Chapter 3 - Dungeon Fight
Brick upon brick was pulled apart as the entire hall trembled. Then strong iron bars that netted the surface of the dungeon below came into view.
Ismena's hands curled into fists as her gaze finally… finally settled on him.
The figure shrouded in darkness.
Till the light of the hall pierced into th dungeon.
Plentiful chains that she could barely see anything else. Black long hair that concealed his face. Blood purple from too much wolfsbane. Grey skin. And stripes! Like cracks of liquid flames from a fire breathing mountain.
Breath vanished from her lungs.
What type of night creature was this?!
Every night creature the King had ever brought back always looked like human.
But this?
WHAT WAS THIS?!
"I am the first to ever capture such a mighty thing. You know, my Love, many believed that they didn't even exist anymore."
Ismena jolted, her attention swinging back to him, her heart racing. She hadn't been herself for a moment.
Had he noticed?
By the Sun, no.
No!
"But see, I caught one. Such a mighty thing."
Ismena gulped. Rare. Mighty.
"And you are even mightier that you have defeated him."
Too much.
The dread. This pretensive act. This fear for the King. These strange… feelings.
Too. Much.
When he smiled, the fear in her veins subsided a little.
"You are right, Ismena," he said, looking away from her to the night creature in the dungeon. Then he rose slowly, as if each word was opium, "I am even more powerful."
But Ismena saw beyond his words.
The night creature was already defeated, yet he was chained so much… the King was frightened.
A feeling of something alive sparked in her veins, and it was so foreign to her that she frowned in confusion, losing her attention to her surroundings.
She flinched when she heard a thud of something heavy hitting the floor of the den.
The night creature staggered back, as he watched dark smoke erupt from the big black ball with different holes around it. He looked up at the King, but she still couldn't see his face. Maybe he didn't have one.
She heard a growl. Then another. And more. So many more.
It was only at that moment that she realised that more night creatures had been dragged into the dungeon.
How was the King able to capture so many of the rare— wait, she had been distracted.
Again.
Her hands tightened against her velvet seat, her heart pumping with fear.
No. No, no, no, no!
This was too much.
This was dangerous. She had to be perfect for the King! Not be distracted by whatever this thing was.
Whatever mystery surrounded him. Whatever feeling seemed to be in the air because of him. Whatever any of this was!
She couldn't allow herself to be curious. Not perfect for the King. That would be death.
She gulped.
She didn't want to die.
Not yet.
Above the roaring of her fears were growls of pain from beneath. The smoke thickened but she could still see the night creatures that had been dragged as they shifted into beasts. Furs erupting from them. Bones snapping and cracking loudly. They seemed to be fighting it.
It seemed like torture.
The urge to stand up and walk away came over her but instead she remained seated. Pity tugged at the strings of her heart, as it always did anytime she was made to watch the night creatures that the King would bring from war. Anytime she was made to see what they did to them.
You cannot feel pity for the monsters who murder us brutally, Ismena. They rip our children apart and feast on their insides. They take our women like animals and place the heads of our men on spikes. Compared to what they do to us, THIS. IS. MERCY.
She allowed her father's voice to take over her mind, but still she felt pity, and she hated herself for it. For sympathising with the enemy, for betraying her people with her own mind.
She couldn't feel this way.
She shouldn't feel anything.
The first night creature had not shifted yet, and the King tossed another huge metal ball into the dungeon.
The smoke darkened the space, so much that she couldn't see into the den anymore.
Silence.
Then growls.
Him.
It was him.
Loud. Violent. Deadly.
Quick.
The King returned to her side as the smoke cleared.
The first night creature had shifted into a mighty black wolf.
Goosebumps laced her skin, a strange hold making her unable to look away.
In a flash, the others lurched at him. But he just stood still.
Her heart twisted.
Why wasn't he fighting?
"He cannot withstand it forever. He will give in like the rest or he will die. They are all the same at heart. No matter what they look like. Beasts."
