SPENDING TIME alone in a cold and miserable dungeon made Clara rethink everything that had happened. One minute, she was sharing a fairytale dance (or so she'd like to think) with a dashing yet uncaring prince (her mouth still tasted bitter just with the thought of him). The next moment, Flynn came, and another prince whisked her away. One good thing that came out of it was that she never crossed paths with Flynn... yet.
Unfortunately, she had become easy prey to her captors. They probably thought it would be easy as she wasn't well-guarded. Because the truth was, even if Eadric was a strong fighter, he wouldn't stand a chance if he was against that many. Some Eirinian guards came, but they were too late. And no one from them could ever stop her from fighting.
Her stubbornness would soon be the death of her. It had become her parents' concern even before when she was still a child when in truth, Clara was just fed up with her life as a prison girl (in the fanciest way).
If someone would know her story, would they empathize with her? She thought not. Unless they'd be in her shoes, people would fail to understand. They were lying when they said her power from the moon was a gift. To her, it was a curse because someone out there made it their life mission to hunt her down.
Her mother (her real mother) warned her to never cross the castle walls. Only then she'd be protected. And now that that protection was gone, how she would keep herself safe was up to her. But in her current situation, Clara failed. This was bound to happen anyway. How long would she keep in hiding if not?
Clara had lost track of time. Was it day or night? She wondered about her friends. Holly, Maxwell, Willow, and Emir (even if she wasn't sure if kissing was still part of being friends). It felt like an eternity being in that tunnel beyond the shadow door, and the entire time she was in panic mode.
She dreaded her fate. Up to this point, Clara knew not a thing as to what would happen next. When her captors practically threw her in one of their prison cells, old-and-smells-like-a-rotten-flesh-and-pee prison, they never once checked in on her since then. Maybe because they were so confident with the fact that she would not be able to escape... which was true. The wrought iron bars that had been keeping her locked in seemed to be dusted with anti-magic particles that simply melted her magic.
It was horrible to be stuck in that place alone. The whole dungeon was massive and damp. It was covered with crawling insects, puddles of water, and ash. The torch allowed her to see warped and molten metal remnants, deteriorated and maimed by time itself.
The metallic smell of blood reeked. Some were fresh as some were dry and made marks on the floor and walls. In the cell right next to hers, she could hear a low groan. Clara had no idea how many other prisoners were there, and she had no plans to make herself known. She'd rather stay under their radar.
Clara had to think of a way to escape fast. Her heart could only be at ease if she would see her friends okay with her own eyes.
That and something else. She couldn't stop thinking about the Sun magic user Meara told her to find. But how could she? The world was big and there were tons of possible places where she could start. For all Clara knew, that person could be royalty just like her. Or a commoner.
"The master wishes to see you, princess!" a voice boomed out of nowhere, severing her train of thought.
Clara leaped in surprise, the top of her head smacking the protruding metal pipe in the wall. It was only then she heard someone's footsteps coming her way.
The cell door clanged as the guard haughtily entered. He was a brawny man with a broken nose and a scar bisecting his left eyebrow—the classic image of a man who was unmoved by things of a scarier and more disturbing nature. It was probably how he'd gotten his job. Despite all this, he flinched when Clara, a girl no older than eighteen, calmly stepped out of the shadows of the dark cell.
Clara raised her eyebrows and looked at the man with defiance. "Since when Fyrians planned this and what do you need from me?"
The soldier huffed. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of her prison. "The master arranged a dinner and hereby requested your presence. Save your questions for him. I ain't talking."
Without a word, she let the guard lead her from the cell as his colleague brought up the rear. They made their way upstairs, past a number of the lower-level cells, almost completely ignoring the chants coming from the prisoners within. Almost. "Help us" was the primary cry coming from behind the iron doors and bars.
The only one she didn't bother to ignore was a prisoner who called for her name. "Princess Anneliese?"
At that, she stopped still, so statue-like that the guard made it impossible to move her. She turned to one of the cell doors where a man (who seemed to be much younger but the time he spent in prison made him look older) had his blood-caked face pressed against the bars.
"Princess," the prisoner said in a voice as rough as sandpaper. "My brother. Please, help my brother. T-The Dread has kept him locked somewhere."
