Prisoner Of War Pt.1

She was cold. She had been for a while. The place that they kept her in allowed no warmth and the threadbare blanket they gave her did nothing to stave off the chill. Layla was only glad that they fed her, even though the food left much to be desired. She could not complain though, she was not only feeding herself. Her hands caressed the small swell of her stomach where her babe rested and she closed her eyes, sending a prayer to Celesar to keep her child safe and that her husband would find them soon. Baeron always protected her, he had promised it in the vows and she held those close to her heart.

Shifting on the bed, she winced at the soreness in her body. The mattress was hard and thin, giving her no comfort and the iron shackle that rested around her ankle did nothing to ease her plight. Her stomach growled loudly in the quiet of the room, nausea swimming and she forced herself to take a deep breath. She couldn't afford to lose anything in her stomach now when she did not know when her next meal would be.

Sitting back against the stone wall, she sighed in misery, crystal blue eyes going to the grated window high above her prison. The crimson moon peaked high telling her that it was midday already, her only since of time. It was easy to lose that staring at the bland gray walls.

A white haired, lightly tanned man entered, holding a large tray in his hands filled with a ton of food. His hair was coiffed with golden rings and exotic makeup was painted across his face like a fine work of art. He didn't say anything as he sat the tray down.

The moment the door opened, Layla scooted to the far corner of the bed, eyeing the door fearfully. Even though they had not harmed her physically since being here, she could not find it in herself to not be. Who knew what they were planning on doing to her, not to mention her baby. Just to get at Baeron whom she had been seeing in secret. Slaves were not meant to have lovers or wives and she had been both for the large Ogosian man.

The thought of her husband made her heart ache with sadness, but none showed on her face as she watched the white haired man place down the tray of food on the small end table to the left of the bed. He was the same one who delivered her meals to her and he never spoke a word. Pulling her knees to her chest, careful of her growing belly, she shivered, as a chill ran through her.

"Thank you." Her voice was hoarse, but soft as she peeked over at the man, the iron collar on his neck glinting in the dull light. He was a slave just like her Baeron had been.

"He would give you more to drink, but the slave must give what master commands him to give." He kept his eyes on the tray held in his hands, and then walked further inside to set it beside her on the floor. "Eat up, you're eating for two and must take care of yourself."

The man moved toward the wall, leaning against the stone with his arms folded waiting for her to finish eating and drinking.

Layla was startled when he spoke, her eyes wide as she stared at the man with uncertainty. Reaching over, she picked up a piece of bread. Much to her surprise it was still warm and smelled fresh. Her stomach rumbled again and she blushed in embarrassment, taking a bite.

She ate quickly, trying not to make herself quick, drinking down the water he gave her before setting everything back down neatly on the tray. The food had filled her and left her feeling slightly warmer, but she knew that would fade in no time. Biting her lip, she looked to the man leaning against the wall, waiting.

"Thank you for bringing me food." She said softly, rubbing her at her arms. "W-would it be possible to have another blanket? The night b-brings an awful chill." She asked hesitantly.

The man didn't answer her, he only pulled his large jacket off and extended out to her. To disobey his master and bring her another blanket was like wishing death upon himself. He didn'tI glimpse at her the entire time. All slaves kept their gaze on the floor. His long hair spilled in front of him, pointed and golden ring filled ears visible momentarily before he moved back once more. "Take this and keep yourself warm. Slave will see what he can do."

He approached her, bending down so he could unlock her chains. "Come, master wishes to see you." Lifting the silver tray, he guided her down her toward the door without looking behind him.

Layla took the jacket, tugging it on slowly, her eyes never leaving the man's as he leaned down to unlock the chain on her ankle. "See me? W-why does he want that?" Her voice trembled slightly as she stood, pulling the jacket over her shoulders more securely. She hesitated a moment before following the man towards the door.