Claws tore into the huge black wolf. Canine ripping into his flesh.
Something at her core was so shaken by the sight that she felt displeased but when the King lifted her fork of food to her lips, she ate from him with a pleasant smile.
And when he held her hand and directed her to his lap, she did not dare complain.
He kept feeding her, while watching the dungeon with anticipation and with every second, she felt his excitement grow in every part of him, especially the one pressed against her.
More blood spilled to the floor, more deadly growls.
"He is an alpha, King of his kind and the rest of the night creatures are his warriors. He will kill his own army or they will kill him. Either way, he is a pathetic thing. Isn't he?"
Ismena felt her chest tighten at that. The food that had already lost its taste to her turned bitter in her mouth. She felt the urge to throw up, but she swallowed with each forceful bite. "Indeed, my King."
A loud growl echoed across the hall and with the excitement she could feel from the king, coupled with the cheers that rang through the hall, the wolf had given in.
Powerful slams that shook the walls. Snaps that almost made her flinch. Cracking of bones between the canines. Slashing of flesh. And long, painful howls of death.
"Yes," the King said, lowly as if he couldn't get enough of it. His grip tightened around Ismena's fork and the emotion seemed to overcome him so much that he put the fork down. "Kill your own. Kill all of them." He laughed, pressing the sound against Ismena's neck, his hands roaming up her thighs.
Her insides tightened with even more disgust and pity. So much pity with pain. Her body felt like stone around her and she tried to burn her tears before they would make it to her eyes.
Then she felt his teeth sink into her flesh and let out a low sound of pain. From the corner of her eyes, she could see the black curtains cascade down.
Panic launched through her throat.
Pretend.
He looked up at her, his eyes sparkling with drunkenness. Then he pulled out the silk handkerchief that he knew would always be tucked away in the under part of her dress, and he shoved it into her mouth. He placed her hand on his hair like he was starved of her touch. And when he looked up at her again, panic climbed through her throat.
He saw something.
He must have—
His lips crashed against hers. Hungrily.
Good. He saw nothing.
His fingers forced into her unwanted sensations. Her act was a pretense, until her body gave in. An unwelcomed pleasure.
She tried to focus on stroking his hair, but all she could hear were the growls and howls from beneath.
She shoved them away.
Focus!
When he pressed his moans to her skin, she gave him hers in return. The King loved to win and she must make him feel like it.
When he was done, he smiled a triumphant smile. "I dreamt of this," he whispered, "I have more to give, will you let me?"
She nodded, breathlessly, because if she didn't his gaze would turn murderous, and he would accuse her of adultery. It had been months, and she was supposed to want this.
So she retained her flushed expression and watched him as he pushed his fingers through his hair and adjusted his crown. He pulled the curtains and something he had seen made him stop.
Ismena looked down too, and her heart skipped a beat.
The wolf was a man again. The chains were gone, but he was on his knees.
Defeated.
This time, fully. Truly.
He was the only one alive on the bloodied dungeon floor. His trembling hands hovered over the maimed bodies of his warriors. His claws scraped over the pieces of them.
Smashed skulls. Broken bones. Torn flesh.
Ismena's heart tightened.
Sympathy. Sickness.
But her face dared show none.
"My wife has had her fill of this entertainment," there was a smile in his voice, "and she is very pleased."
The hall roared with laughter in good gesture. But it made Ismena sick to her bones.
"Take it away."
The bricks began to tremble again as they were being pushed back together. The man finally let his hands sink into the blood of his warriors and a howl tore from his throat, clashing against and consuming the music.
It was so much and filled with so much grief that the music had to stop.
Something in Ismena grew cold and still, and just before the dungeon bricks would finally close up, she watched the man look up at the King with a taste for vengeance.
And when she thought that would be all, he looked right at her.
Red embers of raw hatred. Her heart stilled to a stop, as a horrid feeling pushed into her through every pore. Fear spread through her veins like venom.
Then… he lurched.