THE CONFLICT #2

CHAPTER 5

NOVENA

I open my eyes, groaning with the lightness of my head. I blink back the sickly feeling crawling in the pits of my empty stomach again as I stare at the small scene before my eyes without lifting my numb body from the soft blankets that are wrapped around me. The last thing I remember is staring up at Zelus’s grim face as he… well he clearly didn’t kill me. I stir only a little to stretch my tense muscles when the body lying at my back makes itself known.

A deep voice fills my ears, “I’m glad you are finally awake.”

I’m startled as I hear his voice close beside me. I jerk fully awake as his smell tingles my nose so strongly that I cough.

I can feel his breath on the skin of my back, against my neck. "Now the fun can truly start." He says and it sounds like a promise for things to come that I will not enjoy.

I shiver… my whole body giving in to the urge.

My mind is racing again but this time with the wrong thoughts. I can see his arm is bare above me and suddenly my skin crawls with the heat of embarrassment. I feel horribly fluttered at how intimately this scene feels. The naked skin on his golden arms are smooth and unmarked and I’m wondering what else is bare. Blushing profusely at such a scandalous thought, I take action, placing distance between us. Slowly, I move carefully out his warrior arms. He lets me go with a satisfied smirk on his striking face that I catch a glimpse of over my shoulder. I lift myself agonizingly slowly, my stomach threatening violence as I safely put distance between us before facing him. I look down at him from my full height, searching his haughty face. I grapple with my mind as his golden skin, smooth over his well-formed chest comes into view. The start of a scar running along his ribcage is the only impurity marking his upper body that I can see. Looking closer, I realise they are made from a large claw. Someone hurt him, someone managed to hurt the Crowned Wolf of the North. I doubt they survived. I snap at myself mentally for such sympathies, now is not the time for that.

He is the enemy.

You are a prisoner.

Now is not the time to let my foolish young mind focus on such things as beauty and pretty words. He is a bomb wrapped as a present, waiting for me to slip up and dare to open it. He tucks his thick arm behind his head as he lazily watches me with hooded eyes, a satisfied smile playing on his full lips. He’s satisfied with his victory. My capture and imprisonment are his victories.

“I thought you were going to kill me.” I muse. I would like to forge carelessness but the tongue slides the words off rather sharply.

Looking into his silver eyes, I don’t trust that he still won’t. Werewolves can lie as easily as any other species as far as I am concerned. The moment I lose my usefulness, it’s over. I won’t foster any romantic ideas of a charming misunderstood prince. This is just a small battle in a much larger war.

“That’s a strange thing to think.” He chuckles, the sound pleasantly filling my ears, “Why would I waste time killing you like that when I could just snap your neck as easily as breathing?” He reasons, making me blush at my foolish thinking.

Of course, why didn’t I think of that, I mentally roll my eyes.

"Yes, why didn't you?" I ask.

"I have far more entertaining ways of breaking you and your family." His smile is devilish, "You might find that you enjoy my ideas for you just as much as I." The corner of his lips turn up, tauntingly.

My eyes widen at his suggestion. The arrogance of this man. I wonder if this is how others preserve all of us royals to be.

Boastful.

Self-important.

Self-opinionated.

Spoilt.

I strongly doubt that the prince gets turned away often. If not because of his good looks then certainly for his status. My mind strays to other thoughts, more disturbing images. Emmaline’s frightened face is all that I can see suddenly and the sounds of her screams ring loudly in my ears. Her, wrapped up in blankets lying on a cot across from mine. Her fiery hair cascading over the edge. The hard and inelegant fall from the back of the army truck. Vomiting my guts up. I feel the blood drain from my face as the memories assault me. Zelus senses my change in mood. I see it on his face, the hardness that enters his eyes and stiffens his face. A readiness to combat anything I throw at him. He is a true soldier.

“Where is Emmaline?” I demand weakly, depriving my lungs of air as I hold my breath for a favorable answer.

He smiles then, relaxing as if the question holds no weight or importance, “The little red head? She’s fine. You may see her soon if you behave to my liking.”

And I exhale, a sigh of relief escaping from my lips. "Behave? Surely you must be of the opinion that I am here willingly?" I mock, however, sobering just as quickly.

