Aithene awoke to find herself bound hand and foot and lying on the dirt floor of a rather grimy greenish tent.
A soldier wearing the yellow and green uniform of a Semaran entered the room with a tray of food. He set it down next to her and began to back out.
"Wait!" Aithene cried desperately. "Where am I? Who are you? What am I doing here?"
But she received no answer. The soldier left the tent silently.
Aithene strained urgently against her bonds, trying in vain to break lose. Whoever had tied her was an expert with knots, for she could not manage to free herself even the slightest from the ropes binding her.
"You won't break free," a man's voice observed scornfully, "so you might as well stop trying."
Aithene looked up to see another soldier, this one wearing the plumed helmet of a commander, looming over her. He had an ugly, scarred face, and his mouth was contorted into an unattractive grimace. He leered at her.
Aithene spat at his boots. It was a dead hit. The man swore and kicked her violently. Aithene thought she heard a crack as his foot connected with her cheek.
"Give it up already, little Queen," he spat. "You won't be leaving here for a long time, least not until we figure out how to get you safely to Semar. We'll soon break your proud spirit."
Aithene spat at him again, but he had backed up, and was out of her reach. He leered again and left the tent.
Avar glanced up as Hawkor rode up to him. "Any sign of her?"
Hawkor shook his head. "I'm sorry, my lord. Truly I am. We cannot find her."
Avar's mouth tightened. "Well, we'll just have to keep looking, won't-" He broke off suddenly. "Hawkor, do you smell that? Smoke! We must be near the Semaran campsite. Hurry!"
Hawkor nodded. "Yes, Avar. "
Avar reached to his side as if to reassure himself that his sword was still strapped to his belt. It was, and he gripped the handle firmly before letting his hand come back to the reins.
"Before too much longer," he growled, "this sword will bathe in the blood of those Semaran bastard who have taken my wife." Grimly, he turned his horse in the direction of the smoke.
"Move quickly men," he ordered. "And muffle your horses' hooves. We don't want to give those Semarans any warning."
There was a chorus of ayes from the men. They had grown quite fond of their young, cheerful queen over the past few weeks, and the idea that the Semarans would dare to harm her angered them greatly. They rode towards the smoke swiftly, making not a sound as they approached.
Over the next several days, the Semaran commander came in to torment her many times, but Aithene had learned her lesson. She kept silent and simply let him think he'd broken her. That way she could scheme on how to escape better-perhaps he would accidentally let slip some piece of information that would aid her, she thought.
She had many more bruises now, and possibly a broken bone or two. Her right eye was slowly recovering from being blackened, and her arms and wrists ached from trying to pull free of her bonds.
After about twelve days, Aithene was moved to anger again, and could not contain it. The Semaran commander had insulted both of her kingdoms, and their rulers, and it was more than her pride could bear. She lashed out at him, striking him wildly as best she could. He swore furiously.
"You little Darran bitch," he spat angrily. "We'll see how proud you are when you're on the iron maiden, now won't we?" He moved towards her.
"I think not," a voice said from the doorway.
Aithene looked up in recognition. "Avar!"
The King of Adrall and Darra stood in the doorway, his sword pointed at the Semaran's throat. The Semaran looked about fearfully, but there was no way out but the door that Avar blocked. Swearing again, he grabbed Aithene and tore through the back of the tent. Aithene screamed. And then the Semaran's fist descended against her skull and everything went dark once more.