.:Visitors In Masks:.

I was sitting on the floor one morning, lost in my own thoughts as usual, when the globes of light suddenly vanished, plunging my world into darkness. Almost at the same time, an invisible force gripped my arms and dragged them up above my head, as though I were still chained to the wall. My immediate surprise gave way to anger – why was Myron doing this to me?

Before I could open my mouth to call Myron, I heard something. Myron's voice, high above me in his living quarters. Was he with another woman? No, why would he have bothered to tie me back up again, unless he intended to try and impress her by showing her his royal hostage. Then I heard the other men. My blood froze within my veins, throat suddenly very dry. I didn't have to see them to know who they were; Myron's actions had warned me of their presence.

Myron was not the only Dark Knight in the building now.

Suddenly, the trapdoor was flung open. Five men in black travelling cloaks swept down the flight of stairs and into the cellar, each as silent as the next. One of them signalled and light exploded overhead, making me cry out in terror. Bronze burned all around me, from the faces of each of the five men. It hurt to look at their faces directly, but I could no longer tell which of the Dark Knights was Myron. I bit my lip as I scanned the faces – those hideous, identical faces – hoping to catch the smallest hint of Myron's crystal blue eyes behind the eye sockets. But they stood too far away from me to see properly. I wanted to call out – wanted to know that Myron had not left me alone with this unholy men – but I forced myself to stay silent: Myron would not thank me if his fellow Dark Knights were to discover who close our relationship was becoming, even after such a short period of time. With no one else to talk to, Myron more often than not came down in the daytime to talk with me, and I was grateful for his company. The previous night he had fallen asleep besides me, head resting against my shoulder. I didn't mind, yet I was scared: I was scared of the closeness. I had heard stories of what captors did to their captives, and it filled me with dread. I didn't want to lose my trust in Myron. I didn't want him to hurt me like that. But I couldn't give any hint of this trust or this fear to the Dark Knights.

One of the stepped forwards, muttering a spell. Invisible hands grabbed my arms, dragging me to my feet so that the Dark Knight could see into my face without the need to bend. His eyes flashed darkly as he watched me grimace with the pain of stiffened limbs. "We won't bow down to you, Princess," he growled. "Stop complaining and look at me!"

I forced myself to look into his cold, heartless eyes. I began to trembled with terror once more. The Dark Knight took my face in one hand, scanning for tell-tell signs of sickness in my eyes or skin. What he saw seemed to please him, for he released my face and turned to the line of watchers.

"She is not ill," he informed them gravely. "And she looks well fed and watered, considering what she has been through. Congratulations, brother. It would seem as though you have kept your word after all."

One of the men – Myron – bowed lowly in thanks. "My lord, I live to serve the ways of the Dark Knights. I hope I can continue to be of service here."

"Indeed you can," the leader replied calmly, then muttered something under his breath. The hands roughly forced me to sit once more. "You shall be contacted in the next few days on the, eh...progression of the situation. Now, if you do not mind, I believe food is required for us?"

Myron bowed and indicated the trap door. The Dark Knights filed up the stairs in silence, their footsteps heavy and resounding. Minutes later I heard the Dark Knights' voices talking and laughing merrily, just like any group of friends would at a social gathering. The smell of roasting meat turned my mouth to water, and after that the sounds of wooden mugs clunking together heralded the start of what would surely be a hearty drink of ale. Myron did not relight the cellar. The voices upstairs quietened to a hushed whisper, and I swallowed nervously in the darkness. Whatever the men were talking about now, it would surely be of darker matters than the usual polite conversation one usually hears at the dinner table.

I felt even more vulnerable than ever.

I awoke to the glimmering light of the globes above me heads, and knew the Dark Knights were gone. Well, Myron was not gone, for I met his crystal blue eyes across the cellar floor. He was sitting on the steps, a tray of food in his hands. Watching me. Just...watching me. I was surprised to see him, and pushed myself up onto my knees.

"Hello," I said, smiling uneasily; I didn't like that unbroken stare. "How...how long have you been here? Are you all right?"

Myron smiled thinly, eyes darkened into slits. His footsteps echoed heavily on the hard cold steps as he walked down into the cellar, still holding the tray of food in his hands. I glanced at its contents and felt sickened: a type of stew and tough-looking bread lay besides a wooden mug that had been crudely made. I watched him approached, suddenly filled with apprehension. He looked incredibly angry.

"Myron?" I asked quietly. "What's wrong?"

He did not answer at first. Instead he placed the tray down next to me, glared at me once more, then slammed his fists into the wall close to my head. I remained still, afraid of him. What had I done – if anything – to provoke this anger? "You know exactly what's wrong."

"No," I replied evenly. I took a great will to keep my voice from betraying my fear. "Myron, what has happened?"

"The King of Casarno, that's what's happened!" thundered the Dark Knight, standing up again and pacing. "He's released a statement that he is going to be sending fifteen of his own Eighth level magicians across to search for you, and that he personally shall be leading the party. And he's referring to you as his betrothed." He spat the words out with such venom that I felt physically sick.

