In Chains

by K. L. Thorne

  The princess flicked her damp curls over her shoulder and padded across to the large, walk-in wardrobe. Inside hung a plethora of gowns and garments, some of which she had never worn.

  Yet this collection was nothing in comparison to Lori’s vast array. Sivelle ignored the lump in her throat and distracted herself with the promise of pilfering her younger sister’s clothes, now she had no further need for them.

  Sivelle opened a drawer and selected a pair of simple, peach-coloured lace knickers with a matching brassier and slipped into them. Mivian had laid out three outfits for her to choose from. The princess reached for the thick, sapphire blue velvet gown and shimmied herself into it. Once she had the heavy garment at her hips, she lifted the boned corset up to her chest and slid both arms into the long, lacey sleeves.

  “Mivian,” she called out and waited for her handmaiden’s assistance.

  Sivelle stood patiently, with her back turned. Mivian gently grasped the princess’s wings and tucked them through the slits at the back of the dress. She then deftly began to lace up the bodice with the silk ribbons at the garment’s back.

  “Breathe in,” Mivian instructed and Sivelle obediently took a deep breath.

  The princess grimaced as the thick, stiff material tightened around her ribs. Though uncomfortable, Sivelle enjoyed wearing a corset. She glanced down, secretly pleased when her modest breasts were squeezed together into the illusion of an ample cleavage.

  Mivian pulled her weight against Sivelle as she tightened the last few eyelets of the corset. Once secured, she tied the ribbon into a generous bow at the small of the princess’s back.

  Whilst Sivelle righted herself and shuffled inside the gown to get as comfortable as she was able, Mivian took a small silver key from inside her brassier and unlocked a drawer that was filled with jewels.

  The handmaiden selected a necklace and two rings and adorned the princess with them. She also removed a bejewelled tiara, one that Sivelle wore atop her head most days. It was her modest tiara, if there were such a thing. The faerie kept it in her hands and gestured for the princess to follow her.

  “Come, I’ll finish your hair.”

  Sivelle strode forward, the heavy gown flowing behind her, and sat carefully on the stool at the dressing table once more.

  A knock at the door drew the girls’ attention.

  “Your Highness, a member of the King’s Guard is awaiting you. He is to escort you to your father,” a servant spoke through the door.

  “I won’t be a moment,” Sivelle replied, turning back to the mirror.

  Mivian gathered the damp curls together in her hands. Majicka glowed softly from her palms and Sivelle felt the heat radiating from the spell as her hair dried.

  In order to become a royal handmaiden, Mivian had been trained in all aspects of beauty-related majicka, of which there were a surprisingly vast variety of spells.

  Sivelle had marvelled at her handmaiden’s abilities on many occasions – from simple hair drying, to complex incantations that could make a plain, silk gown glitter as if spun from pure gold. She had even had the girl cast a temporary illusion over the odd unfortunate blemish to hide it.

  The princess watched as her glossy curls dried and her hair lightened to a blonde so pale, it was almost silver. Once satisfied, Mivian released Sivelle’s hair and allowed it to trail down her back once more. The handmaiden picked up the tiara and placed it carefully on Sivelle’s head, before hurriedly dropping to her knees to slide soft, silk shoes onto the princess’s feet.

  “Did I not warn you that you were going to be late to meet with your father?” Mivian teased with a smile.

  “When have I ever paid much heed to your warnings, Mivian?” Sivelle stood and self-consciously adjusted her dress before striding to the door.

  “I will see you when you return, Princess.” Her handmaiden dipped her head and shot her a sympathetic smile.

  “Thank you.” Sivelle nodded and took a breath to steady herself before opening the bedroom door and heading out into the corridor.

  Her escort guard stood stock-still, diligently waiting for her. The man bowed but did not meet her eye. She smiled politely as a greeting.

  The soldier strode on ahead without a word and Sivelle trailed behind obediently. Her hands were damp with nervous sweat, as they often were when her father summoned her in any official capacity. It was not usually good news.

