The Crowned Captive
The Scorned Saviour

Nobody bothered to murmur even a friendly hello as Morana slipped in the doors of the inn. Not that it was any different, though. She ducked her head at Mrs Midday, not wishing to rile the woman further. Already, the plump and plain woman stared down a hooked nose at Morana, her glare heavy against her skin. Hoping her fear was enough of an apology, Morana hurried through the room and to the door to the cellar.

The steps squealed under her feet as she padded down into the darkness. Hurriedly, she lit the lantern at the base of the stairs. She glanced between the shelves as she moved, thankful that no monster hid within the shadows. As she reached the corner of the cellar, her straw bed in sight, it took everything she had not to cry. She was starved, scared, beaten, and soon to be scorned. In all of her crappy days, this was definitely one to remember. With a deep centring breath, she hurriedly made her way to her dresser. She wiped her face free from tears and grime in the scuffed mirror then tied on her apron.

At the creaking of the stairs behind her, Morana’s lip trembled. All she needed was a few moments of reprieve. Then she would be ready to face the woman.

“I’ll be with you in just a minute, Mrs Midday! I am just changing now,” she yelled, trying and failing to compose herself. A sob nearly broke from her as she registered the break in her voice. Shakily, she forced a breath in through her nose, releasing it in a thin stream through pursed lips. Again, and once more, she did this before she turned and walked to the exit of her musty rooms.

As she hurried from around the shelves to the stairs once more, it was not the familiar tavern owner who glared down at her. No, in front of her was an even more terrifying sight. The man was tall, a forest green cloak hiding most of his form. Whilst the shadows obscured most of his form, Morana could easily see something silver glinting in his hand wickedly.

“I am sorry, sir, but patrons aren’t allowed down here,” she said, once again trying to hide her emotions. She knew someone had been watching her. But why was this man here? You didn’t have to skulk in the shadows to kill a halfling.

“I am no patron,” the man said, his dark chuckle floating down towards her. Her mouth went dry at the words, and she once again mentally cursed her horrid day.

“Then I must respectfully ask you to leave, then.” She swore internally as the man chuckled at her fumbled words. He detached himself from the wall, lazily strolling down the steps towards her, not a sound under his feet. Morana’s heart skipped a beat as she realised the glistening object in his hand was a dagger, its hilt encrusted with glittering green gemstones. She backed away as he came towards her, now close enough to the lit lantern to see the pale and angular face beneath the green cloak.

“I am not leaving without the half-fae woman I have been hunting,” he purred, stalking closer as she scrambled back into the room. There had to be some way around him, some way to escape. “That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

Her heart skipped a beat then as she fumbled in the dim light for something, anything, to protect herself. She snatched a carrot off the shelf and threw it pitifully with all her strength at the man, who merely flicked it away from himself with the flat of his blade. Her back hit the wall, and she whimpered like a cornered animal. There was no escape. This was it. This was the end.

“Please don’t kill me. I’ll leave, I’ll never come back. Please, I don’t want to die,” she whimpered, true terror setting in. Mama had always told her people would hunt her for being different, try to hurt her. She had seen the hate set in people’s eyes when they realised what made her other, but she never truly believed her life would end because of it. The man seemed to pause in front of her and she flinched, covering her face and waiting for the killing blow. After a few seconds of nothing, she lowered her hands cautiously and peered up at the man. He stood, smirking down at her as if amused.

“If you are quite done, I, unfortunately, am not here to kill you. As much as I may enjoy it,” he replied, the grin on his face widening and fangs flashing in that smile. Fangs. The hiding finally made sense - he was Fae. What would the fae want with her? She was nothing in their eyes, only an irritating reminder of someone satisfying their needs with a human woman. “I was itching for a fight, but if you wish to come willingly, you may. The whole begging thing is rather pathetic.”

“What do you want with me?” She asked, dazed. Her heart seemed to flop like a dying fish in her chest as she stared at the fae male dressed too much like an assassin.

“None of a half-breed’s business. Now, are you coming willingly or not?” Morana forced herself to nod in response, not wanting to know what happened if she fought. “Well, have you got a cloak or anything? You certainly aren’t using mine.”

She made to stand up, but he was on her in a second, dagger pressed against her throat. This close, she could smell him above all else, sharp like spice and citrus. Green eyes cut into her from beneath the hood, and a few strands of copper hair fell over his angular face.

“You will stay down or be tied up. Just point me in the direction,” he growled, eyes dancing with green flames as he glowered down at her. She lifted a finger, her trembling hand betraying her attempt to not look like a stunned deer as she pointed at her dresser. After a long second’s pause, he turned and made his way to her dresser. Yanking it open, he went through it, drawer by drawer, his nose crinkling as he pulled out undergarments and many-times-patched clothes.

Morana eased up slowly, never taking her eyes from him. He seemed so occupied, and no longer blocked the exit. The wild thought spoke to her scrambled brain, and she crouched low, ready to take off as quickly as her legs would allow her. He didn’t seem to notice. Not giving herself time to think, she scrambled for the stairs, desperate in her escape attempt. Barely a few steps forward, something connected with her ankle. The ground muffled her cry as she face-planted, unable to get her hands under herself quickly enough. Blood filled her mouth as her teeth bit into the earthen floor, singing in their sockets. An iron hand gripped her shoulder and flipped her, and she barely had time to huff in a breath as a knee connected with her gut, driving the air out once more. She clawed at the man hopelessly, desperate to get him off, desperate to pull air back into her lungs.

“There is the fight I was looking for,” he crooned, that wicked grin spreading across his pretty face once more. She didn’t have time to raise her hands to protect herself before his dagger connected with her skill, and darkness took her.

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