The Stolen Prince

chapter eight.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The world came back slowly and painfully.

A fog encompassed Kit's mind, blurring the edges of reality. His head ached to hold upright. It had become painfully heavy somehow.

He remembered the time he was a young boy and had taken a jug off the top of Granna's shelf. It was filled to the brim with a liquid the color of deep burgundy and he drank it greedily, flinching at the tartness.

The way he felt now reminded him of then. The cloudiness to his mind that he couldn't shake off, the sleepiness to his movements.

It was a horrid thing to be so utterly uncontrol of your own body, your own mind. When he came back to himself, he'd make sure he dealt with whoever was responsible for violating his autonomy in such a disgusting way.

"Oh, good." A masculine voice said, "you're awake."

Kit's eyes opened, fighting the haziness of his vision. His eyes narrowed at the figure in front of him, a golden crown on top of his head alerting Kit to the fact that he was in the presence of the King. He bit back his surprise and plastered on a mask of indifference.

"And not dead, apparently." Kit's voice sounded groggy and foreign to his own ears. "I didn't know you were in the habit of taking prisoners."

"Oh, on the contrary, you're a most honored guest. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance."

"Ha," Kit let out an insincere laugh, looking down at his limbs tied down to a sturdy mahogany chair. If only it were made of wicker, he thought bitterly, it would've been easy to break out of. "Hell of a welcome you're giving me."

"This is just a precaution, I assure you." The King said, pausing his pacing. "I hear you have the most interesting reputation of escaping from seemingly impossible situations. It's a quality I most admire in you, I admit, though it would be rather inconvenient at this present moment. Can't have you running off before I've had a chance to say my piece."

Kit's eyes remained impassive. Bored, even.

"Ah, you're unmoved, I see? Despite being in the presence of a King, you cannot muster up a hint of respect? Well, you're lucky that is just the quality I've sought you out for."

The King was eager, walking circles around Kit, examining him thoroughly in a way that made Kit feel utterly exposed.

"You see," The King continued, prattling on to the boy who had no choice but to listen. "It's exactly that essence of fearlessness that makes you so desirable to me. So completely beneficial."

He paused, bending over to meet Kit at eye level.

"You do understand, of course, that as King I hold your life in the palm of my hands." The King made a gesture of displaying his outturned hand for Kit to see, his eyes were a forest of excitement. He almost bordered the territory of mania, Kit thought.

"I could extinguish you in a moment, and there would be nothing you can do about it, yet you sit here unmoving before me."

"If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead." Kit answered dryly.

"Correct!" The King clapped. "But to suit me best, I need you very much alive."

"You are a rather difficult man to track down, did you know that? I have to admit, though, that it only made me want to get ahold of you all the more for it." The King let out a deep laugh, as if sharing a personal joke with himself. "I have heard the most extraordinary stories of your talents, boy. I've had my men keep an eye on you, and though they can give me the most vivid details of your brilliant escapes, and your stealth and competencies with weaponry, no one seems to have any type of knowledge on your background, or relationships or whereabouts. You are, in a manner of speaking, a puzzle."