The Crowned Captive

Her head throbbed, and the copper tang of blood and earth coated her mouth. Despite the pain jarring her joints and teeth, Morana attempted to heave herself up from the ground. Her efforts only rewarded her with another face full of dirt as she slipped. Someone beside her snickered and shifted, but made no move to help her upright. Through the golden afternoon light, she looked at her dilemma. Rope bindings fastened her hands and feet, and a fire flickered in front of her. Finally, Morana started to piece the day together.

Her eyes flared open as worn brown boots appeared in front of her face, the toe hooking under her cheek and tilting her head upwards. Her eyes met those of the man - no, fae - from the inn. With the fire flickering beside them, his eyes were a stunning rich green, moving like the forest canopy swaying in a storm. His copper hair was pulled into a loose bun atop his head, exposing his delicate pointed ears. He grinned down at her, showing off the fangs between his full lips. Morana struggled not to flinch away from those, the childhood stories of them ripping out men’s throats coming to the surface in her mind.

“Wake up time, princess,” he purred, dagger flashing in his hand. He reached down, grabbing her by the collar of her dress and hauling her upright as if she weighed nothing. “Time to have a chat”.

Her stomach coiled at the thought of what the elf meant by chat, but she forced herself to nod. With ropes so chaffingly tight around her wrists and ankles, there was no chance for escape. She had not missed the glowing irons in the fire, either. Resistance was futile. The elf moved and sat across from her again, leaving the crackling fire between them. Without a word, he began working on sharpening that wicked dagger in his hand. The emerald-encrusted hilt glittered between the spots of dried blood - her blood, she realised, as her head throbbed.

“There are two ways this evening can go. The easy option is to simply answer each question I ask, in its entirety, quickly and honestly. Cooperation will be rewarded. The fun option is for you to struggle or lie.” His face became completely and utterly predatory as he stilled, grinning over the fire at her. “If you do not cooperate, I have been permitted to use whatever means necessary to make you talk, as long as I bring you back alive. I promise you, that leaves plenty of options.”

“It’s not like I can lie anyways,” she replied, trying her hardest not to look as terrified as she felt. Her mouth dried as the faerie stared her down, holding her eyes with a curious look for an extremely uncomfortable length of time before she finally snapped her head away. He laughed then and continued dragging his blade over the whetstone.

“Interesting little enigma, you are. Let’s start off easy, then. What is your name?”

“Morana,” she replied. The words were uncomfortable in her dry and aching mouth.

“So lovely to meet you, Morana,” he rolled her name through his mouth as if tasting it. “I am Rowan.” The smirk on his face made it blatantly clear that he didn’t expect her to get to use his name very much. “Which of your parents were fae?

The bluntness of the question jarred her. In any other circle, people whispered about the possibility of fae heritage, lest someone overhead and someone ended up dead. It was worse than any illness or malady. The man in front of her showed no sign of caring for that fact currently, however.

“My father,” she replied slowly, seeing no other way around the uncomfortable questioning whilst being held at knifepoint.

“And who exactly was he?”

The bitter laugh bubbled unbidden from her lips. “I wasn’t aware any half-fae ever actually knew their fathers well,” she initially replied, then the darkening of her captor’s face warned her that response was far from satisfactory. Swallowing, she continued. “I don’t think my mother even knew him. I never met him and she never spoke of him, even in passing.”

She hoped the answer was enough. Rowan’s eyes narrowed and the rhythm of his blade faltered for a second as he scrutinised her, before he nodded and returned to his task. It was as if he truly did not believe she could not lie.

“Your mother? Who and what was she?” He continued his questioning. Morana’s brows furrowed, confusion evident across her face.

“Human,” she replied. Again, his tempo with his blade paused.

“I have warned you against half-truths. They will not protect you. Would you like to try again?”

“I wasn’t aware any other combination made a halfling. I am sure you can see I am not half ox.” Gods strike me down, I am not helping myself, she thought as the words left her mouth. Surely it must be the concussion.

“You are as dumb as one to challenge me currently, whilst you are at my complete mercy. Either tell me what your mother did with her pathetic life, or I will force it from you.”

