THE CONFLICT #2

CHAPTER 8

EMMALINE

After the conversation with the strange human servant this morning, I find myself desperate for company. I can’t even remember the last time I had this much alone time. Always, I have had something to do. Even when I want to get away from everyone and be by myself, Novena and I share quarters, she is usually never far away. Neither is Corax. Now, I feel the loneliness like a depressing weight to an already desperating situation. I spent most of the day deep in thought or searching for something I could use to make into a weapon to no avail. The cell has neither furniture nor glass for mirrors or used for the shower. Lying upon the double bed I commit myself to analysing the situation. I have no doubt that the kidnapping had not originally included me, since they were on their way out the quarters when I interrupted. I also have little doubt that Phobos wanted to kill me when he first laid eyes on me and for whatever reason changed his mind after his fight with Corax. Why he left Corax alive too is confusing. Regardless, I am grateful to whoever had a part in it. It had been one of the scariest moments in my life - save the attack on the castle. I had been sure of my death when Phobos appeared in front of me, white-blonde hair falling around his face to his shoulders and a look of disgust openly displayed. It all happened so quickly I almost didn’t see how tall and strong he seemed in contrast to what I imagined. He had been seated at the negotiations belying his true size and might the very first time I'd seen him in his human form. When he rushed at me I dodged him, throwing anything I could into his path to block him. Chairs. A bedside lamp. Anything. Everything that I could grab quickly. Alas I was not unsuccessful in invading his advance. He reached for me, catching an arm around my waist and hurling me against the stone house's wall. I screamed, struggling with everything I had in me. Everything was not enough. His hands reached up to grasp both sides of my face and that's when his strong smell slammed into me. I could hear Novena’s voice pitched high and I just couldn’t move myself, frozen in fear. He could have killed me so easily at that moment. Nothing could have saved me. Not even all the power raging in my blood. Not even with all my knowledge I've aquired. Almost a full minute went by before he secured his hold around my upper arm and proceeded to drag me over Corax's body lying beside the doorway. I had tried to touch him only to be jerked straight and dragged the rest of the way to the crown prince who held Novena cradled in his arms like she is the most precious thing in the world. The sight of his face as he gazed down at her made me scared. Scared especially for her. He would hunt her down no matter where she ran. The fixation and possessiveness were as obvious as day is to night. It was a troubling thing to witness. I remember cursing at them, struggling and grinding out insults like a commoner when Phobos shoved a cloth into my face. I remember hearing the crowned prince ask what Phobos is thinking. I don’t remember his reply. I don’t remember much of anything after that. It is frustrating. I never want to be that weak again as long as I live. There has to be more to my powers than persuasion. And I can’t even get that to work properly. Could there be a way to turn the power running through my blood into something more? Knowledge is a powerful weapon, but against a physical opponent… well you can’t always talk your way out of a situation and when you are up against physically powerful enemies just knowing how to fight isn’t good enough. I fidget with my hands, amusing myself with my thoughts of changing my abilities, while I watch my moving hands. Disconnected, I vaguely register a movement out the corner of my eye. Lifting my gaze lazily, I find my eyes falling on my abductor. A screech catches in my throat, but I swallow it down. Panic drives through me as I virtually throw myself into the furthest corner of my cell. I glare from my place against the wall, hands behind my back. He has a slight smirk on his face as if my distress amuses him but not to any great lengths. His pale blonde hair is tied into a neat short pony which should have given me an unobstructed view of his face, but the corridors aren’t brightly lit leaving his face shrouded in a dim light. The darkness that wraps itself around his large form like a blanket makes him seem menacing. His arrogant stance does little in the way of dulling my fears as he leans against the gate, his wrists resting on the iron bars. He continues to just watch me through sharp eyes and I continue to contain the urge to scream at him. I wonder how I have so gravely offended him to cause so much hate in those watchful eyes. And yet I can’t help thinking that he is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on – in a dangerous, dark kind of way. Like an aura of forbidden desire surrounds him. I wiggle my nose as a strange forestry smell tickles my nose. Sinking to the floor in the corner - a futile attempt to make myself disappear - I wrap my arms around my drawn-up knees and match his narrowed stare. I want him to know that I hate him. That seems to finally coax a reaction out of him.

“Do you know why you are alive?” He asks as if I would honestly know.

His voice is smooth like water, reaching my ears in a cease. He has such a silky tone, one where he could say just about anything and you would be content to just listen. I immediately hate his voice.

"Well? Are you going to try guess?" He prompts as he leans comfortably on the bars that separate us.

I learnt very quickly in my brief life to listen rather than speak. The voice has a way of exposing oneself and is more likely to cause more harm than good. I don't say anything.

“Fine, I'll tell you." He draws as if I've disappointed him, "You have friends in high places.”

He smiles coldly, “Isn’t that amusing? Like a beloved pet. You’re just a companion.” He makes the word seem dirty, like it’s something to be ashamed about.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat, hardly joining in on his sick idea of humour. There’s something very unsettling about the way that he looks at me. Like I’m the reason for all his pain and suffering. As if I am the embodiment of the human race that his kingdom so despises. I compel myself to remain silent, knowing that what he says isn't true and hoping that maybe he will lose interest and leave if I am unresponsive to his galling.

“Zelus seems to think that you would be an easy way to control Novena should she become… non-agreeable. Which, I bet, would be right around when she finds out her father is dead.”

I gape, my hands flying to cover my shock. Novena’s father… King Tabias is dead. The King of South Continere has been murdered. Tears rush to my eyes as I picture the King. A man I had always considered family. Tabias had always been kind to me, even after he learnt of my abilities, he still had allowed me to grow up beside his daughter whose position far surpasses that of a poor forest girl. I blink back my grief. I won’t cry. Phobos no doubt would take pleasure in my pain. I bite the inside of my mouth until I taste blood as I lower my trembling hands placing them in my lap. I raise my chin, in the smallest act of defiance, in concealed outrage.

“Well now, here I thought I would go mad in isolation and that no one would notice.” I dare to use a sarcastic tone, “Although your chit chat has been delightful, I’d much rather talk to that brute of a guard with the large sword.”

Seeing his scowl, I smile despite myself, knowing that I should have remained silent. But I can’t help myself.

“I think his company would be much more pleasant.” I say with a plastered smile spreading my lips to faud confidence.

He growls low in his throat at my insult and for once I am grateful for the bars that keep me prisoner here. Because they currently keep him out. Then he smiles. I shift slightly at his mood swings.

“Really?” He asks, suddenly amused by the whole direction of the conversation, “It turns out that you just might get your wish.” He says, before stepping aside and letting the brute through.