for you not to be such an arrogant prick,” Morana replied under her breath, eliciting that damned fanged grin from Rowan.

“Apologies, Morana, but that simply is not possible,” he replied, linking his arm through hers and leading her towards the guardhouse.

“Is this scholar any better of a teacher? If I have another like yesterday, I may just pluck my eyes from my head.”

“I will admit he has a distaste for humans, but he understands you are not one and is far more open to the fact you have something between your ears. He hopes to give you the best knowledge of the fae possible, and train you into a strategist yet.”

“You speak of him highly?”

“I do. He is an extremely attractive fellow, devilishly handsome and with unchallenged wit. He is even approved by the King himself.”

Morana frowned, growing more concerned about who this scholar may be. She sincerely hoped the scholar was not the red-headed elf she was thinking of.

“Oh come on, Morana, you aren’t even going to attempt to guess? Your scholar will be most disappointed if you cannot, given the hints you have been provided.”

“I swear to the Gods, Rowan, if you are talking about yourself, I may just fling myself from the nearest high point.”

“You wound me so gravely. I would never be able to see you take such a leap.”

“You are the most insufferable person I have ever met.”

Rowan beamed beside Morana, taking the insult as the highest praise. She could have throttled him, maybe even would have had she not been so sore. Instead, she took to silence as he led her inside the building before them and downstairs to a small bathroom. She could have screamed when she walked into the room, the door locking behind her, to see that there were indeed rose petals in the steaming bath. She fought the urge, instead shucking the leathers and easing into the scorching water. The burn was welcome as she scrubbed the sweat from her skin with the rose-scented soap. She felt thoroughly refreshed and somewhat more relaxed as she climbed out, grateful to see Rowan had fetched her slim trousers and a simple blouse instead of another dress like the day before. With that, she could think of no other way to stall the inevitable headache their so-called training would give her.