ARELLIA

“If she screams again, kill her.” A man says. Panic rises as I sob hysterically into a rough hand. It is hard to breathe. I claw at his arm, but his grip only tightens further. Will this be the end of me?

“Shut her up, Marco!” Shouts a woman from somewhere in distance. They tie a piece of cloth over my eyes. When the hand is removed from my mouth, I gag and retch onto the ground. I cannot breathe. It feels like all the air is sucked from my lungs, causing immense pain in my chest.

“Fucking disgusting. She don’t look like a princess to me. Smells like shit, too. Get her over here!”

“P-please!” I plead but they do not care for what I have to say. A boot connects to my shin. I scream.

“I said shut her the fuck up!”

“She screamed again. Let’s kill her.” A man with a thick foreign accent says to my right.

“No, she’s our ticket. We need her alive, fuckface.”

“But boss said to kill her if she screams. She screamed, so let’s kill her-” I hear the shuffling of boots against gravel. I do not know how many of them there are.

“We can kill her and blame the Khronish. Who’s going to know?” My stomach knots. I shake my head while they laugh. The sound tears apart my soul. They are going to kill me. What if it is painful? How will this end for me? Where is Dillon? Has he abandoned me? I curl and fold myself into a ball. My breaths are erratic. All I feel is fear and pain.

“Fucking pathetic.” The woman whispers into my ear, then I hear her get up and walk away. “Gag her!”

“She’s pale for an Illyan. Nice face too.” I hear them leer in the background. Every voice and movement makes me jolt. Will they grab me again? Will they hurt me? The anticipation is dreadful. I claw at the gravel and sand, trying to force my shaking body to move. I have to flee. But, my legs do not listen. My arms are heavy at my sides.

A gasp escapes me as a pair of footsteps inch closer. I smell the musky cloth before it is placed over my mouth and between my teeth. Then strong arms grab and lift me from the ground. I choke out a breath when my stomach lands on the sharpness of his shoulder. I flail and scream, kicking the air with my feet and punching his back with my fists. But it is all futile.

“She’s feisty, this one. Do I get to have some fun with her before we send her back?” They laugh as I whimper. Once again, I am helpless. Useless. Weak. The man stops abruptly, grabs my legs and throws me off his shoulder. I grunt when my body hits somethjng hard. I kick at the man, but he does not budge. It is like kicking a wall. Then I feel rough, clammy hands under my tunic, grabbing my stomach, my breasts, roving over the curve of my torso. I screech and try to curl away from him, to kick away his arms, but he only chuckles. The sound is low and blood-curdling. My skin crawls.

“Hey! Leave her be! Boss’ orders. Tie her up!” Another man shouts from a distance.

“Aw come on!” The man lets me go reluctantly and grunts. Desperately, I crawl away from the sound of their voices until my back hits a wall. I grab and pull at the gag in my mouth and the cloth on my eyes, but the knots are tight. The old musky fabric is rough against my skin.

“Don’t even think about it.” A man grabs my shoulder and shoves me into the wood, then he kicks me to my side and binds my hands to the small of my back. My wrists are wound tight with frayed rope. I cry until there are no more tears. I scream until my voice gives. But, no one comes.

A warm summer breeze cuts through the meaty, humid stink of their filth and my sweat, making me think of the day I escaped the bowels of my palace. Trudging through waste with nothing but a foolish dream, and hope.

I weep as I hear feet against sand and stone and murmurs of voices in the distance. Father was right. The world is cruel. Why did I ever leave the comfort of my palace? Is this truly better than court? Is their violence any less cruel than Vasilis’?

My anxiety grows as I lie here, sun blaring and burning my skin. What are they planning? Why am I still alive? I reach out my numb fingers and feel my surroundings. I kick forward and my feet smack against something hard. It sounds like wood. I must be in a carriage of sorts. Again I kick the wood and drag my body forward, hoping to find an opening, to feel the dirt on my skin.

But my head hits another wall. No matter where I move, wood surrounds me. Imprisoning me. I groan and drag my fingers over it’s smooth material, feel the shape of it. Am I… in a box? Or is it coffin?

“You’ve gotten quieter. I think I like you better when you had some fire in ya’.” A man laughs into my ears, through the fabric, I see his dark shadow loom over me, blocking the intense white of the sun.