  She followed the guard along the lengthy corridor and down a large, wide flight of steps into an open reception area.

  She and her sisters had lived in this secluded wing of the castle since they were children. Though they were usually allowed free reign of the grounds in and around their castle wing, it had been days since Sivelle had been permitted to set foot outside of her room.

  The small selection of servants and guards posted here were specifically vetted by her father’s men, and as such, Sivelle had known most of them for many years.

  She caught the eye of a kindly kitchen servant as she passed. The old faerie woman gave her a soft smile as though pleased to see her. Sivelle supposed with her sisters’ recent disappearance, life in this part of the castle couldn’t have been very pleasant for anyone. Her father’s men had undoubtedly interrogated them all.

  As they strode towards the heavy double doors marking the entrance to the wing, they passed by the entrance to the large chamber where Sivelle practised her ballet. She glanced in longingly.

  It was dark where the drapes were still pulled across, but she caught a glimpse of her reflection through the open doorway in the large mirror that ran the length of the room.

  Her father had not banned her from practising, but it was terribly off-putting when a guard stood watch in the corner. She was to be accompanied everywhere she went, therefore Sivelle had taken to not going anywhere.

  Her father’s guard unhooked a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. He stood patiently whilst Sivelle folded her wings back, slipped a heavy cloak over her shoulders and buttoned it around her neck.

  An icy blast hit them as they exited the wing into the snowy courtyard. Sivelle pulled her cloak tightly around her and they hurried across to the opposite side of the castle. The cold snow stung her toes through her thin silk slippers and her mind turned to Lori and Faye once more.

  The weather was atrocious. How were they faring? Had Faye managed to catch up with Lori? Were they holed up together in some cosy little tavern on the road towards Banesteppe, or were they lost and alone in the wilderness?

  Sivelle felt her chest grow tight with worry. She hoped they hadn’t gotten themselves into any trouble. She cast her mind to the letter Lori had left for them when she had fled, the one that was currently hidden beneath Sivelle’s mattress. She prayed her sisters would be able to contact her soon so she could stop fretting over them so badly.

  The guard approached a second set of doors. He pushed them open and stepped aside for Sivelle to pass him. Once inside, away from the cold, Sivelle shrugged out of her cloak and hung it on a hook beside the door.

  Each wing of the castle was identical in shape and size. This particular block was where her father held counsel and war campaign meetings.

  “The king awaits you through here, Princess,” the soldier said, his voice steady and emotionless.

  Sivelle followed him dutifully to a door that led into her father’s throne room.

  Another faerie guard who was posted at the entrance glanced at her, eyeing her up and down for a moment before turning and disappearing inside. Sivelle knew her father was sat on his golden throne at the far end of the room.

  “My King, Princess Sivelle Goldwyrm.” The guard’s voice boomed around the chamber, bouncing off the thick, glossy marble that almost every surface was made of.

  Her escort stood aside and gestured for her to enter the room. Sivelle swallowed and stepped through the doorway, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest.

  “Sivelle, my darling.” Her father greeted her with warmth in his vo
ice. The emotion didn’t meet his eyes.

  Her mother sat beside him, not even deigning to look up from admiring a large ruby in her hand. She held it up to the light, smiling as it shimmered.

  Sivelle strode forwards, masking her nerves with cool indifference. It was a feat she was well practised at. As she reached the end of the thick carpet that lead towards the throne, she paused to curtsey.

  “You look as beautiful as ever, my favourite girl. My heart is filled with pride.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Sivelle replied, dipping her head.

  “I have summoned you to discuss your birthday preparations.”

  “My daughter, thirty already.” Her mother was looking down her long nose at her. “I cannot believe it.”

  “My love, you yourself do not look a day past thirty,” Lazuli soothed. The queen gave a haughty smirk and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  As always, she was heavily cloaked with majicka, the illusion altering her appearance significantly. Sivelle was not sure she would recognise her mother without the spell any more. The queen was never seen without her illusion in place.