"Slave doesn't know, and if he did he would not be allotted to answer your question." The man said smoothly as he walked through the open door. There were thousands of rooms in the dark with slits in the door similar to the prison of Ushar. It was almost like the design had bloomed from this very dungeon alone, save for it had its many differences with no loud screams that echoed through the halls daily. That mainly happened in a different area if necessary. Right as they were walking up a steep set up marble steps, the door open, and someone who looked similar to the white haired man that guided her entered.

Instead of his hair being around his shoulders, it was much longer, reaching down past his mid back and touching the base of his spine. "I was just coming to see what was taking you so long Zachariah, he wants us to come immediately. I have my own people." He tugged on two ropes held firmly in his hand, and one dark skinned woman and a light skinned boy no older than eight stumbled around the corner.

"Xayvien," Zachariah said his name coldly. "You took the son and daughter of Ja'harra?"

"I do what I'm always told, unlike you." With those words, he yanked the jacket off of Layla's back that was offered to her by Zachariah.

Layla flinched as the jacket was wrenched from her shoulders, a startled yelp leaving her as she backed away from the new man, hands going to guard her belly on instinct. While the other shared similar features as the one who unchained her, his eyes were much colder, feeling Layla with a sense of fear. She trembled slightly, eyes going to the other two prisoners and her eyes misted with tears at the sight of the young boy being drug along. Not even children were spared from this harshness. Is this what would become of her child? Would she even live to know?

Azariah steadied her brother using her arm, glaring at the back of Xayvien's head. "We all get it that you want to be this big bad mage but you don't have to drag us. It's not like you walked us for miles through the cold." One would have thought at that point she wouldn't have the energy to be snippy but every injustice only fueled her hatred for the man.

She shouldn't have been surprised that there was a pregnant woman captured as well, but that was a new low even for the pale men. The woman shook like a leaf, clearly suffering in her condition and their captor had the nerve to tear away the only warmth the woman had. Her gaze softened in sympathy for the woman. Azariah managed to plant her feet solidly, pulling back her wrists which jerked on the rope. "Give it back. Being a tool shouldn't strip you of common sense. I'm sure your master," She practically spat the word at him. "Didn't tell you to freeze her to death. I've been complacent but it won't be so easy if you don show basic humanity."

Xayvien slowly turned his head to glimpse in Azariah's direction. This entire time's she'd given him mouth and caused the entire journey to be a struggle with her stubbornness. He wanted her out of his hair, but that wouldn't happen until Ragnar requested she be in the hands of someone else. His kindness was overlooked. He could be much harsher than the demands of his master. "Either you walk or you can be dragged, the choice is yours Azariah of the Anabwei tribe."

Zachariah redirected his gaze from the ground onto Xayvien. "If her child's dies, she won't wish to live. Although they aren't like our people, a mother's child is everything. Slave thinks she will be no use as leverage if she dies or her unborn child dies from the cold. Slave will take punishment if master dislikes the coat he has given her."

For a moment his brother stood still, his amethyst cheetah markings on the sides of his face starker than his own as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "If you'll take the punishment that's on you. But I won't keep protecting you if you choose strangers over us." And with that, he shoved the coat back around the pregnant woman's shoulder and pulled Azariah's rope so harshly she went belly down onto the floor.

Akachi ran over to her. "Sister, are you okay?"

He slapped the boy upside the head. "Stand, I told you to not follow in her footsteps or you will be belly down too."

Akachi stood, rubbing the back of his head while wincing.

"I'm fine. Do as he says, Akachi." She used her elbows to prop herself back up until she could stand. It took a lot to hurt her. Azariah smiled at her little brother. "See? Don worry." Her point had been made and the woman had gotten the jacket back. That was all that mattered.

Layla looked between them with uncertainty, wincing as the dark skinned woman was pulled harshly to the floor. "T-thank you." She said to her as she stood back up, giving reassurance to the young boy. "Y-you don't need to hit them." Layla told the other, Xayvien she heard was his name.

