The next morning wasn't comfortable. Malachi arrived, standing at the cell door, carrying a bowl of food and a thick cloak. He pushed the door open with his hip and entered, a look of disdain never leaving his face.
"The Prince wants you alive, not frozen to death," he said, throwing the cloak towards me. It fell heavily to the ground.
I didn't bend to pick it up, but remained sitting on the stone bed, my back straight.
"Your Prince seems very concerned about my comfort," I began.
He replied, "His concern is for your reputation." He threw the bowl onto the bed beside me and said, "No one will say that Amber mistreated the Princess of Nevis. Hunger and cold can kill, but insult creates a martyr, and we don't want a martyr."
I looked at the bowl, then at him. "Are you afraid of me, Malachi?"
He laughed coldly, a short, dry laugh. "Of a wounded girl? No."
I answered him, "But you're afraid of what I represent. Afraid that the legend of the white dragon will turn into a flame that burns your fortress from within."
His features hardened. He took a step forward and leaned down until his face was level with mine.
"You are nothing but the failure of a deluded leader. Our Prince is the one who stopped you, and he will crush you. Don't confuse mercy with weakness."
"You call this mercy? A cold prison and food fit for a dog?"
"I call it survival. And more importantly, I call it an opportunity."
"An opportunity for what?"
Malachi smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "To see how easy it is to forget Nevis once you realize the power of Amber."
Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him, leaving me with my only two companions: silence and suspicion.
I looked at the cloak lying on the ground. It was made of coarse wool, but it was thick. I would need it against the cold of these stone walls.
Then I turned to the bowl. The faint smell of meat soup rose from it. Kieran was playing a dangerous game.
He wasn't just trying to imprison me physically; he sought to destroy my spirit. He gave me barely enough to survive, to show that my life was at his command.
But Malachi was wrong on one point. I was a warrior of Nevis, and our pride wasn't just pride; it was a firm belief that our honor was our true shield.
I threw the cloak over my shoulders, feeling its weight and the smell of smoke and earth emanating from it. Then I took the bowl, and it was simple food: hard bread and soup.
And I ate.
Every bite was bitter, but I swallowed it, because this wasn't surrender to defeat, but preparation for the coming battle.
Kieran thought he could break me, but he didn't realize that the most dangerous captive is one who has something to live for.
And I had much to live for: revenge, my freedom, and my return to Glacier.
I looked at the crack in the wall, at that thin line of gray sky, and whispered a vow I made to myself:
"I will see Nevis again, and I will see Kieran on his knees."
The wooden door slammed against the stone wall with a thunderous sound. I didn't need to turn around to know who entered; her presence preceded her like the fierce wind coming from the "Bloodied Fangs" mountains.
It was an old woman, bent-backed like a willow tree worn by time, wearing simple gray wool clothes. Her face was wrinkled like a map of ancient wars, but her eyes... her eyes were remarkably clear and lively, radiating a sharp intelligence that time hadn't extinguished.
She carried two baskets in her hands: one containing clean water, and the other containing ointment and clean bandages. She didn't wait for permission, but advanced directly towards the stone bed where I sat, trying to hide my pain.
"The Prince sent me," she said in a hoarse voice like the rustle of dry leaves. She placed the baskets on the ground and began opening the jar of ointment.
The pungent smell of medicinal herbs filled the small room, a smell different from all the other scents I had encountered here.
"He sent a nurse for his captive?" I asked, trying to protect myself with sarcasm. "Is he afraid I'll die before he gets a chance to break me himself?"
The old woman raised her eyes to me, a piercing gaze that made me feel she saw more than just a captive princess. She saw the frightened girl behind the warrior's mask.
He didn't come with the darkness. He came shortly after midnight. The moon had reached its zenith behind the mountain peak, casting a faint light through the small opening, turning the stone floor of the chamber into a mosaic of silver and shadow.
I didn't hear the bolt move, nor the sound of footsteps. It was just a presence, heavy and sudden, filling the void of the cell.
I opened my eyes to find his shadow filling the doorway, larger and more threatening in the pale moonlight.
He had removed his armor, wearing only black trousers and a simple linen shirt, highlighting the breadth of his broad shoulders. His black hair was loose now, flowing over his shoulders like a waterfall of darkness.
He sat on the edge of the stone bed without asking permission. Our silence was more disturbing than any words.
"The wound," he finally said, his voice low and rough, as if he hadn't used it for hours. "Does it hurt?"
It was a strange, unexpected question. I turned to him. In the faint light, his sharp features were more distinct, but his gray eyes didn't reflect the cruelty I had seen before; rather, they seemed tired.
