They dragged him down the stone steps in chains and dropped him at the foot of the king with a clattering echo. The king did not look impressed, as he often wasn't. But the girl that stood a few steps to the right of the throne and a good few feet behind, held a hand to her mouth, eyes glued to the crumpled heap of a man wearing tattered rags.
The king shifted atop his throne. He waved off the guards who'd escorted the man inside. The Mystic King wore marvelous robes of red and gold and a crown atop his head that could have fed all the less fortunate souls of the city for years and years. But the Mystic King, he wasn't known for his kindness. A selfish king, he was. One who took and took and never gave back to his people, who punished for the sake of enjoyment and entertainment.
The man at his feet lifted his head in a painstakingly slow movement, the chains much to bear on his neck. He was a man of large stature, with wide shoulders and messy black hair. His skin was filthy. Each patch of skin was either bruised or bloody. Undoubtedly from the guards' mistreatment of him. But his eyes were a clear blue, crystal and piercing.
The princess, seen still with hand over mouth, tried not to look into those blue eyes and found the challenge most impossible. Her hand slid from her face and she took a step forward, as if to speak. Her king held out an arm, sensing the desire that stirred in her gut to act, eager to squash it.
Elena did not fit the kingdom she'd been married into. Her husband, the king's son, did not treat her with kindness and neither did his father. But that didn't change her—in fact, it made her stronger, more caring. While they stood in her way most of the time, occasionally she'd been able to slip away to help the less fortunate areas of the city, delivering stolen goods from the kitchen to those in need. It pained her more than anything else to see people starve in a kingdom so rich, with a king who cared not about their plight.
This man, however, was out of her reach. Elena could not save him, no matter how badly she wished. Her fingertips sparked with an energy familiar to her, an energy that'd been inside of her since birth, slowly trying to make its way to the surface. Long, velvet gloves ran from the tips of her fingers to the crook of her elbow, preventing that magic from escaping.
"His crime?" the king spoke, voice bellowing through the large chamber.
A small, wiry man stepped forward with a scroll he unrolled to read. "Damon Salvatore has been apprehended by the Mystic Guard for crimes against the Kingdom including but not limited to, thievery, smuggling, and insurrection." The man rolled up the scroll and stood patiently, awaiting the king's decision.
Of course, Mr. Salvatore did not get the opportunity to speak about his crimes or protest in any manner. Any such actions would have only resulted in further punishment. Elena thought this lack of trial unjust, but her worries and concerns were never heard, not by her husband and certainly not by the king. Most of the time, when she spoke, they did not listen.
"Public execution," the king said. The words were bored, tired even. He did not care about sentencing another man to death. He'd done it many a time, and he'd do it many more. But Elena had watched too many executions, had seen too many poor souls thrown onto that stone floor before her father by marriage. She couldn't take it anymore.
"Wait," she said, and the moment the words left her lips she knew she'd regret it. The king raised a hand to the guards who'd started to drag Damon away. He turned a withering glare on the princess, who, to her credit, did not shrink away. "Certainly there's some other punishment fit," she said, and knew immediately that her words would not get through to him, not like this. She cleared her throat. "Don't you tire of execution?" Her voice was as stone as the floors, the castle she lived in. She refused to let any of the emotions she felt betray her.
"I do not," the king said simply. She could see the anger in his eyes and knew that she would pay for this later. But maybe, it would be worth it. "But you seem to think yourself capable of doing my job."
"No. I did not mean—" she started, but he did not let her finish.
"How would you punish him, then? Hm? If you believe my position to be so easy."
Damon's eyes shifted between the king and the princess but never lingered on either for too long and most frequently found the floor instead.
"Make a soldier out of him. He looks strong enough, and the battalions—" she stopped herself, knowing she'd gone a step too far. Elena wasn't supposed to be involved in political discussions, but even she knew how his military dwindled. They'd been at war for far too long, for little reason, and soldiers were abandoning their posts at an alarming rate. It was either that or die on the battlefield. Elena knew which she would choose.
The king did not like this intrusion. "You should know better than to comment on things you do not understand, girl." He spat the last word, emphasizing just how insulted she should be. She was not upset at the insinuation of her gender being less than, because she knew much more than many of the men in his employ. If only she could have rolled her eyes without punishment.
The king continued. "Besides. I do not need a criminal amongst my troops." A wicked smile crossed the king's lips then, and Elena knew he'd thought up something truly awful. "I do, however, need entertainment for the upcoming Harvest Festival. And you're right, he does look strong enough."
She wished to eat her words. "Damon Salvatore, you will spend your next weeks in the dungeon, thinking about your crimes. Thereafter, you are to duel for your freedom. Shall you win, I will allow you to become a soldier. You will have honor. If you lose, well, I suppose at least you'll die on your feet. Take him away."
The king did not wait for Damon to be taken away before he stood from his seat and exited the throne room. Elena lingered, eager to catch the man's eye once more. But he kept his eyes down as the guards escorted him out. Elena stood frozen for a moment, that same magic roiling down her arms and into her fingers, so powerful it stung. Her jaw worked, gritting her teeth together hard enough to ignore the flare-up.
The heavy doors closed behind Damon and the guards and the cleared throat of a servant snapped her out of her thoughts. The woman curtsied, although it was hardly necessary, and said. "The king is waiting for you."
