Ravene lay shivering in the now clean sheets. The Warlord Prince had scared her. Badly. She had now had no means to protect herself; her Red Jewel lay in a strangers hands, empty and drained. To make things worse, she had to deal with an angry Warlord Prince who wanted to escape from wherever she was. She didn't know his name, or Jewel of rank. She didn't know who he served or what made him slip into the cold rage. Yet something compelled her to believe him, to work with him and aid him in his plan to escape. Something she didn't like.
Why was she so cold? Did it have something to do with the cold rage she felt building deep in his core? Possibly, it had something to do with the breaking, but she had never dealt with any other broken witches in her experience as Queen. A bitter laugh escaped her lips at the thought of being Queen. Right, a broken Dea al Mon witch was expected to rule the territory of the fiercest, most guarded race in the whole Shadow Realm? The tears cascaded down her cheeks in a violent flood. She mourned the loss of her Craft, but for some reason, she looked forward to the morning and the next day; looked forward to seeing the mysterious Warlord Prince once again.
Jayme stormed through the halls, snarling with fury. The throbbing pain in his groin from that innocent-looking gold ring angered him far beyond the capabilities of hot rage. No, this fury went far deeper, to the very depths of his soul. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had to get away from this place, before Kaelynn and her coven could twist him into something tainted. When he was finally allowed to return to his own room, hours after she had summoned him, he fell into a broken sleep filled with dreams of vengeance.
The sun rose hot and bright as it always did in Hayll. The deceptively cheerful beams fell on Jayme's face as he stirred from a restless sleep. Groaning, he rolled over and buried his face in the fine down-pillow. Realizing that return to sleep would be impossible, he sat up, sheets pooled around his waist. Groggily rubbing his eyes to clear them of the sleep, he stumbled out of bed and into the shower. The hot water pounding on him relaxed his muscles and was sufficient to wake him up thoroughly.
Today I will break out of here, he thought as he dressed, today is the day I will be free from that Sapphire Jewelled bitch.
Jayme finished brushing his hair and studied his reflection. His sun-kissed, light-brown skin was a lighter shade of gold, combined with a light dusting of bronze, giving him a more exotic look. His hair was not black, but a dark, rich brown with subtle copper highlights. For a Hayllian, this was very unusual. But then, no one had to know he wasn't pure-blooded, a secret he guarded with care. He doubted even Kaelynn knew, but then, she didn't know a lot of things, the stupid bitch.
Sharp gold eyes stared back at him, framed by dark brown lashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows. His face wasn't beautiful like the legendary Daemon Sadi, but nevertheless, he was more handsome than most men. The face that stared back at him still contained it's youth, not a boy, but not a mature man in his prime. Being little more than a boy when he had been tangled up in the mess Kaelynn called her court, he hadn't had time to grow into his power or more mature body. He shunned the trademark clothes of most pleasure slaves which consisted of a perfectly tailored black suit and white silk shirt, instead, donning a pair of dark brown trousers and a billowing white sweater shirt. He groped around his dressing table for his brush, sighed when it was nowhere to be found and began a full-scale search of his room.
"Prince Syarus, do you- What in the name of Hell are you doing?" Leaning against the door to his room stood a tall Prince. He was from one of the short-lived races, with green eyes that burned with an inner fire and hair a sun-bleached shade of white. His face was good-natured and kind, not to mention his personality. Taric's story twisted his heart. He had been sold to Kaelynn's court by his own mother when he was only a round-faced youth, in his early teens. Taric was only eight-teen in the short-lived races, yet his face had lost the look of a young man who should have been out exploring the world with a wide-eyed fascination. Instead, it had been replaced with a mans face, one who had suffered too much for his years.
It was amazing how after serving Kaelynn and her group of Ladies who could twist a man's decency, he still managed to retain his amazing innocent look. Of course, he didn't serve as a pleasure slave. No, Prince Taric Raehart was too important to risk becoming twisted or inhumanly cruel. They all knew who the latter was referring to.
"Looking for that damned hairbrush. I swear to the Darkness, that if I don't find that damn brush-" he left off, leaving the threat hanging in the air as he paced the room snarling.
"Sometimes Prince, it still amazes me how you are so smart and skilled at a manner of things-" Taric left off, raising his eyebrows at Jayme's snarl, suggesting that there was a double meaning of the sentence he had just spoken. "How you are so smart," he continued, "yet you can't seem to remember where you put you hairbrush."
"What in the name of Hell is that supposed to mean?!" Jayme snapped, impatient and obviously frustrated that his only friend in the entire court was wasting his time.
"This." With an over-exaggerated flourish of his wrist, Taric revealed the irritating brush. Right where Jayme had left it. On the dressing table. Face burning and completely humiliated, Jayme dutifully retrieved the hairbrush. With a sigh, he raked it through his hair. Taric stood at the doorway, chuckling quietly. Jayme gave him an icy stare that seemed to melt before it reached him. He couldn't help but join in and laugh at his own stupidity. Not that he would let Taric get away with it next time.
"What do you want Taric?" Jayme asked as he brushed his deep-brown hair.
"Just to ask if you know where the bitch's best bed sheets went. Somehow, she managed to lose them. But honestly! How can you lose sheets?!" Taric's eyes twinkled.
"Hmph. No idea. Stupid whore was probably out screwing one of her faithful toy-boys and forgot where she left them," Jayme snarled, disgust and contempt making his voice take on a rough-edge.