"You didn't come here to ask about my wound," I replied, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.
"No," he agreed with disturbing honesty. "I came because I can't sleep." He looked around the cell, then turned to me. "And you're here, under my roof, and your thoughts fill my fortress like fog."
"Perhaps you should release me. You'd be able to sleep then."
He smiled a sarcastic smile, but it was devoid of malice. "It's not that simple, my Princess. You're now part of a larger game, and releasing you means losing it."
"What game?"
"The game of thrones... and the game of dragons... and the game of survival."
He suddenly reached out, and his cold fingers touched my chin, holding it with surprising gentleness. "Your uncle, Lord Valcar, sent a message demanding your return, in exchange for golden promises and alliances."
I froze. Lord Valcar, my father's most powerful advisor, who had always sought power.
"And your reply?" I whispered, my eyes fixed on his.
He released me and moved away. "I will refuse, of course, because his offer came with a threat. He said if I don't return you, he'll consider it a declaration of war. But in the same message, he never once mentioned the fate of your white dragon, Glacier."
His words fell like stones in a quiet pond, creating ripples of shock. Valcar wanted to ignite a war, and he was using my name as a pretext.
"You're just a tool to him, Elania. Just a tool. While you, to me..." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "You are the key."
"The key to what?"
He stood, his back to me, and said, "Sleep now. Tomorrow, your lessons will begin."
"Lessons?"
He turned at the door, half his face illuminated by moonlight, and added, "Yes. You will begin to learn why you were brought here. And the lessons won't be easy."
He left, leaving the door open behind him for a moment, like a silent invitation to escape, which I realized was a trap. I looked at that dark corridor, then at the stone bed. He had left a question hanging in the cold air, more terrifying than any shackle.
The "trap" wasn't the open door, but what he had said. Those words left in the cell, floating in the cold air like crystals of poisonous ice. Key to what? The question consumed my mind like fire consuming wood. I wasn't afraid of my uncle, Lord Valcar, but I was using his threats as part of his plan.
I sat on the stone bed, the coarse cloak wrapped around my shoulders. The cold that pierced my bones was no longer just mountain air; it was the mystery surrounding me. I wasn't just a captive of a cruel warrior; I was a piece in a chess game whose rules I didn't know.
Then I heard a different sound this time. Not heavy or light footsteps, but a dragging sound and rustling. The sound of two large wings pushing the air away, outside the fortress.
I looked at the crack in the wall, trying to see, but all I could make out was a massive shadow crossing in front of the moon for a single second, blocking its light, before disappearing.
Nyctis. His black dragon. He was close.
Why? Was he preparing for battle? Or was there another reason?
The sound of light footsteps slid towards the door again. This time it was Elena, the old woman.
She carried a cup of hot tea, its steam rising like the breath of life in this desolate place.
"You couldn't sleep, could you?" She said it not as a question, but as a confirmed fact. She extended the cup to me. "Drink, it will help you."
I took the cup with my trembling hands, the warmth of the steam touching my skin like balm.
"I heard... the dragon."
Her expression didn't change. "The mountain is full of sounds at night, some real, some woven from our imagination."
"It was real."
She stared at me intently. "Nyctis is part of the Prince, just as your white dragon is part of you. When he can't sleep, he flies. He flies high where no human hands can reach him."
I took a sip of the tea. It was bitter and strong, but it spread warmth through my veins. "Does he fly often?"
She sat beside me on the bed, her light weight barely audible. "You're causing his insomnia, child," she said.
This time, I didn't object to the title "child." It seemed fitting in the darkness of the night.
I said, "I hate him."
She smiled and said, "Hate and interest are two sides of the same coin, sometimes."
She placed her wrinkled hand on mine and added, "He has never brought any captive to this fortress before. He has never cared for anyone except his tribe and his dragon."
I said, "Perhaps because he has never defeated a princess of Nevis before."
Elena smiled a smile that held secrets and said, "Perhaps. Or perhaps because he saw something in your eyes that he didn't find in others."
I asked her, "What?"
She stood up and pointed to the cup, saying, "Finish your tea and try to sleep. Tomorrow is heavy. And you'll need all your strength."
I asked her, "Why? What will happen tomorrow?"
At the door, she turned and said, "He will begin to reveal his secrets. And when Kieran begins to reveal, it's like falling into an icy river. It might save you, or it might drag you into the depths."
She left me alone again, but this time with the warmth of the tea in my hand, and the warmth of her warning in my heart. Kieran wanted something from me, something bigger than just a captive. And he was willing to pull me into the depths of his dark world to get it.
And the question that kept buzzing in my head was: Will I save myself, or will I drift away with him?