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For hours it seemed, Cadeon had stood on the balcony of the fortress overlooking the area.
When nightfall came, it was oddly beautiful. He has watched as the violent shadows deepened to indigo, lengthening across the endless sky. Only from a high vantage point can one see how far light travels unimpeded, and darkness the same.
In the absence of sunlight, the temperature fell to harsh levels. But he was used to the cold by now, and readily welcomed the crisp tundra air.
Underneath the canopy of stars, a thick fog began to cover the surrounding forest, burying all which stood in its path within a white haze.
Immediately, his gaze was drawn to her--
Aaliyah. She was the last of the Shahrizai bloodline and sole heir to the throne of Ashara, were it not under the control of the Drustanis. For many years, the Empire had searched desperately for her, but only to lose her. She appeared before him now--without chains or bindings--but still a prisoner all the same.
“Leave us,” he commanded to Vex. “No one else is allowed to step foot within this room,” Cadeon ordered in a tone which dared her to say otherwise.
In a few broad steps, he quickly closed the distance between them. Two times he circled around her, assessing her from every angle as if she were a prospective purchase. Approval flashed in his hooded eyes, satisfied with what he has seen.
That eve, she wore a brown leather corset and leggings, an attire unworthy for Asharan royalty. Nevertheless, she still looked like a queen and carried herself with a grace which befitted divinity.
In the darkness of the storm, she had been lovely. Now, in the light, he saw that she was riveting.
“Leather suits you better than silks and velvet, I believe.” Cadeon murmured as he devoured her sight.
The Asharan princess stood in perfect silence as if he were not there, his remark entirely ignored.
“The guards tell me that you have not eaten in the past few days,” he continued with a quiet concern in his voice.
“I do not care for the taste of shit,” she emphasized the word as she turned her vehement gaze toward his direction.
The corner of his mouth curved upwards despite himself. “A princess of royal blood should not being using such language,” Cadeon tsked in a mocking disapproval, taking no offense at her insult.
“I would like you to join me for dinner. There is venison and Dornish wine. I do not know your preferences, but I believe that you will find it preferable to food served below,” Cadeon remarked with a wry grin, referring to the abhorrent food served to prisoners. “You would do me an honor by dining with me tonight.”
“Do I have a choice?” she asked dryly.
“No,” he answered with a half-smile.
“Come,” he held out an outstretched arm, directing her to the dining chair.
She did not move.
“Forgive me. I've forgotten that you areblind,” Cadeon remarked in a mocking voice, “Perhaps you should sit on my lap, and I will feed you from my very hands. Would you like that?”
“How considerate of you,” she answered in a contemptuous voice, “For a soulless murderer.”
“This humble servant is here to serve Your Highness in every way,” he drawled the last words in sensual tone as he presented her with an exaggerated bow.
“I'm afraid that I do not have such appetite.”
He chuckled at that. “Tonight, I wish to only speak with you. Nothing more... unless you have something else in mind?” he lightly teased. He had hoped to lessen the tension, but her face only hardened as she stood in silence.
Very well. If she had no desire to humor him, then he would press on further. This time, without false pretense of civility, “What relationship do you have with the General?” he asked bluntly.
Her fine brow arched at his crude questioning. “There is no relationship which I am aware of.”
He did not believe her. For what other reason would a man throw away his life for a woman? Honor? The bastard had none. “Why else would he laid down his sword for you?” Cadeon questioned.
“I do not know.”
He searched her face for any signs of a lie, but there was none which he could discern. Her voice was consistently even, her expression stoic and unreadable; close to boredom. She was irritatingly calm, for a girl whose life he held in his hands so completely; to kill as he desired. And yet, there she stood--without the least bit of fear.
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