The Lost Princess

Chapter One: The Prisoner pt.2

***

For two years Amara sat in the bowels of the dungeons of Calathil, the great city of moonlight. The sound of rodents could be heard occasionally, and the tortured screams of the other prisoners echoed off the slimy, moss-covered walls. But all this had become normal, and the young princess no longer winced at the screams or flinched when the rats ran across the floor.

She pulled herself into sitting position on the rotten board that served as her bed. The burlap covering she wore rubbed against the stripes on her back, and she grimaced. The wounds had just started to heal. She ran her hands through her hair; it was matted and dirty. Would they come for her again today? How much longer would they assail her before they gave up? Until they killed her, just as they had killed her father? For two years she had endured their tortures, telling them nothing. She had survived.

An abrupt bang came from down the hall, causing her to jump. It was followed by a burst of light, illuminating her cell. The silhouette of a large man stood in the doorway, and though the light that shone behind him blotted out his face, Amara knew it well. She stared up at the figure, her golden eyes flashing. They spit fury and looked like fire. She could feel his smirk as he gazed down at her.

"It's amazing how beautiful you still look, Your Highness, after all you've been through."

She bared her teeth at him, making feral growl in her throat.

"Now, now, Princess, let's behave."

"Come a little closer, Garaf, and I'll rip out your throat," she snarled at the guard, spitting each word as if it were venom. All he had to do was give her even the slightest opportunity, and she would end him.

Garaf guffawed at her as three other guards filed in behind him. "Come now, Your Highness. We both know I would never be so careless."

She glowered up at him.

"Get up and put your hands through the slot!" he barked.

The young woman stood, her eyes never breaking their gaze. The light fell on her slight form, broken and battered by the years of abuse. However, her face was devoid of the torture that had been inflicted on the rest of her being. Her skin was deep bronze and her eyes, like shining gold, dominated her face. Her rosebud-shaped lips were set in a grim line as she slid her hands through the slot in her cell door. She winced as metal shackles latched around her bruised wrists.

"Attagirl," Garaf said with a wolfish grin. He moved to open the door.

Amara shifted her weight forward, bending her knees. The cell door slid open. Her muscles tensed.

"Well, my dear, are you..."

Garaf didn't even see her coming. She lunged forward, and clasping her hands together, she brought them up under her tormentor's chin with such force that the snap of his jaw wrenching closed echoed through the room. He slumped to his knees, dazed, and she slashed her nails across his face. Blood spattered along the muddy cell floor. The three guards leaped on her and pinned her to the ground, smashing her face against the hard stones.

Garaf quickly regained his footing. "You little—"

"Silence, Garaf."

The cold, silky voice turned Amara's blood to ice. Not even her hatred could burn away the cold she felt at the sound of it. A hooded figure dressed all in black entered the room. The temperature plummeted, and every person's breath became visible, smoking from their lips.

"Let her up, please," the voice implored, patient.

Two guards hoisted the bedraggled girl to her feet. She lifted her eyes to the hooded figure's shrouded face. She could not see any features in the black, but the power of his being was palpable. The evil that flowed from him choked her. She struggled against the guards.