The Crowned Captive

Rowan’s fury at himself had died to a dull embarrassment, and now he stood and stared blankly at his princess’s bedroom door. The king’s orders were not something he could shrug off to someone else, so he simply stood and tried to muster the bravado to face her. It was the less painful of his two choices. Barely. He swallowed, glanced away as he steeled himself, and raised his hand to knock on her doors.

Whatever apology he had jumbled together in his mind died before it could reach his lips. Before he had even touched the door, Morana had snapped it open, glaring up at him with fury in her eyes. A darkness he did not wish to touch danced behind those icy eyes, a cold fire so ancient he knew any who touched it would perish. There was magic in his princess yet.

“We go to the dungeons to see our captive. Follow,” Rowan ordered, hiding his pain at her anger. It was true, he had ruined his chances with her.

“Cordan was coming to take me to train,” she replied, taking a step back into her rooms.

“King Victor’s orders preside over Cordan’s training plans. We are going.”

Morana glared at him, those flames becoming infernos, but Rowan blocked out his emotions. They were of little use to him now. Seething with rage, she stormed back into her room and returned with something in her hands. With the force of a raging typhoon, she shoved Rowan’s dagger back into his chest. With a scowl, he pocketed it. He had not intended on taking it back so soon, but he supposed it was for the best. A symbolic end to their short courtship, at least.

Rowan tried and failed to school his emotions into a cool calm as they walked through the castle in the fresh morning air, the other inhabitants averting their eyes as they saw him coming. He knew their whispers would begin as soon as he was past, the fresh gossip of his companion being the rightful heir already rampant within the castle. It only served to darken the mood further.

He tried to be patient, truly, as Morana balked at the entrance to the dungeons with panic in her eyes. However, the bitterness from his bad mood was too much. He struggled to muster up comforting words, failed, and then chose to simply wait with a sigh to himself for his stupidity. He watched as pain flickered in Morana’s eyes then was quickly shoved behind a wall of stone. At least his betrayal was teaching her something, he supposed.

Rowan didn’t pause again as Morana’s eyes skittered over where the stains of blood once sat, knowing it would only offend her further. He simply prowled through the halls, past the door that held the hallway to her old cell, and further into the musty depths. Her footfall sounded behind him, showing she followed, even as they reached the deepest stretches of the dungeons. The stench of burnt hair still emanated from the room, and he smiled a little at that.

As he brushed his hand over the lock to the cell, allowing the door to spring open, the man looked up, the charred empty sockets of his eyes seeming to bore into him. Rowan smirked at that for a millisecond, until he heard Morana gasp beside him. A pang of guilt washed over him. It was not right for her to see this, at least not yet, not after all she had been through in the past few days, but he could not disobey the king again. The agony he would face would be unrelenting if he did so.

The naked man before him, Robyn, should have been broken by now. After releasing the last of his energy at the tavern the night before last, he had spent hours on the man. Then hours more after he had defiled Morana, having to take his guilt out on something other than himself. One hand had nothing but nubs left for fingers, angry red blisters extending across the remaining skin that cracked and bled. The other hand had three fingers left, enough to jerk himself off one last time Rowan had said. Numerous more burns, bruises and welts mottled his flesh, to the point sheer determination was all that kept Rowan from landing a killing blow.

Rowan looked at Morana, who stared at the man whilst turning a worrying shade of green. He watched as she swallowed down bile, never tearing her eyes from his bound captive. He wondered if she worried this might have been her if she had not cooperated, and felt another pang of guilt.

“The king ordered you to join me here, not to do anything. It is fine for you to wait outside,” Rowan offered.

“No. I am not a weakling, Greenfeld,” she snapped, his name wielded like a weapon. “I want to watch every ounce of pain you deal him. He deserves it and more for what he did to them.”

Rowan could not help but be impressed by her determination as she glared down at the beaten figure before her. The queasy look abated more with every second, being replaced by a steely resolution. Maybe she did indeed have what was needed to eventually rule, and he would not be beside her.

Rowan said nothing as he stalked closer to Robyn then, who still had enough energy to smile up at him as he heard his footsteps. Rowan kicked at the prone man, grinding his boot into one of the many welts on his chest. The prisoner gritted his teeth, but refuse to give any other sign of what Rowan knew would be excruciating.

“I have given you plenty of time to think over my little proposition, haven’t I? Time to cough up some information now,” Rowan said, letting venom drip into his every word.

“So lovely to see you again, shit-shoveller of the coward king. How has your morning faired? Mine has been lovely and relaxing down here. So nice to get some peace and quiet,” Robyn taunted, and Rowan grinned. He was sure he enjoyed this game far more than his current companion.

“It is truly such a pity that the quiet is going to be broken with your screaming, then,” Rowan replied, allowing flames to coat his fingertips. He brushed them ever so close to the other Fae’s face, savouring the flinch it elicited.

“You know, I even got to use my cock one last time, just like you told me to. The whole burnt hand thing was nice even, didn’t feel like mine anymore. And you know what I imagined? Your little princess, sobbing and terrified and naked as I carved up her guards. She dropped that blanket for a moment, so lost in her despair and fear. It was such an exquisite sight.”