"She's a princess? A royalty?" the other prisoners murmured.
Finally, the other guard snatched her arm and roughly pulled her up the stone stairs. The princess was suddenly not very concerned for her fate. The only thing in her mind was the look of hope and fear on the prisoner's face, and the Erinian insignia tattooed on his bare and scarred chest. She swept a look at the other prisoners and all of them bore the insignias of the Hiestoran empires—Eirinia, Terralis, Nivalon, and Frostalia. Not a single Fyrian was among them.
Clara had never held a grudge over an entire empire like this before. She had a strong feeling that these people were wrongly imprisoned and that their families must have been suffering from loss. She thought of so many things to make them pay by tearing their lands. And then what? Make the innocent Fyrians pay as well? No, she would never stoop that low. She would not be evil like them.
As they got out of the dungeon, all Clara could see was an endless hallway lighted by wall-mounted torches. Large tree roots had branched out from the ceiling and had crawled into the walls and floor. Even here, there were puddles of water everywhere and it was dripping down from the cracks in the ceiling overhead.
They passed by identical rustic wooden doors and took many turns in different passageways before stopping by a doorless chamber with only a black-and-gold silk curtain to keep the room's privacy.
"What are we— ah!" Clara yelped as the guard pushed her through the curtain. She stumbled and fell down smack on a synthetic carpet.
Without bothering to get up first, she looked over her shoulder and yelled, "You brute!"
"Oooh," someone crooned from Clara's front and the hairs at the back of her neck stood up. "You're here ssso early. The massster hasssn't arrived yet."
Looking straight ahead, there were two legs with a skin color somewhere between gray and green. Then looking up, the person's body boasted a wide hip, a small waist, and supple breasts. Clara then concluded it belonged to a woman. Her body was almost exposed with only what seemed to be undergarments made of leaves covering her private parts.
Then Clara saw it—a face straight out of horror books. She was no ordinary woman. Or human, at that. She had no nose, only two tiny holes where she could breathe. Her yellow eyes were wide and round and in slits like that of a feline. And she had fangs and a tongue that was similar to that of a snake, only hers was split in half, which technically made it two.
Clara suppressed the urge to scream, but she remained a straight face as she gathered herself up. Clara brushed her mess of a dress, ridding it of dirt and folds. But really, why would she still bother with an already ripped dress?
"Follow me," the woman hissed and walked to a small entryway at the corner of the room as if she was expecting Clara to just come after.
"I need to speak to your master." Clara folded her arms, squeezing her chest to make it look bigger. "The sooner, the better so we can settle things quickly." As if they would free her after all the trouble they went through. But that was another problem for Clara to think about later. First, she would need to know what she'd be dealing with before planning her escape.
Where exactly was she? How many guards were in this place? Had Fyrians turned themselves against Hiestora or were there only minorities? Those were the nagging questions living inside her head.
The snake woman turned around so fast that Clara heard her bones crunch. Fangs bared and claws extended, she said, "Massster wishesss a proper dinner, and a proper dinner calls for a proper dresss." Then she eyed Clara up and down, eyes narrowing in disgust.
Clara gulped. She raised her hands in surrender. "Alright, alright."
The woman jerked her head towards the small room, urging her to go first. She began the most agonizing walk in her entire life. She'd been contemplating whether to go along or make a run for it. Clara chose the former as it was the most convenient thing to do at the moment.
The confined space turned out to be a hidy-hole of all things rejected. In one corner sat piles of clothes that probably smelled something out of this world. Weapons were hanging by the wall. Some broken trinkets, old books, and maps were a scrambled mess on top of an antique wooden table with empty opened drawers.
Clara looked behind her. "Uh, would you mind?" The woman blinked, tilting her head. Clara groaned inward. "I'll go get changed. You don't have to watch me all the time."
"You'll essscape."
"I would have already if only I could." But as she said that, the woman still had no plan to move and kept on staring at her.
"Massster will be here at any moment. He doesssn't like waiting."