I tense up as I notice his cold watchful eyes. Those silver orbs seem like mirrors, showing me just how small and reliant I am on his hospitality. He doesn’t seem to mind staring, nor does he appear embarrassed or bashful at being caught.

“Who is she, that she is so important to you?” he asks curiously, the curl in his smile making me nervous.

He is asking about Emmaline.

Odd that he should ask. I would have thought he would have seen her in Foreign Muse or at the very least heard about her through Pallas and her involvement with my family. Were we the only one’s curious about the way the other side lived? Did he even know what I looked like before the day he bit me? Marking me forever. And if he really is so clueless, should I expose who she really is to me? What if he uses her against me? I mentally shove those questions away, it's too late to think like that. If he cares to find out, he won’t struggle for the information.

“She’s a friend from the palace.”

“I see. A friend that shares chambers with you and accompanied you during the negotiations.” He drawls, “She must be an important friend, especially for you to beg for her life. Or is that common place for you?” he muses in a mocking tone, “Are you so soft hearted?”

I say nothing. His words stiffen my spine. He seems so comfortable in his own skin, so confident of himself that it makes me feel so out of place standing before him, wrestling with myself to remain calm… careful. Oddly, my blood seems to hum in my veins. The sensation makes me crave to be here for so long as possible in his overbearing presence, while inhaling his intoxicating scent that lingers everywhere he is. Strange that I should care about scents all of a sudden. He lifts his upper body, and my innocent eyes betray me as they follow the dripping blankets as it exposes the full view of his sculpted chest and muscularly toned stomach. So damningly beautiful! Even the scars marking his ribs aren’t enough to spoil the sight of his beauty. I catch my thoughts. What is wrong with me? I’m his prisoner. He kidnapped me and my best friend and he is holding us against our will. Ashamed, I have to restrain from lowering my head.

He moves quickly.

The smooth movement liquid as he stands. All broad chest and long limbs. It’s hard to remember who he is, not what he is – a man that could make me burn. I have a strong desire to find out what the taste of his skin would be like under my lips. I mentally shake myself.

“Why did you abduct me?” I say without thinking, trying to distract myself.

A smile pulls at his full lips, making his beauty mark dance, “How can I abduct something that already belongs to me?” He purrs, “I simply took what was mine.”

The way he says mine makes me shiver.

“Someone,” I emphasize, noting his sharp stare. I finish, “not something. You took me against my will.” I state, my hands on my hips, imitating Maddie when she’s angry.

No, don’t think about it.

I don’t shrink away when he reaches for me. I will myself to seem unafraid, to be still.

Don’t let him know, don’t let him see, my mind warns.

I feel his fingers on my bare arm, tracing the marked skin. “These are from a werewolf.” He says as a matter of fact, his voice a little darker, unnerving as he muses at my now slightly scarred arm.

“He’s dead.” I tell him, thinking of the grey wolf that has haunted my dreams along with the winged boy. So many haunting corners in my mind and the war has only just begun. What will my sleeping mind be like at the end? If I’m still around for the end.

He hmm’s deeply in his throat, the sound perking my attention, “A pity.”

“Why would you say that?” I sound surprised, maybe because I thought he wouldn’t care.

Strangely, I am unconcerned by his eyes beholding my imperfection. No, my mind only focuses on the way his fingers slide over the scars on my forearm. I should be embarrassed by the scars littering my arm, but it shows that I am a survivor, that I lived. I won’t be ashamed. That’s what I keep telling myself, until I find that the scars don’t bother me as much as they used to. But the incident is a reminder of how easily I can be killed. How fragile the human body is. He is watching me now as if he is trying to read every thought that flickers into my head, finding a way through my eyes as if they betray my secrets. Maybe they do. He looks so much like a human, searching for answers in another. But then, they aren’t so different.

“He probably died such a quick death.” He sounds disappointed, as if he were deprived of a luxury, “I gave explicit orders and he almost cost me something far more precise than any jewel or gold."

He leans closer, cooking his head seductively "My mate."

My spine stiffens at my mate. The way he says those blasted words with such ownership, with such possession scares me more than I would like it to. The edges of a smile pull at his lips. There is no warmth in the curves of that wicked look this time, it makes him seem far more cruel.