“You seem to have been stalking me for long enough to know she is gone. Why don’t you tell me?”

The fight left her as the fae man stood, face darkening, and walked straight through the damned fire. The flames parted for him like obedient pets, returning to their previous state as he left the fire’s border completely unharmed. Slowly, lazily, he crouched before her, resting the tip of the blade against her lower lip. She stilled completely at the sting of it, feeling the wetness of blood welling at the point.

“Do not underestimate me, little flea. You are nothing more than a pest I would much rather be rid of. Give me the information I want, and you remain... mostly unharmed.” He flashed his fangs in a sickening grin. “Otherwise, let’s see how ugly I can make that pretty little face of yours.” His eyes flickered down to her lips as he traced the blade over them, featherlight, then back to her terrified eyes.

“She was a witch, and lived as a hermit in the forest around Inglehelm,” she murmured, mood darkening and stomach curdling at unbidden memories, hyperaware of the press of the dagger against her flesh. Rowan brushed a hand over her cheek in mock affection, and Morana had to resist the urge to spit on him.

“Good girl,” he purred, walking back through the fire to his long, now flipping the dagger effortlessly in his hand. “And you have no magic blood, even descending from two magic parents?”

“If I did, would you expect me to be sitting here helplessly?”

“Very well then. What was her name?”

“I was too young when she passed to remember. I knew her as Mama and nothing else.” Rowan was nearing dangerous territory with his questioning.

“How did she meet her end?”

Morana snapped her mouth shut at that, glaring at him and refusing to answer. That predatory glaze came back to his eyes once more then. He stood, walked over to her and crouched before her, tipping her face up to look into his eyes with the tip of his dagger. She swallowed as he grinned down at her, all teeth and fangs and malice.

“I do require an answer,” he purred, tracing the dagger tip up her jawline. “You really do wish for me to have some fun today, little gnat. I can assure you that whatever memory you are fleeing from is nothing compared to what I have in store for you if you continue to test me.” He stopped with the dagger tip resting just below her left eye. She stopped breathing as it rested there, his eyes boring into her.

“Try again.”

She swallowed, fighting off the fear that coiled around her throat. He simply stared at her as she tried to calm herself.

“She sold things to the nearby village to make ends meet. I am not sure what for, but men came one day and she hid me away. I curled up under the floorboards and hid whilst they beat her and cut her until her blood dripped down and soaked me. I stayed there after the men left, frozen, unable to make my body move. The flames they set caught around me, and I still couldn’t move. I have no clue how I got out. The villagers found me the next morning, still covered in blood and staring at the burning house. They sent me off to an orphanage. I was five.” Bile rose in her throat as she tried to block the fire flickering in front of her out of her mind. Even now, she could feel blood dried on her skin.

“Who were they? Humans?” He queried. His voice had softened somewhat but was still callous.

“I don’t know,” she snapped, glaring at the elf once more. Faint amusement washed over his face briefly.

“And you are certain she didn’t have any fae blood?”

“I have already told you she was human.”

Rowan scowled then, watching her for a moment as she tried to school her emotions back into calmness. After a long quiet moment, he sighed and reached forward. With deft fingers, he undid the knots to her bindings. She gasped, fingers and hands tingling as circulation returned to them, and stretched her sore limbs gingerly. Rowan watched for another second, before turning away and heading for his tent.

“As promised, your reward,” he began as he began to rifle through his things. “Run, and you’ll never walk again. Now follow.”

“You truly love threatening me, don’t you,” she snarled, trying to free the memories’ lingering claws in her consciousness. Still, her heart thundered in her chest, and she flinched as the fire popped. He simply turned, raising an eyebrow. Morana hauled herself upright. Her feet screamed in protest at the weight upon them before the blood had completely returned to them, but she did not feel like looking any weaker in front of the asshole elf that currently watched her like a cute little mewling kitten.

“I would love to be back home, in a comfortable bed with a beautiful woman and a belly full of roast, where you are no longer my issue. Yet here we are, so I will make do with what I have,” he replied as she started walking towards him. He threw a lazy smirk over his shoulder as he turned and began dismantling the tent. “Do whatever you have to do to prepare for a long ride. You have two minutes.”