The King's Command
Your vision is a blur as you slip in and out of consciousness. They are transporting you somewhere, but your mind is too hazy to comprehend where exactly. You hear waves. The clasp of iron is heard distinctly through the background noise of bodies shuffling and a man yelling orders. You feel the the ground beneath you unsteady. They are transporting you by sea. You are unsure how many days it’s been since the encounter at Nastela. Your head is throbbing and you don’t know whether anyone from your company is still alive. A black hood is placed over your head preventing you from seeing your surroundings. Yep, definitely not how I thought that day would go, you think. You take some comfort in remembering that Cait was knocked out instead of killed. Maybe she’s on the ship with you.
“Caitlyn!” you shout and promptly get backhanded.
“Prince?” You hear the soft spoken voice of a female somewhere to your right. Then another smack fills the air.
“No talking,” a grizzly voice bellows.
Hours later, the ship makes port. You feel the tug of your chains lead you from the boat into the back of a caravan. The hood is still over your head, but you can feel the hot, dry air of the environment. The ground beneath you is too loose to be dirt. It’s sand. Traveling over what you guess are cobblestones, the bumpy caravan takes you into a city.
“Out,” the same voice commands.
Waiting for the man chained in front, you climb out and stand in line at your captor’s direction. The hood is pulled from your head blinding your eyes in the sudden sunlight. Once you finally adjust to the light, you see a large dark skinned man standing in front of you. He’s holding a whip in his right hand and a wicked-looking scimitar in the other.
“You are property of Lady Myrr. Whatever she wishes, you will do. If you disobey her, you will be punished. If you insult her name, you will be punished. If you even fucking look at her wrong—”
“You’ll be punished?”
Chained a few bodies down from you, Caitlyn speaks out of turn.
The dark skinned man, Darius, walks up to her glaring into her eyes in evaluation.
“It is unwise to speak over the man who holds your life in his hand.”
“I thought Lady Myrr owns me. Not you,” Caitlyn retorts.
Despite the truth of her words, she is met with a punch to the gut and doubles over in pain.
“Lady Myrr owns your miserable lives and I am the instrument in which she commands! I am the one who will ensure you serve the Lady. Trouble makers and insurrectionists will meet unimaginable pain before leaving this world. Now walk.”
For emphasis, Darius cracks the whip at the ground close to where Caitlyn is kneeling. He leads the group of chained prisoners through a courtyard, down several staircases, and into the dungeon. Torches hanging upon the dimly lit hallways are the only source of light. The prisoners are divided three into a cell. Unfortunately, you aren’t placed with Caitlyn. You wonder what happened to Garrick. You didn’t see him among the others. You aren’t even sure if he’s alive. Out of the two other prisoners in your cell, only one looks like a fighter. His long unkempt hair hangs to his mid back and his beard is just as long. Several tribal tattoos line his thick arms. The other prisoner looks as if he spent more time in the library than the training grounds.
“Caitlyn!” you shout and promptly get backhanded.
“Prince?” You hear the soft spoken voice of a female somewhere to your right. Then another smack fills the air.
“No talking,” a grizzly voice bellows.
Hours later, the ship makes port. You feel the tug of your chains lead you from the boat into the back of a caravan. The hood is still over your head, but you can feel the hot, dry air of the environment. The ground beneath you is too loose to be dirt. It’s sand. Traveling over what you guess are cobblestones, the bumpy caravan takes you into a city.
“Out,” the same voice commands.
Waiting for the man chained in front, you climb out and stand in line at your captor’s direction. The hood is pulled from your head blinding your eyes in the sudden sunlight. Once you finally adjust to the light, you see a large dark skinned man standing in front of you. He’s holding a whip in his right hand and a wicked-looking scimitar in the other.
“You are property of Lady Myrr. Whatever she wishes, you will do. If you disobey her, you will be punished. If you insult her name, you will be punished. If you even fucking look at her wrong—”
“You’ll be punished?”
Chained a few bodies down from you, Caitlyn speaks out of turn.
The dark skinned man, Darius, walks up to her glaring into her eyes in evaluation.
“It is unwise to speak over the man who holds your life in his hand.”
“I thought Lady Myrr owns me. Not you,” Caitlyn retorts.
Despite the truth of her words, she is met with a punch to the gut and doubles over in pain.
“Lady Myrr owns your miserable lives and I am the instrument in which she commands! I am the one who will ensure you serve the Lady. Trouble makers and insurrectionists will meet unimaginable pain before leaving this world. Now walk.”
For emphasis, Darius cracks the whip at the ground close to where Caitlyn is kneeling. He leads the group of chained prisoners through a courtyard, down several staircases, and into the dungeon. Torches hanging upon the dimly lit hallways are the only source of light. The prisoners are divided three into a cell. Unfortunately, you aren’t placed with Caitlyn. You wonder what happened to Garrick. You didn’t see him among the others. You aren’t even sure if he’s alive. Out of the two other prisoners in your cell, only one looks like a fighter. His long unkempt hair hangs to his mid back and his beard is just as long. Several tribal tattoos line his thick arms. The other prisoner looks as if he spent more time in the library than the training grounds.