“But then,” He purrs, still running his fingers over the tiny scars, “I gave you orders too. And you disobeyed me.”

I don’t miss the sinister undertone lurking in his voice. He probably doesn’t get disobeyed regularly, not without dire consequences. I huff in annoyance, willing to admit that at this moment I can still push my luck.

“I don’t take orders from you.” I inform him sternly, “I no longer take orders from anyone but myself.” I say firmly.

He tsks, as if speaking to a child, “You could have died.” Like I didn’t already know that.

I stand with my hands planted firmly at my sides, “Well that would have been your fault, wouldn’t it? Since you ordered the attack! You can’t keep me here, you know.” I say defiantly, my chin rising in challenge, my eyes boring into his, as if I could command him, as if I could intimidate the beast.

I swallow my emotions, opting for a different approach, “If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t be destroying my life. You wouldn’t be attacking my home and killing my people.”

My heart flutters in pain at the thought of Maggie, of her dead eyes staring at nothing on her grave on the stairs.

He’s brows shoot up in a moment of amused surprise. His chuckle serves to ignite my anger further. “I keep forgetting how young you are.”

Smiling as he considers how best to proceed with me, like I’m some child to be handled.

“Our countries are at war Novena,” He says gently but I don’t miss the excitement in his eyes at those words, “And you are for all intended purposes a hostage of great importance.”

I know that I want to snap, that I want to lash out at him but I hold my tongue. His words have a chilling effect. A hostage of war. I’m a hostage, his prisoner, at his mercy. A smarter person would speak less and listen more, but I’m not known for my composure or my restraint. Instead my blazing nature has always been my go-to in moments of uncertainty.

Zelus continues, “Think about the consequences of that.” He prompts, “Your country has lost its King and now another of its two remaining royals. We have stolen from them the most important people in their world. The people who should have been the most protected. Once that leaks to the public there will be chaos and possibly mutiny within your army. Given enough pressure, your brother will submit to my terms.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Zelus makes an interesting face as he thinks about this, “Well it would certainly say a lot about your brother. But I highly doubt he will continue to attack after they failed to take Stone City after your capture.”

I had almost forgotten about that. The disappointment consumes me, all my careful planning and hard work for nothing. Failed. They failed. The news is crashing.

“Don’t look so grim. They gave it their best, no doubt hoping to rescue you.” He brushes the loose strands of dark hair, falling out of my short bun, behind my ear on the one side. “Your brother fought valiantly. I respect courage and even more, savagery. He is indeed a skilled warrior.”

It pains me to ask, “So he lives?” I had to be sure.

Our conversation before leads me to believe that Zelus is under the impression that Ragnar is still very much alive and in charge, however I need to hear him say the words.

He makes a sound of amusement in his throat, “Of course," He says with astonishment that I would even ask. Then he adds,"With my grace. There is an order for his capture, not his death.”

There is a warning there. Unspoken as it is, the look in his eyes told me that his orders could change at any time.

“Cost me some good warriors, however he would be here if he had lost a fight. And if he had died… say by mistake, I would know about that too.”

“Thank you.” I force myself to say, knowing that his order is more for me than for Ragnar.

He seems pleased with my gratitude as he makes little effort to hide the pleasure he derives from those two words. He inhales near me, not bothering to hide his behavior either, or the way his eyes linger on my face and neck longer than what would be deemed appropriate.

His fingers move to grasp my own, "This doesn't have to get ugly between us, Novena. I want to make you happy and you will be with me. It's already been written in our fates." He predicts, lifting my fingers to brush his lips against them.

My breath quickens. The obsession is so plainly there that it frightens me. I remove my hand from his grasp. He doesn't seem to mind. Feeling rather exhausted and altogether overwhelmed, I let my eyes linger on the side of the bed I had been laying on. Seeming to get the hint, Zelus waves a hand in its direction, moving aside.

“Rest, I have things I must attend to.”

Grateful, I bury myself back into the warmth of the covers. I don’t take my eyes off him or relax my guard. Instead, I make a conscious effort to know exactly where he is and what he is doing. I watch as he pieces together an outfit, shamelessly changing without concerns of decency. I am guilty of letting my eyes linger longer than they should have. After a few minutes of movement in the room, Zelus leaves me to my peace as the weight of what has accrued fills my dreaming mind.