"I see." Taric closed the open door. "Jayme, do you know anything about the broken witch in the prison hut? Perhaps why she is here?" he asked quietly.
"No," Jayme replied quietly, the fear in Taric's eyes making him wary.
"She was the strongest Queen in all the territory of the Dea al Mon. My father was a Tribune on the Dark Council, so he dealt with them. Kaelynn decided one day, that in order to rule all the Realms, she would have to take over the most private, ferocious races in Kaeleer. So why not start with the legendary Dea al Mon? She had her faithful pet, Morlad, sneak on over there in the guise of being an honest Warlord from Hayll and take the girl from her court. I don't know who did it, but she was broken, Jayme. Broken." Tears filled Taric's eyes as he thought of his own sister who had been destroyed at the hands of the very Queen they served. "She was just a girl, Jayme. Not even old enough to make the Offering. Now, she'll never make it, ever. She'll never know the power and strength that should have been hers." Taric closed his eyes. A sudden hiss of pain escaped his lips. Kaelynn was using the Ring again. "I have to go. It seems I'm being summoned. You'd think she'd learn of a better way to do it by now..." With a courteous bow, he limped down the corridor, to the Queen's Chambers.
Jayme sat and thought about this little bit of information. He didn't really care how the witch had been broken, or why. But the just knowing she was from one of the most private, fiercest races of all the Blood was enough to make his stomach crawl. Mother Night!
Speaking of the broken witch, he had promised himself that he would get out this Court alive, or kill himself and everyone for miles around if he failed. He should go see her, just to make sure she hadn't forgotten him, and to inject a little dose of reality into her already fragile mind.
The pounding Ravene's head seemed to get louder as the minutes ticked by. She sat up, shattering the surreal world of half-consciousness she was floating in. It took a few seconds for her exhausted brain to register that the pounding was coming from the door, not just the throbbing she felt in her temples. Gathering all of her now futile strength, she managed to open the door. Gasping, she lay back on the bed. Too much. The Warlord Prince she had met the previous day strode in, face twisted in anger.
"You stupid girl! Why would you open the door!? I could have been one of that bitch's guards! Then what? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO YOU?!!" Jayme screamed. The stupid girl was going to get herself killed, meaning that he couldn't get out of this physical and mental prison.
Ravene sat up, eyes flashing. "Excuse me, Prince. Who do you think you are? You appear out of no where, offer me some kind of deal, and then have the balls to yell at me over the fact that I opened a damn door? I think you owe me some kind of explanation over what the hell is going on!" Ravene winced as her body protested against the violent outburst. Who was this man? She realized that she didn't even know his name, let alone Jewel or his connection to the mysterious ruler of this twisted court.
Jayme just stood there, completely taken aback by the sudden outburst. Despite her frail appearance, she possessed a brightly burning fire that lurked deep in the back of her forest-blue eyes. He would do well to not underestimate the power in this witch, however broken. Not to mention the fact that she might not help him if he didn't leash his emotions and temper. If she didn't offer her help, he wasn't sure he could escape this tainted court.
Not to mention that if she didn't go willingly, he wasn't sure he could force her. Angry as he was, he was never able to use witches for his own advantage. Taric had always told him that was his weakness. Besides, what was he doing, exploding over the fact that she had used Craft to open the door? He mentally lectured- no, lecture was an understatement- himself as he calmly looked at her.
"My apologies, Lady. I have been rather scant on information, haven't I?" he said, keeping his voice level and convincing.
Ravene simply stared at him. What was this? He just went from seething male to dignified Warlord Prince. She would have to be careful. Apparently there was more to this man then there seemed. Although Ravene wasn't all too sure that all the surprises would be pleasant.
Jayme sighed audibly. She wasn't buying it. He was tired of playing these games, but knew that it was his only chance at survival. So, he simply stared back, meeting the sharp eyes that assessed him carefully, missing nothing.
"What is your name, Prince?" Ravene asked quietly.
"Jaymeson Syarus. Jayme. And yourself?" he replied, intrigued.
"Ravene Blaidez, Black Widow Queen of the Dea al Mon," Ravene swallowed hard after announcing her titles. Just the thought of being the Queen of the Dea al Mon made her want to break down and cry. She managed to hold firm, emotions chained on a tight leash. Better to not give a potential enemy weak spots.
"Pleased to meet you, Lady Blaidez. If you will allow it, I have an interesting proposition for you. I sincerely hope that you will consider it with care, as it can mean guaranteed escape from this place," Jayme tried to keep his voice light and friendly, so that he wouldn't startle her.
"All right," Ravene said warily. "What is it?" As part of her training to be the Queen of the Dea al Mon, she had learned that dealing with males was a lot easier if they couldn't sense a witch's distress. She had to remain calm. That didn't mean that she had to accept any offer he made her like a brainless ninny.
Jayme looked straight into her eyes. "If you help me out of this hellhole, I will take you with me."
"Why don't you just do it yourself?" Ravene questioned sharply. Somehow, she didn't like where this was going.
"Because I don't have the strength or skill. No male does." He looked straight into her eyes. A chill slithered down Ravene's spine at what she saw. She groped for firm ground, for anything other than the answer she knew she was going to get.
She shivered visibly and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, there was a terrible fear in them. "You want me to weave a tangled web from the Twisted Kingdom."