With clenched fists at her side, Elena followed the servant out of the room and exhaled a long, slow deep breath. The meeting, if it could even be called that, went exactly as expected, and she left the king's office—a room lined with books he'd never read, a heavy carved wooden desk in the center, and an oil painting of himself and his two sons on the wall behind him—with new bruises along her sides from where he'd struck her with his cane, and a reddened cheek from the impact of his palm. She did not cry. Not in front of him and not once she was alone in the comfort of her small quarters. The pain was not often worth it, but this time, she hoped a life would be saved.
The princess's lady-in-waiting helped her undress and left her. She was thankful not to share her quarters with the prince, a man as awful as the king, who left just as many bruises. Her rooms were small, the smallest they could find. The king and queen lived in the northern wing of the castle, as did both princes. Elena had been relegated to the nicest of the servants' quarters in the western wing, which she did not mind. It made slipping out at night much easier.
And that's exactly what she did, that night. In her nightdress with a dressing gown pulled tight around her shoulders, she slipped out the door and into the dark hallway. The servant's wing was poorly lit, making it easy to sneak around unnoticed. Once she got to the center of the castle, other precautions needed to be taken. But she'd left her gloves behind, and it only took a flick of her fingers to put out the fire gleaming in wall-mounted lanterns. At the front gates, she waited for the perfect opportunity before sneaking through at the same time as a carriage, paying close attention to the gaze of the guards manning the mechanism.
Thankfully, and typically, no one caught her. She circled to the side of the castle and pulled a pick out of her hair. Sliding it into the lock, she made quick work of the dungeon gate and descended the steps. A guard caught her eyes immediately, just as she put out the fire with a gust of wind. Reaching out in the darkness, a delicate hand wrapped around the guard's more muscular forearm, and nimble fingertips found his forehead, quickly extracting the memories of their encounter.
From there, it was a simple rinse and repeat until she made it to the cell she was looking for. The sight of him made her heart lurch in her chest. He sat slumped against the back of the cell, head dropped forward. The chains tethered him to the floor by the ankles and his wrists were cuffed together. Silently and stealthily, Elena opened the door to his cell with a key she'd taken off a guard with ease only moments prior. At the sound of the door squeaking open, Damon's head rose slightly, and then even further the moment his eyes caught hers. Elena held a finger up to her lips and dropped to her knees in front of the man she loved.
"What are you doing?" he whispered, but she only shook her head and continued to work on the locks on his cuffs. She pulled them away and nearly threw herself into his arms. His hands found her waist immediately and their lips found each other like it'd been centuries since they'd last shared a kiss—when reality it had only been since the night prior. He kissed her like a man who wasn't certain he'd return from the battlefield, and in some ways that was true. Elena's hands wrapped around him, keeping to the ragged shirt and never daring to touch his skin out of fear of hurting him. Even though they kissed, even though he'd touched her in many places, she still feared placing her hands on him directly—still feared the power that she wielded, especially around him.
Damon pulled back, his hands quickly finding her face, cupping each cheek. He looked at her with those same eyes, looked at her like she was everything in the world. "Elena…" he started, but she wouldn't hear any of it, wouldn't listen to the words she knew he badly wanted to say.
She shook her head again, kissing the palm of his hand no matter how dirty it was. "No," she said softly, refusing to find his eyes again. "We'll figure out how to get out of this, we'll figure something out." Her hands balled in his shirt, the corner of her eyes stinging. "We always do."
He dragged a thumb slowly along the curve of her cheekbone and the bruise that the king had left behind. "You need to get out of here," he said like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"Not without you," she said.
"Elena," he said, in the way he always said her name when it was something serious when it was something he wouldn't take no for an answer on. But this time, it was her who would not take no for an answer.
Pulling away from him, she pressed her fingers against closed lids. "No," she said again, shaking her head like it would make everything go away. Like if she just ignored the situation, and didn't believe it to be a reality for long enough, then they would be back in the past and she'd be sneaking out to see him right then. "You could win," she said, eyes flicking back up to meet his. "You could win."
"He's not going to let me walk out of that duel alive, and you know it."
"But if I—" Elena started, but Damon knew where the sentence was taking her, and he grabbed her forearms, holding her tight.
"I won't let you risk yourself. Not for me."
"Then for what? For who?" she asked, her voice barely intelligible. "I have all this power, Damon. I can use it. For you. For us."
He shook his head this time but did not speak. He only leaned forward to capture her lips once more, hands sliding from her forearms, one around her waist and the other into her hair.
Elena pulled away, breathless, and rested her forehead against his. "Don't kiss me like that," she said. "Like you'll never kiss me again."
The sadness in his eyes made her nearly start crying right then and there. But she wouldn't let him speak, wouldn't let him ruin the moment with his personal death wish. "You will. We will."
If only she could take his hand and flee from the castle right then. It was easy to sneak away to see him, easy to be gone in the night and return by morning. But if she were gone for longer, the king would send out a search party, and while she could handle a few guards one by one in the darkness, standing her ground against multiple in the daytime while also protecting Damon would be impossible. He needed to win this duel, and she would make sure that he did.
"I love you," he whispered as she carefully set the cuffs back on him, relocking them. She flinched when he did, hating to cause him pain, hating that he had to endure this at all.
Elena pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I love you," she said, firmly, so much more behind those words. I'll save you. We'll get out of here. We'll figure this out. I love you. Then, she stood, relocked the door, and retraced her steps back to her room—where laying down upon a soft coverlet made her skin crawl.
A/N: Thanks so much for checking out this story! This will be a short one, with two more chapters! I'll still be posting on Sundays for In Pursuit of Prestige in the meantime. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm eager to share the rest!