Rowan lost his temper then. His thumbs found the scorched sockets of the man’s eyes, digging in, savouring the screams he elicited. He could feel the bone beneath them and had to stop himself from punching his fingers into the man’s brain. He was due far more pain before he allowed himself to do that.

“One last chance at a quick death, vermin. Just tell me what your lord wants with Morana, give me some information on where he is based, anything of use, and I will end it. Test me further, and I will savour your screams for weeks.”

“Make me scream then, little lordling. I will get free, and make you watch whilst I torture her the same way. I know plenty of ways to do so without marring that perfect skin of hers.”

Rowan’s temper flared then, reaching a crescendo. So Rowan did what he had promised. The stink of charred flesh filled the room, and Rowan heard Morana vomit behind him over the sound of the man’s screams as his flames engulfed the man’s groin. He continued until the thought the man’s vocal cords may tear from his throat, then curled his lip up in repulsion, leaving the charred flesh to continue to ache. If he was pushed, he could heal it and do it all over again.

“Do it again. It tickled,” the man croaked, and Rowan kicked him in the chest once more to silence him.

Morana stood behind him, he had forgotten, and his face fell as he turned to retrieve something from the bench of torture tools. She stood leaning against it, her face pale and clammy as she stared at the man. Her vomit sat at her feet, thankfully having avoided her boots. She looked at him, eyes wide, and he made to tell her to wait outside once more. She held a hand up to stop his words as she panted. Rowan stood entranced as she turned, picked up a blade from the bench, and stalked over to Robyn. He watched with morbid curiosity as she crouched down in front of the man, gently turning his face towards hers with a single finger.

“Your little master can still hear you, can’t he? He’s in your head right now, staving off the worst of the pain,” she whispered, and Rowan frowned. He had known no seers with the ability, and Morana shouldn’t have known even if it was true.

“Smart girl,” Robyn grinned up at her. “He told me you would be. He still wants you yet, you know. Even though you consort with the enemy, he will give you your throne beside him. He is asking now how you knew he was here still.”

“I could feel him, his presence, listening in. Like two souls in one body. And I truly doubt anybody normal could look like this and still be making threats.”

“Join us, Princess. You could have a better life than you ever will here. People won’t hate you for being raised amongst humans, and nobody will fear your powers. You will be worshipped like a god, as you should be. We will help your powers grow. Together, we would be unstoppable.”

Rowan made to pull Morana away from him then, not liking the direction of the conversation, but she held up a hand to him once more. With surprising deftness, she twirled the blade along her fingers.

“What do you want of me? What would you expect of me?”

Hairs rose along Rowan’s neck as the man in front of them spoke once more, voice contorting, body falling slack.

“I loved your traitorous mother. I had her heart first, was destined to it, and then she married the swine you call King. I did everything to get her back, to show her the error of her ways. She told me she loved me and would do anything for me, and that love blinded me. I trusted her. When I called for her to fulfil her words, she stabbed me in the back. She nearly destroyed me, convinced me she had killed you. She made me do horrible things to her, things I never wanted to do, but I would never have abandoned you, Morana. I tried to find you every chance I could when she finally admitted you lived. And now I have, but they have locked you away. Come back to me, take your mother’s place, and I will give you everything.”

Hairs rose on the back of his neck and bile in his throat as the words registered with Rowan, alongside a voice he never thought he would hear again. It was not Robyn’s, that was certain. Morana looked up at him then, anger and disgust blooming within her too. She flipped the blade over in her hand as she looked up at him with heavy eyes. Understanding her request, Rowan nodded down at her.

“Come get me yourself, you sick fuck,” she spat and moved, quick as an asp.

The picture of Morana, lip curled, stabbing the blade through the captive’s chin and into his skull would be seared into his mind forever. She gritted her teeth as the man spasmed and blood poured around her hand, but did not move. It wasn’t until Rowan grabbed her shoulders gently that her gaze shifted, and that look that spoke of death fixed on him. Tears began down her cheeks as she realised she still had her dagger buried in a dead man, and she pulled it out, throwing the bloodied blade back at the body with disgust.

“Are you okay?” Rowan asked, cautious as to what Morana may do next.

“I am going to kill every last one of them. I am not some possession, I am not my mother, and I am not his,” she spat, shaking as she wiped her hand on a towel from the bench. The blood merely smeared against her skin.

“Let’s get you back to your rooms and cleaned up. You can take the rest of the day off,” Rowan said. Cordan would be waiting for them back soon anyways.

“No. I will train this afternoon. If you need time, we will do our lessons after dinner. I will clean up now, but I am not slacking off because of some sick man’s words.”

Rowan felt conflicted then, pride swelling in his chest for his vicious princess’s resolve, and also a bitter pain at the double meaning of her words. The dead body in front of her was not the only one who had wronged her. With a sharp nod, Rowan led her away, motioning for the guards to clean up their mess.