The Crowned Captive

After a restless night’s sleep, Rowan had awoken rather irritated. True to the words of whatever possessed her, she remembered nothing, or at least showed no indication of it. She was little more than nervous when he left her alone in the room to berate Gallen (who had sworn up and down nothing had been in the tunnels last night), and mostly irritated when he had returned with an armful of clothes to choose from. Her disgust at the tiny lacy nightgowns had amused him greatly, he had to admit. So much so that when she deigned not to take any, he smuggled them back into her pack anyways.

The horse had been his next source of amusement. Her face had lit up with delight when he had told her he had bought it for her to use on their journey. Their entire walk back to camp had been delightful, him watching Morana basically skip the whole way back. Then Rowan had struggled to reign in his laughter as his captive had turned pink, then red, and nearly purple in the face when he loaded “her” bay gelding up with the camping gear and their belongings and ordered her to sit in front of him on his mare again. She had not said a word but nearly vibrated with anger in front of him as they rode away.

He hadn’t meant to trick her, not really. If he could trust her enough, he truly would let her ride the horse. The whole possession thing last night was odd but she hadn’t made any serious escape attempt just yet, so why not? There was every chance he had dreamt the whole thing. He had just planned to wait until they were in more familiar fae territory and he at least knew no resistance members would leap out and steal her from under his nose. In complete honesty, after finally working out she was elven, he had begun to grow somewhat fond of the woman. She was quiet, and fear controlled much of her life, sure, but she had managed to claw through poverty and still have somewhat of a spark. With some prodding, he could surely get a fight out of her. Thinking of it...

“You know what, I think you are positively adorable when you are this mad. Like a little kitten...” he drawled, watching her carefully as she stiffened and straightened her spine.

“I am not some house pet in a spat,” she practically growled. He grinned. Maybe the rest of their journey wouldn’t be so boring after all.

“Truly? You act like it. So angry without even saying anything, so submissive as soon as I raise my voice. I bet I could train you easier than I could a kitten, actually.”

“And you are like a fly, constantly an irritation.” Yes, that was a growl that time.

“Oh, you wound me ever so. How can I ever recover from such a grievous insult,” he mocked, his amusement rich in his voice. A little more prodding and she would take a swing, he was sure.

“If I had an actual weapon, I am sure you wouldn’t recover,” she spat, turning in the saddle. He truly laughed this time, a deep reverberation that came from his very belly as he threw his head back. The thought of her, too thin and so pitifully untrained, doing him any serious harm was absolutely laughable.

“You mewl like a kitten too! The only thing you miss is the claws,” he purred and leaned in closer to her until there were mere inches between his face and hers as she craned around in the saddle.

He barely saw the punch coming as it connected with his chin, driving him over the back of the horse. He twisted in the air, landing on all fours as he grinned up at her, fangs bared. Oh, he would have some fun in the following days for sure.

She was flying off of the horse too, barrelling for him like an angry bull. Her next blow grazed his cheek as he leaned out of the way, nearly too slow. She was impressive for an untrained elf who believed herself a mutt. When she let her anger take over her rational brain, she was near as quick as some of the guards he trained. Her foot swept out next, aiming for his chest as he already propelled himself back. Feeling some flare necessary, he lept upwards and turned, performing a near-perfect flip and landing gently on his feet. Shock widened her eyes as he launched himself at her, eager to see how hard she fought against him when placed in a tight situation.

He rode through the punch that connected with his gut, driving the wind from him as he grabbed her arm and hooked his leg around her ankle. She went down like a sack of potatoes, a crumpled mess beneath him as he grabbed her other wrist and drove his knee into her gut. Her face paled as she gasped for air and kicked against him, but it was no use. He had her completely pinned and was not letting go easily. He grinned down at her, even if the struggle was only short. He may just have to train her if he wanted something more lasting out of her.

“Get off of me you fae bastard,” she spat, red in the face all over again as she struggled against him. She was strong, truly, as she pushed against his grip, but he had two centuries of harsh training on her. Her rage made her scent of heady jasmine and rose so much stronger as she glared up at him.

“Say please,” he whispered, leaning down to breathe the word over her ear. She stiffened and stilled underneath him before letting out a curse that could curl the ears of even the most promiscuous man. He chuckled, wondering how much further he could push her before she truly hated him. That would be far less fun.

“Such a foul mouth for such a pretty little thing. I may just have to see about some method to fix that,” he spoke, dropping his voice into sultry tones. Her eyes flew wide then, and her face reddened for an entirely different reason than rage. Ever so slightly, her scent changed, signalling her arousal. Rowan grinned down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, wondering just how much further she would let him go.

“Please,” she said flatly, and he practically pouted as he let her go and rolled off of her. He was somewhat surprised to realise how much he had wished she had allowed him to continue their little game. She stood up straight, brushing the leaves from her clothes, and stood there blankly. The smirk returned to his face as he watched her stand there ever so awkwardly, obviously not knowing what to do next. His mare had stopped a few metres away, and the bay gelding with it. The sun was dipping low in the afternoon, and he was awfully tired after his restless night.

“We camp here then. Find some wood for a fire, and I will go find something to eat,” he said, walking over to his mare to find his sling.

“Aren’t you scared I am going to run off?” She said, obviously unsure about the whole situation. He rolled his eyes in response.

“We are in the middle of the forest, in which I presume you have never been, at least half a day’s ride from any civilisation. I doubt you can go far enough for me to not find you, and you know the consequence if you do run.” He grinned as he turned to her. She practically squirmed under his gaze but did not break eye contact this time as she glared back at him. No, instead, she held her chin high and stared him down. Rowan did not miss the things that rebellious glare did to him.

Heavens above, he was walking a dangerous line with this one.