  “Pray tell, what are your plans for your birthday ball?”

  “Invites have been sent to all nobility and their families. It is to be an evening of revelry and entertainment but fear not, it is nothing too extravagant.” Sivelle kept her eyes downcast.

  “Nonsense!” Lazuli spat. “You are my daughter; you are to have anything your heart desires. Just name it and I will provide it.”

  “Thank you, Father. I will bear that in mind.”

  “The ball I plan to throw in your honour will be the event of the century.” He grinned, eyes glinting excitedly. “I have invited over one hundred of the city’s most eligible bachelors. There were many families who were keen to earn a ticket. They sold out almost immediately.”

  Sivelle schooled her expression but felt a flush of alarm. He really was auctioning her away to the highest bidder.

  “Father…” She paused; her mouth dry. “Am I to choose a suitor for myself or…?”

  “Ridiculous girl, of course you are,” the queen interjected. “Your father has kindly agreed to set this celebration for you and you are asking such petulant questions!”

  “I have screened the applicants, but you are free to pick whomever catches your eye, my dear.” Lazuli chuckled. “Any of the men invited would provide me with an heir to be proud of. The choice will be yours.”

  That did not bode well. Sivelle felt a wave of nausea wash over her just imagining the kind of men that were invited to her father’s ball. If he approved of them, that meant they were all certain to be fat, sweaty and far too old for her.

  “Thank you, Father.” Her voice shook.

  “I am glad your birthday celebrations are in order. I would like to take this opportunity to discuss the first of many birthday gifts.” The king smiled. “A little bird tells me you would like to purchase a thrall.”

  Sivelle’s heart thundered in her chest and she fought to keep her eyes from widening with shock. How had he known about that?

  Lori and Faye had often teased Sivelle for being a prude. Whilst her younger sisters were free-spirited and eager for all of life’s experiences, Sivelle was quite the opposite. She liked to pretend that she was simply not interested in men, romance and sex, but in reality, she was terrified.

  Lori had been the first to lose her virginity. Sivelle and Faye had eagerly gathered around to hear the re-telling of events. It had sounded painful and awkward, not something Sivelle had been in any hurry to experience.

  As time had gone on, it had gotten more and more awkward. The more she told her sisters she was saving herself for marriage, the more frightened and trapped in her own untruths she became.

  Faye had joked that Sivelle should purchase herself a slave – or a ‘thrall’ as they were more commonly known – because she needed to ‘lighten up’ and sex would ‘take the edge off’.

  Having sexual relations with a thrall was incredibly taboo. Very few faeries engaged in such practices. The sisters had cackled, taking bets on how quickly Sivelle would have been disowned by their father if she took Faye up on her suggestion.

  It had all been in jest. Sivelle had never had the intention of actually purchasing a thrall, especially one fit for anything more passionate than scrubbing the floor and a spot of dusting.

  Her father’s ‘little birds’ were everywhere. That conversation between her and her sisters had been a joke they’d had one afternoon whilst out walking in the castle gardens. She felt a cold sweat bloom on her palms.

  “I, for one, think that is a wonderful idea,” her mother chipped in. “What a thoughtful gift, my love.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I was struggling for gift ideas and I wanted to purchase you something truly special for such a momentous birthday. I was gladdened to hear you were keen to have a thrall of your own.”

  Sivelle swallowed and fixed her eyes on a small stained patch on the carpet. It looked alarmingly like blood. She felt sick.

  “Do you have plans for tomorrow, my darling?” her father asked. Sivelle shook her head. “Perfect. I will send a guard escort to collect you in the morn and you can attend the pens to pick out a thrall. No expense spared.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  “I do have one request, however,” Lazuli continued. “Something I need to make very clear, before I dismiss you back to your wing.”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “This thrall… I would like you to purchase a eunuch. You already have far too many handmaidens at your disposal now your sisters—” He paused and closed his eyes, a deep scowl forming on his brow. “It would allow me to rest easier, knowing you had a loyal male presence.”

