Bledric sat in his throne, his seven sons stood in front of him. They were praising their father for capturing Azareth. They were proud to serve under him. Azareth stared at them horrified from the floor next to the throne. She was powerless, exhausted and sore. The chain tied around her neck was just tight enough that she could just breath. She was embarrassed to be in this situation. Bledric forced her to change into a ratty grey smock. It barely covered her, leaving her arms and most of her legs bare.

The throne room was long and full of banners. There were weapons hung up on the walls, different books were sprawled around the room. Piles of them, Azareth believed they were spell books. She tried to peak in them, but was stopped when Bledric pulled her right next to him. The floor was cold against her bare legs. Even though there were several fireplaces in the throne room, none of them were lit.

“Father, what shall we do now that Berlar is ruler less?” His eldest son Federyc asked. Azareth had managed to learn all the names of the prince’s in the last twenty-for hours. Having them take their turns beating her helped in learning more about them.

Federyc was the oldest and the most like his father. He looked like a younger version of Bledric, with long black hair and beard. He was the first to beat Azareth, he mostly enjoyed kicking her ribs. Making sure not to break them.

Emeric came next. He looked nothing like his father. He had bright fiery red hair, cut short around his ears. He had a cleanly trimmed red beard and an almost kind smile. He was the most gentle when it came to Azareth’s beating. He questioned her, but when she didn’t answer the worst he did was smack her. Azareth sensed he was simular to Artibain. That he possibly didnt believe in his father’s decisions.

Powel liked to cut, not deep. Small cuts covering her arms and legs. He had short curly black hair and a clean face. He was scared from different battles, and he looked older than he was.

Renfry thought it was fun to play with fire around her. Of course he failed in trying to intimidate her. Fire was the one thing Azareth had never feared. When the fire didn’t work he decided to talk about the different was he could destroy her kingdom. That got under her skin, but Azareth tried to ignore him. He had a shaved head and tattoos covering his scalp. It looked like different runes designed into his skin. His nose has also been broken and was crocked.

Wiscar and Sargus came in together. They were twins, identical with bright blonde hair. Only way to tell them apart was that Sargus wore his hair in a long ponytail. While Wiscar wore it down. They took turns holding Azareth and punching her. It was hard, she wished she could defend herself.

When the youngest Ulric finally had his turn, Azareth had no fight in her. She laid on the ground took whatever he did. Ulric had fun pulling off a couple of Azareth’s finger nails and jabbing a sharp stick into her pressure points. His long black hair was tied back in a pony tail, out of the way so Azareth couldn’t grab it.

It had been a long night and Azareth knew she looked a mess. She could feel the bruises all over her body, she thought maybe a rib or two was broken. Her face hurt. She couldn’t see out of her left eye, because it was swollen and hurt to touch. She ran her tongue over her lip and felt the split that stung and bled. She looked at her feet, covered in blisters from the long walk. She wished she had listened to her friends and family.

She knew that if they saw her now, they’d would be so mad with her. She heard the chain move, causing her to look up at Bledric. He was looking down at her a sneer plastered on his face.

“That’s a good question Federyc,” Bledric said. He looked back at his sons and scratched his chin quizzically. He was postponing answering, but Azareth knew that he had a plan.

“Father is there a chance of Berlar surrendering? Now that their queen is prisoner?” Emeric asked. Everyone laughed at Emeric and Azareth looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him. He turned to look at his father.

“I doubt it, that dragon flew back without her. They’ll come for her, we should be ready when they do come,” Bledric said. Azareth couldn’t help, but scoff at that. Bledric wrenched on the chain and pulled her towards him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I sent a spy into your kingdom weeks ago and you never even noticed him,” Azareth said. She looked up at Bledric full of pride. She could see that he wasn’t expecting that and that her people finally had the advantage. They could sneak in with Artibain’s help and would never be seen.

“She lies,” Ulric yelled.

“Let us teacher her a lesson, father,” Wiscar shouted. Suddenly all the men were fighting to torture her again. Bledric raised his hand, silencing the men. Azareth never dropped her gaze from Bledric’s eyes. She wanted to show that she would never give into him.

“Tie her to the pole, see how being shammed in front of the city treats her,” Bledric said. Azareth stared at him as he handed the chain off to Federyc. Azareth was dragged away, she could barely stand and walk. The seven men escorted her out of the room and towards the front of the castle.

When the sun hit her, they clamped shut. The sudden brightness was blinding. She almost rolled down the stairs, but Emeric grabbed her arm and stopped her from going down head first. He lead her down the stairs, supporting her subtly trying not to let his brothers notice.

Azareth took noticed of the large thick pole to the right of the front stairs. She glanced over at Emeric, who refrained from looking at her. At the bottom of the stairs, he let go over arm and she fell to the ground. She looked up a the men, they were looking down at her pleased with themselves.

“Chain her to the pole,” Federyc said. He tossed the chain to Powel and he caught it. Powel pulled Azareth to the pole and tied her up. She sat on the ground and looked around.

“Have fun,” Powel said. She looked over at him confused.

“I don’t understand,” Azareth said. Then people started to noticed the princes were all standing around the pole. They were making their way towards the group to see what was going on. When people saw Azareth coming around, they got excited.

“The citizen shall take a turn in your torture,” Renfry said. He sneered like his father and then turned to head back to the castle. The princes left, only Emeric looked back at Azareth with a sullen expression.

