Years and years I had been in the juvenile prison of England. So being escorted everywhere in handcuffs, with personal guards (they were there for everyone elses safety, not mine) was nothing out of the norm. Most of the people in this prison were treated exactly the same considering it was full of the most dangerous teens in the country, however I had an added six or so guards that always accompanied me wherever I went. That was to be expected from England's best assassin. 'Special treatment' is was what I liked to call it. What was not expected though, was a tall, dark-haired man joining me and my escorts, as he was right this minute.
He held me in a grip so firm that it cut off the circulation causing pins and needles in my hand. He led me past the reception and up some stairs to a very lavish hallway. We strode through multiple different corridors, stormed up several staircases going around and around until there was no hope of me finding the way out again.
That was what the man was thinking anyway, though his attempts were futile because I was very aware that we had gone up and down the same stairs at least three times during the space of ten minutes. Just like I knew exactly where to go with my eyes shut. It was quite simple really. The building was symmetrical. I rolled my eyes at his stupidity feeling slightly hurt that he had under estimated me that much.
Finally the guards and I went down a long hallway with no more turnings off of it. This meant we were finally reaching our destination. Everybody was deathly silent. I could tell the mystery man was very fit but had no idea what to think of him as he had said nothing other than to introduce himself. It was strange to see a man dressed as smartly as he was. All the prisoners wore the same thing: grey jogging bottoms and a leaf green tank top. The same went for the guards: Black cargo pants with a black top. The sudden appearance and his permanent scowl was probably there just try and intimidate me. Whenever he did look at me, I would flash him a murderous glare causing him to quickly look away.
It was nice I supposed, having a new face to look at despite the only reason I was with him was because I was probably about to be executed. You are probably thinking that this is modern day England, that doesn't happen. You are wrong. It does. All those stories you hear about prisoners committing suicide are bullshit. They are just cover up stories. No I was not scared. I was never scared. I had gone past the point of caring so anything that would scare the living shits out of anybody else would not bother me because if I died it wouldn't matter, there was nothing left for me.
I was interested in this man. Jamal Sohna was his name, I had discovered it when he introduced himself to the guards. This was what had started the small amount of discomfort. Not fear though, like I said, I feared nothing. I knew this name. He was the leader of defence for the president. He was in charge of the very guards he was with. It was a very, very powerful name, known among every English man and woman.
Every morning I would repeat the words:ego autem nontimere. I will not be afraid. It's what my mother would always tell me.
It was strange seeing polished tiles and clean white walls. As you can imagine, life in a prison cell was quite dull so the decoration was not better. Not in the slightest.
We finally reached the end of the hallway where a large door stood. As I was in front with the guards behind me I expected to open the door. Now, I would like to point out that at this very moment my arms were still handcuffed behind my back. One of the men snickered. He was silenced from a single look.
Jamal finally opened the door. I walked. My shoulders were back, head held high, my strides being long and powerful. That is until I saw the man I hated most in the world.
"My, my, my. If it's isn't the one and only, Celaena Sardothien. I would say your absence has been missed. However I was told not to lie so in all honesty it's a shame you can't rot in that cell any longer."