Grunting, Clara dug through the pile of dusty clothes. It smelled of mildew but not something unpleasant like she initially thought. She grabbed whatever her hand touched first in the bottom and got a wine-red dress that was long and trailing. It was simple with embroidery at the edges. The sleeves around the shoulders were bell-shaped and the dress hugged her middle just fine. Tight lacing was girdled at the hip section as if it was specifically made for her. Clara chose a pair of close pointed shoes and combed her hair with her fingers to finish her decent look.
The snake woman didn't offer any assistance, which was fine by Clara anyway. She didn't want to be anywhere near her and it was not because of how she looked, but of the fact that her kind was not usually seen around cities or even small towns unless anyone for that matter went near the Mystic Forest. That was the only place where all creatures of oddities and misfits dwell.
Clara was left alone moments later. Minutes had gone by since the woman disappeared behind the curtains and there were no guards stationed outside. She mentioned something about the food, arrangements and all. This was now Clara's chance but she wouldn't test it. Not yet.
At times, Clara would sense as if someone was standing right behind her. But as she spun around to look, there was no one there. And that dreadful feeling of being watched... Clara knew she wasn't all alone.
The chamber wasn't all that fancy and nothing in it was marveling enough. It lacked effort and care from someone who chose the furniture and decorations. Everything was in black and red from the bed sheets to the display cups, from the walls to the settee. The only things that were in different colors were the heads of the bears and deer mounted on the wall. But that wasn't all. Whoever this room belonged to had also taken a liking to collect skulls and guts stored in jars on a shelf.
Her heart was about to leap from her throat at the thought of how those came to be someone's possession when something moved behind her, a soft ruffle of the curtain. Someone else was there with her in the chamber. Racked with shivers, Clara felt the blood drain from her face. Was it the master this time? She thought of different faces of how the master probably looked and none of them eased her body's tension.
Another shiver, one of warning, ran down her spine.
"I see you've taken a liking to some of my most prized collections."
Clara turned around, leaping backward. Standing at the chamber's entrance was a tall, elderly man with long, slicked-back, silvery-white hair. He had a mustache, and a similarly long yet mildly thin and curly beard, reaching down to his lower chest. His right eye was covered by a simple eye patch. His wrinkled face was evidence of his extremely advanced age; nonetheless, his figure was muscular and well-defined.
Clara studied him more as she pressed herself into the wall behind her, farther away from him. He was wearing a dark shirt paired with armored shoulder pads and shiny gauntlets, as well as chain mail covering the parts of his arms remaining exposed. Draped over his shoulders was a large, dark cape bearing a symbol.
Cold washed over Clara the more she recognized that symbol—a gilded hand with long and pointed claws, bearing a heart dripping with blood. Warmth blossomed in her gut. It was going bonkers inside her. She hugged her arms over her stomach.
Jade.
"Lovely to finally meet the infamous princess of Zephyrus. Why don't you sit down first? Make yourself comfortable!" He gestured at the circular table near the foot of the bed, but Clara only stared at it and back at the man.
He had a broad smile plastered on his face. And when Clara didn't heed his offer, his friendly demeanor stayed but his eyes turned sharp and she swore she saw a glint of red in them.
"Sit. down," he growled, so low yet commanding. And as if Clara's legs had a life of their own, she pulled a chair and sat on it. The man took his place across from her.
However, Clara noticed that there was another vacant chair beside her.
"Are you the master they've been talking about?" she asked but the man just smiled.
"What do you need me for?" Clara pressed on. Again, he didn't answer. "So you're not going to talk at all."
"Why don't you save your questions for later once another of my guests arrives?"
"Who?"
There was a long tense silence before she heard a commotion outside. Two guards barged in, holding a struggling man between them arm in arm.
Without turning around to address his other guest, the master leaned back comfortably on his chair, interlacing his fingers, and said, "Join us, Prince Emir."
Clara's body went rigid. Her jaw dropped. She hoped that it was just an illusion, a trick of light and shadow, playing on her.
But he was real. From a small distance, she caught a whiff of his minty scent and when his penetrating eyes captured hers, a devastating jolt of electricity swept over her skin. Everything around her disappeared, obliterated by his presence. Clara's gaze locked into his and all else faded away.
Emir lost his strength to struggle upon seeing her. His shoulders went slack.
Three people together in one room. One of them was an enemy, and the other a prince who was making a mess out of her heart. It was the worst formula for a dinner night.