KINGSLAYER

♕ 7 | 1 ♕

No. He didn't want to believe it.

He could recall nothing. Still, he reached for the answer, because it was probable and it was maddening and that was what he needed. Jaylah. How many times had she promised to never turn him over to the slavers? She'd even spun some bullshit story about wanting to free the war slaves. It had to be her; she was the only one with him. Why had she done this to him?

Alexander had felt much safer in her presence knowing a person with as much power as her had ensured his protection. If anyone could have fixed his situation, it was her. A few days ago, even her knowledge about his time in slavery and his dead family didn't quite matter to him. He used to hate her so viscerally. Rightfully so. When had that changed?

Within seconds, he was seething. He was the butcher whose head would end on the chopping block if he did not kill the lamb and yet he spared her anyway. Another failing on his part. He should have never fallen for her claims that she was turning over a new leaf. She was the same ruthless monster she'd always been.

His only regret was not cleaving her head from her body when he had the chance.

Alexander had to shove down the more painful feelings that arose when he imagined her making a deal with slavers over his unconscious body. Why had he believed she would protect him? No matter how many tricks he learned, no matter how many bodies he felled, he remained a fool. He was foolish to think his mother and sisters would still be alive, foolish to believe he could actually make a difference in their lives, foolish to trust Jaylah, who was just as selfish as he was.

But now, as humiliating as it was to admit, he saw it. He imagined pulling out that part of himself between two fingers and snipping it off. All his stupid hope and naivety were gone, replaced by cold indifference.

There was utterly no reason for him to give a fuck about his own life anymore.

As soon as the thought struck him, footsteps came to the place he remembered the door was. Keys rattled, mirroring the raging heartbeats against his ribcage. There was no time for Alexander to bolster himself before he slammed the door open. Alexander flinched. It came so instinctively that a new wave of self-hatred joined his terror.

Alexander remained perfectly still, looking up to his master's imposing form like a god looking before a pesky mortal. Alexander was slumped on the floor, forgotten and bleak, while his master held the chains to the rest of his life. Perhaps he was right to hold himself like a god.

Seeking to intimidate, he approached slowly, every heavy footfall slamming through the tiny shed. Alexander stoked the fire of his anger. You're the reason I don't have a life anymore, you son of a bitch, he would scream. You deserve to watch your own terrible children be dragged away and beaten half-dead like you did to me. I'd do it myself, if I could.

The words were molasses in his mouth. Alexander wanted so badly to fight with all he had, to yell insults at the top of his lungs, to remain the ornery child his master could not break in. Alexander wanted him to flinch. Subtle horror sunk in when he realized he was too exhausted. His body and mind were depleted and aimless. He had nothing left to fight for.

As the realization sunk in, the toes of his master's boots reached his skinned knees, his face completely wreathed in shadow as he looked down upon Alexander. His body naturally wanted him to crawl away and press himself against the corner to make himself as small as possible. But he stayed. It wasn't like he hadn't been beaten before.

His master's hand moved down. Alexander's heart leapt in nauseation, his eyes trained on the zipper. Gods, he was going to pass out. He did not think he could bear it again.

Instead of doing what he feared, his master reached out to tip Alexander's chin up. "You foolish, useless swine." His voice was deceptively calm, like he was speaking to an old friend. "When you ran away, everyone talked. All my colleagues wondered how a little Navrikan devil was able to evade the authorities for so long." His fingers blessedly slipped away from Alexander's fevered skin. "That was what drove me to search for you. You are replaceable. Gods know I could—and should—find a better brute." He leaned in uncomfortably close, his breath hot against Alexander's turned face. "But I couldn't let you think you'd beaten me, now could I? I won't have you getting cocky."

With a hand in his hair to wrench back his head, he said, "Look at me. You did this to yourself. You made it personal. All that rebelling and look where it got you." He released his hold only to wrap his hand around Alexander's throat under the collar. "Chained to a wall, completely at another man's mercy." As he was wrenched forward, Alexander realized his iron collar was also chained to the wall. Even more assurance he would bring no more embarrassment. He began to choke with it pressed so snugly against his windpipe.

Everything hurt so badly. Now he was sure they had beaten him before he awoke.

A tiny scoff. "I can do whatever I want with you..." He trailed off, having forgotten what to address Alexander as.

Of course he did not care to know Alexander's name. For attendance purposes, all he was known as was a number. Thirty-seven. And sometimes his master forgot that too.

He shifted his weight. This position—his hand around Alexander's neck, forcing him down to take punishment as he choked—was so, so familiar. "Did something happen to you out there? You're not so high and mighty like you used to be." Alexander refused the need to fight as the life was strangled from him. "Finally realized your place, I hope. It's for your own good."

Alexander gave him nothing in hopes he would tire of him and move on. But his history of disobedience seemed to make his master believe he was mocking him.

"You are disposable," he hissed, shaking Alexander's limp body. "How dare you believe yourself above the rightful order of this nation when you are a single insignificant grain of sand compared to the sea that is my status? You are worthless. You are nothing."

It was odd; he was nearly asking for Alexander to fight with him. When Alexander did not, he spat in his face. "Repeat those words back to me, boy. Make me see that you understand what you are."

Everything was cold and dead and bleak. "I am disposable. I am worthless. I am nothing."

Even that did not seem to sate the senseless violence he lived and breathed for. "I could end you and it would be seen as understandable. Many of my comrades advised me to. But you do not deserve death. I deserve to have the time and labor you eluded repaid in full, and then some. For that, you will work for the rest of your life. I do not care if it kills you a few years down the line."

Just when Alexander saw black rimming the edges of his vision, his master released him. Air flooded into his lungs. He gasped as the lock snapped shut. Once Alexander was alone in the darkness again, he dry heaved a few times so violently he thought the effort of it might turn him inside out.

This was hell on earth, but at least it hadn't happened again. At least he had avoided the worst thing. Even at the thought of it, his stomach clenched in a retch.

When it was done, Alexander was empty again. He wanted his mother. In her absence, he thought of his utter failing to make anything of himself.

The collar still gave him the sensation of drowning on dry land. Moisture welled in the corners of his eyes when he squeezed them shut, leaving his head back until it hit the wood beam at his back. Why could he not have squeezed the life from Alexander a little tighter, a little longer? He would never feel safe again. There was no moving on from this.