CHAPTER ONE – Lisane #2
Then I saw the long and narrow room beyond and stopped.
It was clearly a dining hall—a long, dark wooden table marked it as such—but there were only two chairs, one at each end.
The one closer to me was placed behind an empty silver plate, whereas I presumed my captor sat behind the other, and his plate was full.
He was bigger than all but a few of my father’s guards, and looked sterner than most of them, with sharp cheekbones and a square chin.
He had black hair to his shoulders, dark eyes, pale skin, and lips that seemed used to frowning, just like he was now.
He was dressed in some sort of black leather shirt, I could tell by the way that it was draped on him, although the cuffs of it were folded back in a workman-like fashion, revealing a dusting of black hair and the stripes of several different scars on both his muscular forearms.
His eyes squinted and his nostrils flared at seeing me. I looked at his full plate—I didn’t think he’d taken a single bite.
Either he was exceedingly polite, or he’d arranged this display to continue my torture.
“May I sit down?” I asked, attempting courtesy, hoping it would be returned in kind.
“You may,” he said, gesturing to the table’s far side. I sat down in the only other chair and saw my wan reflection on the dull silver plate in front of me.
The second I sat, he started eating, and even though I wasn’t thirsty anymore my mouth watered. Perhaps there was a slim chance he’d forgotten that captives also needed food.
“May I eat?” I interrupted him when he showed no signs of slowing.
He ignored me, taking a deep drink of whatever was in his goblet, and then surveyed me with disdain as he set it down. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“What kind of answer is that?” I snapped before I remembered the importance of manners when placating strange men. My jaw clenched and my teeth ground, as he made a show of licking gravy off a knife in front of me, the corners of his lips just barely lifting up.
“The kind of answer you’re going to get, my drab little moth, until I decide.”
I watched him take several more bites, listening to my stomach rumble all the while. “I’m Princess Lisane.” I had a name, and I would rather he used it.
“Oh, yes, I know,” he said, rubbing a piece of meat around his plate with a fork, before putting it in his mouth and biting it free. “Your friends mentioned that when they dropped you off.”
I frowned, then I realized I probably shouldn’t show him any disappointment. “Those weren’t my friends,” I stated, pretending to be bold.
One of his eyebrows arched coolly. He was almost done with his plate now, but surely there was more food where it had come from. “What is the last thing that you recall?”
I’d spent half my time in his dungeon trying to remember, when I wasn’t focused on being hungry, or wondering how strong the stones on the floor were.
I’d been in the carriage, and we were thundering for the border, away from the Deathless, and then .
. . “We were traveling.” Was Castillion dead?
He’d been one of my guards since I was a child.
He would’ve never let anything happen to me.
“Who brought me here? And who are you? Does my father know I’m here? Have you asked for ransom yet?”
He brushed away my questions with a hand as he pushed his plate away from him, then gave me a piercing stare. “Tell me, little moth, what is your pride worth to you?”
I blinked, distracted at once. “Excuse me?”
“Your pride. Do you hold it in high value?” He settled his silverware away. “I find myself suddenly curious.”
“I—” I began, trying to figure out his game, but also feeling angry.
“I am a woman of high rank. And while I have no idea who you are, or why I’m here—I know that I’m well-loved.
My father, my brother, and Ker Vethys, my betrothed and a Prince of the Seven, will be looking for me.
So while you may have me at a disadvantage now, sir, trust that it is momentary, and you should do nothing untoward. ”
His eyes lit up in clear amusement. “I would never, little moth. And you may trust that for as long as you’re trapped in here with me, I’ll never make you do anything that you don’t want to.”
“Good,” I breathed, relaxing slightly.
He watched me, and he laughed, shaking his head subtly.
“Not really. Because I will make you want to do untoward things for me, moth. Eventually.” I swallowed and I frowned as he went on, “So let’s begin.
” He circled the plate in front of him with a finger in the air.
There were still several bites of meat on it, and vegetables, and his goblet must have been half-full.
“Crawl over here atop the table, and eat this like a cat in front of me.”
I looked between him and his half-eaten food. “I would never,” I gasped, pushing my chair back, while he weighed me with his eyes.
“Is that so?” he asked. Mocking me seemed to be his favorite sport.
“Because I believe you will, moth. Given time. Only the next plate, instead of treating you like a favored cat, I will treat you like a favored dog, and it will be on the ground.” He snapped his fingers and pointed toward his feet.
“And the plate after that will be back in your dungeon, and then who only knows when the door will next open up.”
At the thought of being trapped back in that—that—place—“You wouldn’t,” I tried, searching for a way to reason with him.
“Do you know me?” he asked, sounding curious and leaning forward, but when no recognition fluttered in my eyes he sank back again. “Then perhaps you should assume I would.”
My heartbeat rushed, I could hear it pounding in my ears. “Is this a prank? To humble me?”
“Does it feel like a prank to you?” he asked, with a shrug, then grinned wickedly. “No? I’ll give you a few more moments to decide.”
I sat in the chair, aching, my stomach practically folding in on itself from lack of food.
What would my family think if they knew?
Would Vethys still want my hand if he knew I had crawled for another?
But . . . how would any of them ever find out, if I didn’t tell them?
Because surely, when they paid my ransom, I would make them kill this man.
I envisioned the moment my guards would cut off his hands and feet and feed him his tongue and he—whoever he was—would regret the moment he’d ever seen me and come up with this plan. He would be rendered helpless before choking on his own blood.
And in the end it was thoughts of violence and retribution that got me up onto his dining room table.
Hands and knees. The hard wood of the table hurt to crawl on, and my poor cut hand was still throbbing; but none of that mattered anymore, because I needed to survive long enough for revenge.
I hitched up the edge of the ugly dress I wore, so as not to crawl atop it, and I made my way down to his side of the table with vengeance in my soul.
A slow, cruel smile spread across his face as I neared, and when I reached his plate I pulled it toward myself. I started eating what he’d left on it with my hands. From up close I could see that he had also had several faint scars on his face, and he watched me with glittering eyes.
“Eat slowly, moth. You don’t want to get sick,” he warned.
I waited until I was three bites in and licking drippings off my fingers to eye him with venom. “I will kill you, in time,” I swore.
He nodded in solemn agreement. “Of that, I have no doubt.”