lifeless body lying on some nameless battlefield, butchered and headless like the others surrounding her now. Larsa quickly banished the thought from her mind. I can cope with anything except that …
Exhaustion and dehydration gripped her, sucking every ounce of strength that remained inside her. Her body felt heavy; she could no longer carry herself or drag her feet further. Knowing that Marmicus was safe was the only comfort she had; it gave her the will to survive the pitiless situation in which she found herself. Larsa imagined Marmicus’s face, remembering the way he had lovingly looked into her eyes and kissed her neck during their last intimate moments together. His memory added warmth to a body that had succumbed to a world filled with cold. Since her capture, one question kept running through her mind: why had she not been killed? There must be a reason for her survival. Larsa knew her enemy could have killed her at any time, but Jaquzan had specifically ordered that she remain alive. Whatever his reason, it couldn’t be any worse than what she had already endured. Her body and mind were prepared for anything – or so she thought …
***
There are few men in the world who are able to command others without having to say a single word. Jaquzan was one such man. Even in silence he possessed the ability to influence others; in fact, very little ever escaped his lips. After all, words are used to impress people, but a powerful man has no one to impress. The princess recognised the depths of Jaquzan’s power almost immediately, and she saw the fear he wrought in her captors; brute men, so confident in the desert, were now hushed in the throne room, wanting desperately to disappear into the background. Even the cruel smile on Nafridos’s face had vanished; he too had surrendered to his master’s power, as if Jaquzan were able to control his mind without saying or doing anything.
Larsa was pushed to the ground in front of the emperor; her knees scraped on the floor as she was forced to prostrate herself. Now that her captors had completed their assignment, they were curious to find out what exactly was going to be done with her. After all, very few of royal blood had ever escaped the throne room alive, and those who had were thrown to the lions. Larsa lifted her head, wanting to see Jaquzan’s face; maybe he wasn’t as sadistic or cruel as his cousin? A person’s humanity can always be seen in their eyes, but the princess would have to wait to look into them, as all she could see was a faint silhouette of a man sitting upon an exalted throne which spiralled upwards as if it were some sort of dark cloud hanging from the sky. The throne was unfit for any mere mortal to sit upon; it seemed possessed of an immortal presence, as if it were some kind of mythical creature, only capable of being tamed by absolute power. Its mere existence proved that humility had no place in Jaquzan’s destructive world.
‘Untie her hands,’ the emperor said faintly, almost in a whisper. No one could tell if the gesture was done out of mercy, or if it was the beginning of another sinister sequence of events.
‘With pleasure,’ replied his cousin. Nafridos pulled her up, twisting her left arm as he did. Her skin was hot and feverish – touching it gave him an extraordinary feeling. Using his cherished dagger he cut through the blood-stained rope which bound her wrists together. A faint whimper left her lips, secretly pleasing him. Her wrists were swollen and bloody; the coarse rope had blistered them. As soon as the rope was undone, a rush of blood swept back to her fingers, which tingled with pain.
‘Bring her into the light – let me see her face!’ said Jaquzan.
Nafridos nudged her forward using the hilt of his dagger; the pommel dug into her back, hurting her.
‘What do you want from me? Why am I here?’
‘Be thankful, princess. Many have stood where you are now, begging for their lives as you now beg, perhaps, for
Exhaustion and dehydration gripped her, sucking every ounce of strength that remained inside her. Her body felt heavy; she could no longer carry herself or drag her feet further. Knowing that Marmicus was safe was the only comfort she had; it gave her the will to survive the pitiless situation in which she found herself. Larsa imagined Marmicus’s face, remembering the way he had lovingly looked into her eyes and kissed her neck during their last intimate moments together. His memory added warmth to a body that had succumbed to a world filled with cold. Since her capture, one question kept running through her mind: why had she not been killed? There must be a reason for her survival. Larsa knew her enemy could have killed her at any time, but Jaquzan had specifically ordered that she remain alive. Whatever his reason, it couldn’t be any worse than what she had already endured. Her body and mind were prepared for anything – or so she thought …
***
There are few men in the world who are able to command others without having to say a single word. Jaquzan was one such man. Even in silence he possessed the ability to influence others; in fact, very little ever escaped his lips. After all, words are used to impress people, but a powerful man has no one to impress. The princess recognised the depths of Jaquzan’s power almost immediately, and she saw the fear he wrought in her captors; brute men, so confident in the desert, were now hushed in the throne room, wanting desperately to disappear into the background. Even the cruel smile on Nafridos’s face had vanished; he too had surrendered to his master’s power, as if Jaquzan were able to control his mind without saying or doing anything.
Larsa was pushed to the ground in front of the emperor; her knees scraped on the floor as she was forced to prostrate herself. Now that her captors had completed their assignment, they were curious to find out what exactly was going to be done with her. After all, very few of royal blood had ever escaped the throne room alive, and those who had were thrown to the lions. Larsa lifted her head, wanting to see Jaquzan’s face; maybe he wasn’t as sadistic or cruel as his cousin? A person’s humanity can always be seen in their eyes, but the princess would have to wait to look into them, as all she could see was a faint silhouette of a man sitting upon an exalted throne which spiralled upwards as if it were some sort of dark cloud hanging from the sky. The throne was unfit for any mere mortal to sit upon; it seemed possessed of an immortal presence, as if it were some kind of mythical creature, only capable of being tamed by absolute power. Its mere existence proved that humility had no place in Jaquzan’s destructive world.
‘Untie her hands,’ the emperor said faintly, almost in a whisper. No one could tell if the gesture was done out of mercy, or if it was the beginning of another sinister sequence of events.
‘With pleasure,’ replied his cousin. Nafridos pulled her up, twisting her left arm as he did. Her skin was hot and feverish – touching it gave him an extraordinary feeling. Using his cherished dagger he cut through the blood-stained rope which bound her wrists together. A faint whimper left her lips, secretly pleasing him. Her wrists were swollen and bloody; the coarse rope had blistered them. As soon as the rope was undone, a rush of blood swept back to her fingers, which tingled with pain.
‘Bring her into the light – let me see her face!’ said Jaquzan.
Nafridos nudged her forward using the hilt of his dagger; the pommel dug into her back, hurting her.
‘What do you want from me? Why am I here?’
‘Be thankful, princess. Many have stood where you are now, begging for their lives as you now beg, perhaps, for
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