The Crowned Captive
Secrets Uncovered

Rowan could not find the river soon enough. He had spear-headed away from it at first, not wanting to deal with the extra traffic the area usually brought - little good that had done him. Now, he regretted it with every blood-caked fibre of his being. His skin was dried-stiff, he reeked of death, and his captive was slouched against him in the same state. He was exhausted, as was his mare, and it was damned cold.

He had to fight the urge to groan with relief as the sweeping bend of the river came into sight, the crystal water running by with barely a whisper. The banks were well eroded at the peak of the bend, leaving quite a jump to get to the water. As the bend straightened out, the bank sloped down, and a clear exit and entry point could be seen. By now, the first feeble strands of light were making their way through the sky, and the forest was silent in the pre-dawn light. Rowan contemplated it all for a moment as his mare slowed beneath him.

Morana’s eyes opened mid-air, around the same time Rowan remembered he had a life debt to the mutt.

Her shocked scream etched around them for a mere moment before the frigid water swallowed her. Rowan frowned, his enjoyment at her shock already ruined, as she broke from the surface and gasped at the sudden cold. Her silver hair fanned out around her like a living being as she floated along with the river’s current, eyes searching her surroundings in confusion. Finally, her eyes found his. She was completely and utterly furious, red in the face and eyes wild. He truly wished he could find amusement in it.

She said nothing as he watched her float down the river, keeping pace on his mare until he finally reached the area where the steep banks flattened into a rocky beach. As he dismounted, she merely glared at him with more force than anybody had dared to in a long time. Rowan ignored her entirely, too eager to wash the stink from his skin.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She spat, teeth bared. He could not help but laugh at the sight of her, as offensive as a waterlogged kitten.

“I believe most would agree there is a lot wrong with me, halfling, but currently I do not know what you refer to. I was merely encouraging you to bathe.”

“I will bathe when I decide to! Being thrown into frigid water at dawn is not bathing regardless!”

The level of audacity the mutt had was astounding. Not particularly caring for her tone, Rowan’s glare darkened. A smirk softened it when her bravado faltered and she looked. In his foul mood, it was all he could do to resist stalking her down and shaving the rest of her ill-earned confidence away.”

“You do not seem to understand your current position, princess," he mocked. “You are my prisoner, and I am tasked with getting you to our destination alive. You do not get to decide what happens anymore. I have reached my level of patience with the stench of human man, tavern, sweat and blood rubbing up against me. It is unsanitary to sit in ripped and blood-soaked clothes for days on end. You. Will. Bathe.”

For a moment, Rowan thought she may lash out at him. Her face paled, then flushed red, and then finally she broke her gaze away. The thin line of her mouth and her flat eyes spoke volumes about her anger, but also her shame. He did not particularly care. With a final sneer, he began to peel his blood-stiff clothes from his skin, frowning at the gouges in the fabric. It had been one of his favourite riding tunics and now it was well beyond repair.

The water was indeed icy cold, a shock to his senses as he waded into the depths. It was a welcome feeling. Without hesitation, he stood and began to scrub at his skin with his hands, watching as the flakes of burgundy blood dislodged and began their course downstream. As he turned, a stifled scream interrupted him once more.

“What is wrong? Never seen a naked man before?” Rowan spoke as he rose, levelling Morana with a bored look. She had sunk back into the water flushed, trying to hide her embarrassment with a raised chin.

“I have so,” she defended. Rowan rolled his eyes.

“I apologise then if my beauty is so stunning, then, but please try and control yourself.”

“You are a pig.”

Rowan’s eyebrows rose at that remark, but his grin only deepened. He may have been called a pig before, but it was usually whilst doing things far worse.

“I don’t care what you think of me, and I am at the end of my patience. Undress, bathe properly, dispose of your clothes, and do it quickly.”

“I am not stripping down naked in front of you!” She began when Rowan thought it would be the last of their conversation. The grin fell from his face and true anger began to creep in. “Nor am I sitting on a horse naked with you for even a second, never mind however long you expect me to until we reach whatever corner of this hellscape you are taking me to. No, if you expect that from me, you will have to torture me to get me to comply.”

