Acclayne Book 1: The Game Begins

It was late now; the little bit of light that had managed to pass beyond the shutters had disappeared and the Princess could feel herself beginning to nod off in her chair. She'd been trapped in the small room for a week now, at least. Her initial panic had subsided and she was left feeling resigned to her imprisonment. She reasoned that her life couldn’t possibly be in danger because if she was wanted dead then it would probably have been easier to send a hit after her; rather than arrange a kidnapping. She was being used as a bargaining chip, for money probably.

Princess Stella had barely left the palace as a young girl and at the age of seventeen her excursions out into the kingdom of Corthus were few and far between. It was on one such rare outing that her coach had been hijacked and she had been bundled off; quite unceremoniously she had later thought, to this small shack in the middle of goodness knows where.

Her captor was a large, bumbling man whose stench she could smell before he even entered the room. She had yet to learn his name. Stella was no genius herself but she could spot a mindless minion a mile away and she felt it safe to assume that she was not dealing with the brains behind the operation. Conversation with the unkempt man had been somewhat lacking; his responses to her questions had consisted mainly of low grunts and snarls. This was, however; a step up from his response on the first day which was to gag her with a; quite frankly, rancid piece of cloth. The princess tilted her head back to ease the strain on her neck. Her dark hair had long fallen out of her immaculate bun and now tickled her back between her shoulder blades. She dreaded to think what she must look like; she hadn’t washed in days. She guessed that she mustn’t have smelt very pleasant either but it was hard to judge considering her surroundings. She wrinkled her nose; this was hardly a place for a Princess.

As Princess Stella contemplated her plight her captor entered the room and slammed the rickety wooden door behind him. He plonked himself down heavily on a small chair across the room from her, pulled a bread roll out of his pack and began munching away on it. The Princess straightened up in her chair out of indignation:

“Now look here you.” She started, her voice shrill with anger and frustration. “I have had just about enough of this. I have no idea where I am or what I’m doing here, I haven’t washed in at least a week- though I dare say you can barely notice given the state you are in, I cannot remember when I last had something decent to eat… and you come in here, sit down opposite me and stuff your face without even so much as a ‘hello’. You may be a common criminal but that is hardly an excuse for rudeness. You might at least have offered me some bread…” Princess Stella’s stomach chose that exact moment in which to grumble; embarrassingly loudly she thought, yet perfectly timed as if to demonstrate her point. The bulky man opposite her tossed a roll at her which hit her squarely in the chest before falling into her lap. She stared down at it for a moment; it didn’t look particularly appetizing. In fact it looked stale. Her stomach grumbled again; loudly. “Thank you, but how am I supposed to eat this?” The man grunted an incoherent response while he ate his own. “Well?”

“…With yer mouth?” he snarled at her; bits of bread clung to his dirty moustache.

“Oh yes, very good, very funny. My hands are tied together so unless you wish to feed me then untie me.”

“Oh no, I can’t be doing that.”

“I’m hardly going to run away am I?” She nodded down to her feet which were tied by the ankles to her chair. “And I can hardly put up much of a fight can I? Unless of course I was to hit you with the bread roll because; quite honestly, I think it is well past being soft enough to eat comfortably…”

Cutting her off mid-flow the large man before her stood, groaning as he did so. He stomped, flat footed, over to where the princes sat and clumsily untied her hands. Her wrists were sore and chaffed where the thick rope had rubbed against her skin.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“So. Seeing as we have now established that you are not a mute and are quite capable of understanding and answering questions… may I know your name?”

The man swallowed his food before answering; “No.”

“Well I hardly think that is fair.”

“Listen girly, life isn’t fair.”

“I see.” Princess Stella daintily picked up her bread roll and examined it carefully. It was stale that was for sure but it looked clean enough. She took a small bite. It was heavily salted and gritty. “Oh!” her mouth pursed in disgust. “Where on Earth did you get such terrible bread? I don’t think I have ever tasted bread as horrid as this before, you really ought to rethink…”

“I made it.”

“Oh. I see.” And with that Stella finished her bread roll without saying another word; much to her captor’s relief.

Outside the small shack a man stood in the shadows, it was late and he had come a long way in a short space of time. Doing so always wore him out. He sat down quietly on the ground; he would rest a moment before moving on. It was not safe to sleep here. He counted out the coins that his ‘friend’ had given him. He had been short changed, again. He would be sure to bring it up with him next time; it was important that he not underestimate who he was dealing with. The money was of little consequence to him; but he would not be made a fool of.

From where he sat he could hear the Princess prattling on. It was a wonder that she had so much energy given the circumstances. But, he reasoned, a lack of energy had never been her problem. He stood swiftly and pulled down his hat. The night air was cold around him; he would find somewhere sheltered to sleep. As he set off he put his hands in his pockets; in his right hand he could feel the stone gently pulsing. Quietly he hummed to himself.