He grabs my ankles and pulls me back with such force that I fall and knock my head against the wood. When he ties my ankles, I scream again and kick desperately.

“There it is!” The man laughs and next, I feel a hand connect to my cheek. My head lolls to the side, a sharp sting spreads across my face. Is this how it will end for me? All those innocent people killed so I can escape, only to then be helplessly dragged back to Vasilis? No. I will not let it end this way. I start to mumble gibberish into the cloth, desperately hoping they will untie me. But what can I offer them that Vasilis has not promised already? My riches are not my own. I have won no battles, governed over cities. I have not even fulfilled my duties as princess of my kingdom. I am nothing. I have nothing but my name and my title.

The man does not untie me, instead, he laughs and holds my ankles together. With rough, itchy rope, he binds my them together tightly.

“This bitch is trying to say something,” His voice fades slightly as he walks away. “Should we let her speak?”

“Let the witch speak? Did you lose your marbles? Why the fuck would we listen to her? Better to cut out her tongue before she puts a curse on us.” The woman says.

“Maybe she can offer us more gold?”

“More than the King?” Asks the woman. She scoffs. I hear howls of laughter erupt.

King.

It has been but four days since my father was murdered, yet Vasilis had crowned himself King. Has the kingdom mourned my late father? Have they had time to? Have I? It feels like the world has moved on. But, I see his face so clearly in my mind.

“Worth a shot.” He says as he saunters back and sighs. I feel his hand on my forehead pushing me down against the wood. A loud clatter above startles me.

“After this we should get some…” Their voices fade into a low murmur. Through the fabric over my eyes, I see a looming blade of darkness pass over me, until I am shrouded in blackness. My heart speeds as the sound of hammers against nails. I mumble frantically as I realise they are nailing this box shut. I flip onto my back and kick the sides of the wood desperately, trying to break it open. But, it is futile. The hammering does not cease.

I cannot breathe. I scream and scream but it is fruitless. My throat burns. Everything is dark. There is no air. I cannot even stretch. I can only curl up in a ball– like a withered fossil of the person I once was. All alone in the dark.

Vasilis is right. I am naive. I am nothing without my title. Nothing without him. I thought myself strong for mustering up the courage to run. I listen to the rhythmic beating of my heart, the sound of my shallow breaths. Forever it repeats. Until… when? Until my coffin is pried open to reveal the grand halls of my palace? Or the damp walls of the dungeons?

The hammering ceases. I feel no movement. In the darkness I see Vasilis’ face, I hear his voice. I am nothing, he tells me. I have lost my way. Everything bleeds together, drowning me. I see Enka on her cot, gaunt and fragile. I watch my guilt-ridden self walk away from her. I watch as my brother hacks off Yhana’s head– see the tip of her spine dripping blood as he holds her head in his hand. I hear the sound of the Warden’s cries as I stab him, again and again.

So much pain. So much blood. And for what? To fail those who helped me? To be dragged back to my brother?

Enka, Yhana, Ermund… They are all gone. Who do I have left?

Dillon?

Dillon. What if he knows that I am here… What if he does not care? Why would he?I am a pawn he used me to free himself. He’s a mercenary. A selfish, traitorous brute who murdered my father. I should hate him, loathe his being. He has brought me to my death.

No, no, no. He swore to protect me… Didn’t he?

Stop! I scream at myself. I lean back and slam my head against the wood. The pain makes me dizzy, makes me forget the voices in my mind so I pull back and do it once more. Warm blood trickles down my face. The cloths around my eyes and mouth catch it. I taste it.

I do not stop. I realise I need this, the pain. Without it, I fear I may descend into madness. Again, again and again, I slam my head into the wood.

I whimper small prayers to my father, my mother, Gods and Angels. They don’t listen. What would father do? Vasilis? They’d never be foolish enough to be put in this predicament.

A vision of my father spawns in the darkness– he is younger, black long hair streaked with light grey, he is in the training grounds, parrying and striking against a boy of fourteen. My brother. When he sees me, he drops his sword and runs to hug me. Vasilis’ face is dark with malice. I do not focus on my fathers embrace, only the animosity in my Vasilis’ eyes.

I lay here in the dark and weep. For my father. For Yhana, Ermund and Enka.

Lastly, I weep for myself– for the girl who wished she was strong, for the girl who dreamt of a life beyond porcelain shackles and painted masks– and count the seconds till my inevitable end.