Azareth sat on the ground and looked around at the large group of people forming. They were all holding some kind of projectile, food or rocks. Azareth knew what was going to happen. She made herself as small as she could and wrapped her arms around her head.

People cheered as the objects began to hit her. She didn’t know how many or what, but she felt tears streaming down her face as she muffled her sobs in her knees. She wanted to go home, she needed help to get out of this nightmare.

It was late into the evening, the sun was long gone. Azareth was curled up on her side, her knees pulled up against her chest. She was breathing slowly, she couldn’t bring herself to move from her position. She was afraid she would hurt herself more. She heard footsteps coming towards her, she clamped her eyes shut hoping the person would leave her be.

The person stopped in front of her and she heard the ground shift under their weight. She jumped when something warm and wet touched her arm. Her eyes burst opened and she looked to see the shadowing face of Prince Emeric. He raised his hand and put a finger to his mouth, gesturing for her to stay silent.

“It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered to her. Azareth looked at his other hand, she saw he had a cloth and a bowl of water. She glanced back at his face and he tried to give her a weak smile.

“Why?” she asked him. He shook his head and put the cloth down in the bowl. She watched him reach into his pocket and pulled out a medical pouch.

“I don’t believe in what my father is doing, but I’m afraid I can’t do much to stop him,” Emeric said. Azareth looked and saw he was applying a salve onto her cuts. “This should protect against infection.”

“Thank you,” she said. He helped her sit up and looked at her face. He picked up the cloth again. He gently washed her face of the dried blood and got a better look at her injuries.

“It’s not as bad as I thought, it will heal. You may have some scaring from those cuts and the split lip. I shall try to keep you safe, but I can’t let my family know,” he said.

“Can you get word to my people? Please, they need to know what happened to me and that I’m alive,” she begged. Emeric glanced around and looked for any signs of people. He looked back into Azareth’s eyes and nodded once.

“I’ll try, but my father will be bring you to trial tomorrow.”

“Trial? For what?”

“Treason,” Emeric said. Azareth’s job dropped and she shook her head.

“Treason?” she asked stunned. “What happens if he finds me guilty?”

“You’ll be executed in front of the whole kingdom the day after tomorrow.” Emeric took a small canteen off his belt and handed it to Azareth. “Drink this.”

Azareth stared at the canteen, unsure if she should drink from it. Emeric looked up and saw her hesitation.

“It’s water, I promise,” he told her. She sniffed the opening and looked at him warily. She took a small sip of the water, it felt restoring to taste the water. Her dry mouth absorbed every last drop. She finished the water in seconds, dropping her hands to her lap. She took in a deep breath and looked around the dark street.

“I don’t want to die here,” she whispered. Emeric looked at her, she gave him the canteen back and looked away.

“I’m going to send word to your kingdom,” he said. “It won’t be easy, but have faith they’ll get word and arrive in time.” With that said he left her. She pulled her knees up to her chest and felt small tears burn her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She started to picture everyone in Berlar. Her mother and father who had traveled from their home to see her. They would be heart broken to hear she left without a goodbye. She could see her father holding her mother in his arms. Comforting her as she cried and praying to the gods that she hadn’t left them. Her father would be holding back the tears, not wanting to show how scared and upset he was in front of her. He would be just as terrified.

“It’ll be all right,” her Hastos’ voice played in her head. “She’s a very capable young women, you know that. We raised her right.”

Sana, who had been the only friend she had growing up. She supported her and loved her despite being the odd one out. She came to see her friend, to help run a kingdom after she heard the news. Azareth wasn’t even bothered that Sana had given her a hard time, she just wanted to she her again. Sana would be so angry at her for leaving a second time without saying goodbye.

“I can’t believe her! How dare she just run off again?!”

She would yell and scream at everyone. Azareth could see her throwing her arms in the air her long blonde hair bouncing and twirling around her. Jurah and Artibain would try to calm her down, but to no avail.

“Shut up, you’re just as pissed as I am!” Sana would scream at them.

Artibain. If he wasn’t mad before he surely was livid now. He wouldn’t show it though. His stoic expression firm on his face as he leaned against the wall trying to make sense of it. Azareth could see it perfectly, his arms would be crossed and he would mutter comments under his breath at whatever Jurah was going on about. Azareth was sure that he would try and talk some sense into Sana. The two would end up in a screaming match about what to do. Cursing at each other and causing unnecessary drama.

“Don’t yell at me, this isn’t my fault,” Artibain would remind her.

“Well it sure as hell isn’t mine,” Sana would say. “You’re her advisors’ you should have advised her properly!”

Then Jurah. His heart wrenching cry as she flew off on Cephie was playing on a loop in her mind. He would be trying to plan an attack on Asleria. Especially if Cephie had arrived back in Berlar and they saw she was not with her. Jurah would be cursing, blaming himself for not demanding she take him with her. Azareth could picture his face perfectly. His green eyes would be devastated and on the brink of tears, but he wouldn’t shed them. No, Jurah was the rock for everyone. He would feel the need to remain calm and to reassure everyone else that it would all be okay.

“Since Cephie returned, we know that they have her,” Jurah would try to explain. “We can form a plan to go after them and bring her home. We need to remain united and work together if it’s going to work.”

She sniffed and wiped the tears off her cheeks. There was no way for sure to know if they were working on getting her back. She prayed they knew she needed them. If not she would surely die in two days time.