"Myron, please!" I begged, struggling to my feet quickly as his pacing grew more violent. I tried to grab his arm, but he shrugged me off with one vicious jerk, his hand nearly hitting my face. "Myron, listen to me! I did not agree to such a union!"

"But you wouldn't have to, would you?" Myron snarled back. "Your damn father would have agreed on your behalf! Why did you not just send him away when you had the chance? We have spies in his palace in Casarno, Eloryn! He is nothing but a filthy, lying womaniser! Half the maids at court and on his staff have seen the royal bedroom, and you'd be just another worthless name to add to his list!"

I didn't want to hear his words, for they made me feel dirty. Myron was acting as though I'd already laid with the man! "Stop it! He's after me, not the other way around!"

"He'd just get you with child," Myron ranted on, oblivious to my pleading words, "then he'd just go woo some foolish serving lady into his bed! Bacall isn't worth his weight in gold! Or silver! Or even shit!"

"Myron, for the love of the gods, stop shouting so!" I pleaded, watching as his face grow redder and redder with fury. "Myron, just sit down and calm yourself. Can we just talk about this for a--"

The Dark Knight rounded on me. The next thing I knew, his hands had seized me by the waist and pulled me hard into his arms, but before I could gasp or cry out, Myron's lips were pressed up hard against my own. I stayed motionless in his arms, feeling his lips moving, trying to coax open my mouth. My head spun as I felt his tongue move across my own, the sweet taste of his lips making me want to give in to him. But I refused to let him have his way, and instead pulled back my head and glared at him. There was embarrassment written on his face for a second, which soon gave way to frustration and anger.

"So you do want him," Myron hissed, then pushed me away from him. He wiped his mouth and spat on the floor with such force that the cellar sung its echoes. "You'd prefer to be bedded by a filthy king, rather than by an outlawed magician."

"You're a Dark Knight, Myron," I whispered, barely able to speak. Why was I feeling embarrassed? Why was I feeling so...guilty? "We can't. If I do get out of here, and Bacall and my father still insist on a marriage, what would happen if they ever found out? We'd both be slain."

"Not I," Myron replied darkly. "Bacall's only an Eighth level magician – I'm a Ninth. No one in the Dark Knights is allowed to join unless they are of the Eight level minimum." I shivered as his eyes roamed down my body, following every curve with lusting eyes. Finally he looked up and met my gaze. "You deserve better than him. If it's living, he'll fuck it; if it's dead, he'll eat it."

"I have to do better than you," I whispered, hating my words. Contempt replaced the lust in Myron's eyes. "I'm sorry, but it had to be said! My father hates magicians!"

"And you?"

I hesitated, feeling cornered. I couldn't confess my true feelings. Could I? "I fear them. You know that one killed my mother."

"No!" Myron shouted, pointing furiously at me. "That magician did not kill your mother! That would be murder, and your father's magician was trying to save her life, not end it purposefully! Damn it, Eloryn! Sometimes a healer has to look to the life of the baby, not just the life of the mother! If the magician let your mother go, it was only because she was too weak to be saved! You weren't!"

I stood there, shocked by his words. No one had ever fed my that side of the story before, I usually just heard of the jealous magician who sought to end the royal line once and for all! Could Myron's word be true?

"How can...you be sure?" I whispered.

Myron shrugged. "My mother was a healer. She used her witchcraft to help women in childbirth, and sometimes she had to let the mother die in order to give the baby the best chance of surviving. She let the wife of the lord we served on go for that specific reason – to save his first-born male heir. And she was killed for it. The lord wrote to your father, your father wrote back..."

Pain flashed across Myron's face, and he turned and punched furiously at the wall. I tried to step forwards to him, wanting to comfort him, but he spat some words out and my feet froze where they were. "Myron?"

"Do you want to know what they did with her?" Myron snarled, but he didn't give me time to answer. "They dragged her from our house, stripped her of her clothes. I had to watch the lord's guards rape her again and again besides the village well – the villagers forced me and my brother to watch. Those filth merely watched and laughed. When the guards were done with my mother, they cut out her heart. Then they threw my brother and I out of our house, and allowed the villagers to chase us from the village and into the forest. My brother was thirteen. I was just three days off my eighth birthday." Myron let out a hollow chuckle. "What a fine present I had that year!"

Horror turned my blood to ice. My father had permitted such atrocities? I could scarcely believe my ears. "Myron, I'm..."

"Sorry?" he snapped back, then stepped up to me and back-handed me across the face. I couldn't hold back my tears any longer, but they were not for me. "So you should be."

He muttered a word and gave me back movement of my feet. I immediately turned and fled from him, too ashamed of myself to look into his beautiful eyes any longer. Myron merely turned and stormed back up the stairs. The trap door slammed above my head. The magical orbs flickered, growing dim around me, before my world was once again plunged into vengeful darkness, leaving me with much more to think about than my uncertain future.

Pirate – Thank you! Hope you're enjoying!

martini the brave – Again, cheers! See, I updated now! )

Mrs. Gallagher – Glad you liked the last chapter – hope this one weren't too bad!

Everyone else, hope you enjoyed too! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!