“Firstly, I do not care for your nakedness; I have more dignity than to fornicate with a mutt. So trust me when I say I won’t be watching unless you try and escape. Secondly, whilst I may enjoy torture, I was planning on buying you new clothes in the next village. Until then, I have ever so graciously decided to allow you to use a set of my clothes. Unless you wish me to change my mind, I would recommend dropping the attitude before you continue.”

He did not bother to wait for a response. Wading deeper into the flow, he ducked his head below the flow and freed his hair from its bindings. He ran his fingers through it, freeing the dried blood, and then stood. His comfort was ruined by his companion, so he walked back to the shore to dry himself. The mutt soon followed him, and he threw her the linen once he was done. Ignoring her clattering teeth, he threw her his oldest set of riding leathers and a worn tunic, trusting she would dress quickly. Finishing clothing himself, he turned to her and drew his dagger.

She paled as he stalked forward, and then yelped as he knelt and grabbed her foot. Ignoring her protests, he hauled her foot onto his knee and cut the leg of the trousers down to a more appropriate length. Thankfully she did not protest as he did the same to the other, then snatched her dress from where she still clutched it in her hands. Scrunching his nose, he threw the ragged cloth into the river, allowing it to sweep it away.

A pang of pity and regret sang through him as he saw the fear in her eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw against her shivering. Her hair had already soaked her tunic, hanging limp from her head like a tangle of silver ropes. Had she not decided to piss him off so thoroughly, he may have dried it for her with magic. He supposed it was his duty with the stupid damn life debt to do so to prevent her from freezing to death. He sighed internally, not wishing to let her know that he actually cared, before turning towards the horse. Diligently, she followed and Rowan watched as she hoisted herself onto his mare. Rowan followed her movement.

With the mare moving beneath him once more, he took a deep steadying breath. Finally, the stench of blood was gone. The faint earthy scent of river water only added depths to the heady scent of jasmine, rose and... not human. His heart skipped a beat. Surreptitiously, he scented the air once more. It was undeniable. A simple bath had washed away every trace of human from her scent. It was impossible, yet...

He finally realised why he had been sent on this mission. He thanked the Gods, every single one of them, that he had not had to harm her, and cursed his king for keeping him so clueless. Whatever family she belonged to may yet demand a blood payment for his threats and harsh treatment, let alone if actual blood had been spilled. He certainly did not feel like having to pay that price because of unnecessary ignorance.

How a fae child had ended up raised by a witch was completely out of his understanding, anyways. Changelings were illegal and outlawed with only the harshest punishments being dolled out to those who broke the laws on both sides of the war. He had not even heard of one missing child in the past century, and in the past two and a half decades pregnancy had been rare enough that he could remember every babe that had lived and died and the faces of those who were buried. Their spies in the resistance would have been able to give intel on a babe missing from their side too.

Even if he could not figure out the answer to that question, there was another that required an answer. What was he supposed to do with her now? Capturing a halfling for questioning was one thing, kidnapping a full-blooded elf from an unknown bloodline and threatening her with torture was a great way to end up dead. The fact she had fae hounds on her heels only meant that whoever was missing her was powerful, at least a lord or lady. If her family found out and wanted to question the way she had been treated, or why they were not told of her being found first, he hoped the king was kind enough to take the fallout. He doubted it, however. If he timed their arrival to the capital to be night, hopefully not as many people were out and he would escape the worst of the family’s wrath.

The mu- No, Morana, sniffled in front of him. His pang of pity ran deeper now. He could not let her sit in those clothes on such a cold day or she would catch her death. With a sigh, he kicked his mare into a trot. He would have preferred to go to one of the villages nestled against The Scar, but he could not in good conscience leave her in such a condition that long. They would ride through the night, past the closest village and to the next. Until then, he would have to make do, getting whatever sleep he could with his magic holding them upright.

“Get comfortable and tell me when you get hungry,” Rowan grumbled, rather irritated with the whole situation, and brought forward a cloak of warmth. And so on they rode.

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