  They hadn’t spoken about Lori and Faye since they had disappeared. It seemed her mother and father had taken to pretending the girls had never existed.

  “Would I be allowed to roam freely in the castle grounds once more if I choose a suitable thrall to guard me?” The words fell from her mouth eagerly.

  Lazuli stroked his beard for long moments.

  “Yes. I will allow it, but only if you choose a man capable of not only being your thrall, but also protecting you from any harm. I will put in a request with the head jailer to have any such males presented to you tomorrow.”

  “But he must be a eunuch. I couldn’t even begin to imagine—” The queen’s mouth turned down in a grimace.

  “Do not upset yourself unnecessarily, my love. I will have it seen to that they are all unmanned.” The king petted her hand reassuringly and turned his attention back to Sivelle. “My darling daughter, you are dismissed. I await your birthday celebration eagerly.”

  Sivelle did not trust herself to speak. Her heart was in her mouth. She simply curtseyed once more and hastily exited the room.

  Her guard escort was waiting outside for her and she dutifully filed in behind him as he led her back to her bedroom-cum-prison cell.

  Chapter Three

  Though Haros wasn’t the biggest fan of being locked in a box, he had to admit his new cell was a significant improvement on the last one. He rolled over onto his back on the hard, metal cot bed. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but he’d had worse sleeping conditions and at least they had unchained his hands.

  Moonlight speared through a dirty window casting eerie shadows around the small space. Haros’s cell mate – an old faerie man named Rueben – snored loudly on the cot opposite him.

  The cell was cold with three walls encased in stone. The fourth was a row of iron bars, stretching floor to ceiling, that allowed potential buyers to look in and judge the inmates’ worth from a safe distance. Each cubicle was offset so prisoners were unable to see one another across the corridor.

  Haros shivered and tucked his threadbare blanket under his chin. He was still shirtless and was going to remain so for the duration of his stay. There were no clothing provisions in this wing of the dungeon, which was another oversight on Vik’s p
art, apparently.

  Judging by the wary looks he had received from the few faerie patrons that had passed his cell so far, Haros’s prison stint was likely to be a lengthy one. He was clearly not at the top of the list as far as desirable slaves went.

  He couldn’t blame them, really. Should anyone be stupid enough to take a risk purchasing him, he was planning to escape as quickly as possible – through any means necessary.

  Haros couldn’t quite believe that he had managed to get this far as an imposter without anyone questioning him. He supposed it just highlighted how overworked the faerie guard running the prisons were. Even Reuben had noticed immediately how out of place he was, and the man was practically blind.

  According to the old man, there was a wing that specialised in mercenaries and body guards for hire that would have suited Haros much better. The head jailer had probably been reluctant to arm a demon of Haros’s stature with anything sharp and deadly, which had been a very smart move on his part. Haros would have been halfway to Banesteppe already if he’d had access to a weapon.

  Haros sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. What he wouldn’t give to be back home… He wondered how Lephas and Lori were faring. Had his commander managed to get back to their king yet?

  He dreaded to think how Lephas was coping with escorting the princess alone. The man was probably all manner of awkward – especially as Haros was fairly convinced Lephas had a ‘thing’ for Lori. He grinned to himself.

  With any luck, the princess would take things into her own hands and make the first move. It would certainly put Lephas out of his misery.

  Haros swallowed. He hoped he would one day make it back to his friends and not spend the rest of his life rotting in a cell.

  Rueben wasn’t a desirable slave either. He was decidedly frail and his eyes were clouded with cataracts. When he and Haros had been getting to know one another, the old man had estimated he’d been in this same cell ten years or more. There was no doubt in either of their minds that he was going to serve out the rest of his days here.