"And you're lucky you're pregnant. Prisoners don't speak. When they do, they get hit in the mouth. Silent unless spoken to." Xayvien carried on, leading them all down the hallway that was lined with torches on the wall. Despite it being a place where hostages remained, the area was clean. Eventually, the grey stone of the basements shifted to the marble white floors of the castle. The cracks lined with golden square designs.

A large double door was ahead. Zachariah's brother pushed them open, and there was one blind eyed Ragnar sitting there on the throne, his ugly scar visible since white grey hair was combed back from his face. Atop his head sat a silver crown studied with blood red crystals shaped like a teardrop. "Azariah, you look just like your mother. Half naked and a barbaric looking scallywacker. Poor Layla, I see your husband hasn't yet returned for you and your unborn slave. Can't wait for he or she to join the family out in the gardens or in my forests." His voice sounded like the loudness of the lightning that coursed through his veins.

Azariah's honeyed gaze narrowed up at the king of D'treroh looking more pompous and cruel than she thought possible. It was as if the man that sat upon his throne somehow came to be the very embodiment of everything their people stood against. With a shift of her head she threw her long braids adorned with gold rings over her shoulder, causing the beads to sound. She gave him an exaggerated once over before sniffing, turning to look at her nails and the dirt beneath them like that was more important. "Ragnar." She greeted indifferently.

Layla shook her head in denial at his claim, heart thundering in her chest. "N-no, my baby won't be a s-slave to you. Baeron will come f-for us." She said. Even though her voice was soft and trembling, her words held conviction.

"Hm," Ragnar's voice crackled like electricity as he ran his fingers through his white kempt beard that wasn't barely a few inches long. He did this thoughtfully, scarred and unscarred brow lowering amidst his forehead. "At least you know respect and when not to run your grotty mouth. I've heard you've given my slaves a hard time during your capture. Let's not let that happen with me. You see," He leaned forward and a maid offered him a tray of sharp cheddar cheese and the ripest fruit a mage could ever bear during Frostdrift. "I'm not one to go back and forth like all those pusswisses you usually deal with. I don't like arguing, especially with smart mouth whores who wouldn't know who their father was in the middle of a whore house. I will split you in two."

He twisted a ring nonchalantly on his ring finger and waited; he gave her the opportunity to weigh her life in her own hands. She said something, he'd do just that. Slice the dark whore where she kneeled in front of him. Then proceeded with talking while his servants cleaned her guts and intestines off the floor. Layla would be next to address after he dealt with Azariah. Because he didn't like what the swollen bellied woman said either. Had a wildling, savage in her stomach and told him what her child would and would not do before a king.

The Kovyan woman's nose flared and she very well weighed her options. Getting out a few insults wasn't worth her life or her brother's though. She couldn't leave him on his own surrounded by men who would gladly take pleasure in her death, or the thought of her mother grieving thinking that she would have done more to protect them. Azariah took a deep breath, shaking her head, hands clenching and unclenching. She would say nothing.

"Good," Ragnar's rough face twisted into satisfaction as he went on to say. "You know your place." His fading green eye remained normal while the grey blind one widened a bit, both directing her to bow to him.

Azariah wanted to be able to swallow her pride as a free woman who had the right to choose who she followed, but it was much harder than remaining silent. Her gaze met Ragnar's. There was no searching in the depths of his fraying vision when all that she saw was all that there was to him; dominate and rule. It didn't matter by what means or the cost as long as he remained in control. She had to remind herself that it wasn't just for her own well-being. Somehow that didn't make it any easier. Tension that crackled with static rose in the air so thick she could taste it. Her gaze remained unwavering full of intent. She would not bow to a king that was not her own.

"I respect that," Ragnar said. "But," Within a blink, he was in front of her and he smacked her across the face, sending her onto her back. A foot came down onto her throat but not enough to crush anything, just enough to cut air circulation. Akachi ran forward and got backhanded onto his rear, sliding across the floor until his back hit the wall. "As long as you're under my roof, you respect me as a king, whether I'm your king or not." Using his large hand, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her like a whore in the tavern, her forehead bumping harshly against the floor. "That's better."