The Crowned Captive
Battered but Unbroken

Rowan truly detested the fact that the vampry had gotten the best of him. One effortless flick of his wrist and he had stolen every inch of his magic and had started eating away at his very life force. He had laid there, cradled by the princess he was meant to protect like some helpless babe. And it was by her power only and some miracle trade to the gods that he was able to stand that day.

Stand was an objective term, of course. He still required the support of the cane Morana asked made for him. At the king’s request, it had been styled in the image of the royal crest, a stunning redwood with a golden dragon curled around its length, the head rising to work as the handle. Garnets were cut to make the eyes, their stones staring up at him knowingly. Morana had asked for one more alteration for him, too. When he was to point the handle of the cane at a victim, the dragon was spelled to breathe fire for him. He knew that she had made it do so because his magic was still beyond his grasp, and cherished the thought dearly, but could not let go of the horrid reminder whenever his hand came in contact with the golden handle.

Rowan looked up at the door as he heard the tender knock, immediately recognising the scent that wafted through the door. “I could get used to this whole freedom within the castle grounds,” Morana said as she slipped within the boundaries of his chambers, shutting the door behind her. “How are you feeling?” She then added with a more tender note.

In honesty, Rowan was feeling like he had been trampled by a drove of aurochs and was growing increasingly irritated at the fact he could not summon the magic he had used for as long as he could remember. He knew it would come back with time, but hated the feeling of being weak, knowing people looked at him as less than his usual self. The king had been pleased enough knowing he could walk again but feeling so feeble that the princess he was charged with protecting had saved him was detestable.

“Fine enough,” was the response he managed to grind out. He knew he shouldn’t be taking his frustrations out on her but damn it, his pride hurt.

Bless her kind heart, Morana merely levelled him with a raised eyebrow as she walked closer to him. He drank in her figure as she approached, looking like the perfect diplomat today. She wore a simple tiara, a thin band of gold with a single central trio of rubies that shone with near-impossible lustre. Her hair was braided back into an intricate bun behind it. Her face had thankfully been left bereft of all makeup, and her skin glowed for it. Those gorgeous blue eyes shone above her tunic of crimson, delicately tapered to exaggerate her narrow waist and show off her quickly growing cleavage with the respectable ‘v’ of the neckline. The golden dragons embroidered into the fabric rested perfectly on each shoulder, seeming to hold her gaze alongside her. White pants and shining heeled black boots finished the ensemble. Stalking towards him now, she finally looked and moved like a regal princess.

As he tried to stand, he quickly remembered he no longer moved like the high-born elf he indeed was. He hissed in frustration as his body threatened to topple at his attempt, and let Morana push him back into the chair once more. He stared up at her, eyes narrowed and scowl thick with his discontent at his state. His princess merely rolled her eyes once more, straddling him in his chair. He could not have risen in his current state, not as if he wanted to, as she leant forward and caged him with her arms against the backrest. His scowl quickly left his face with the beautiful peaks of fair skin filling his vision.

“You are such a delicate baby some days,” Morana laughed, and he snapped his vision up to her as his scowl returned. “Don’t fix me with that look! You should be acting far more grateful towards me for saving your life, yet here I am trying to cheer you up so you don’t just scowl the entire duration of this damned meeting. I believe it was not long ago you were trying to show me how you were properly supposed to thank your saviour.”

For once, Rowan was grateful he had taught her something as she leaned her head down to his. Despite his strength failing him, he was acutely aware that other parts of his body still functioned perfectly fine as their lips met with a fiery passion. She chuckled at him, grinding against his erection as she felt it rise. He ached to mark that pretty white neck of hers, let every damned faerie in the council room know she was his, but as his lips left hers she pulled back. His scowl returned at that, darker than ever.

Morana clicked her tongue at him, shaking her head with glee in her eyes. “You have been told to rest, Rowan, and here you are getting yourself all excited for nothing.” She climbed off of him, offering him a hand from his seat, the smirk still on her face. As he rose, looking down at her, his scowl quickly turned to a grin.

“When I am finally rested, I am going to make you atone for every little taunt, every little poke and prod, Princess,” he said, tilting her jaw up to meet his stare. Mischief still danced in the icy depths of her eyes.

“Are you now? And how exactly are you going to do that?”

“I remember how fond you were of your bindings,” he replied, his grin turning predatory. The mischief in those eyes melted with that, turning into those of a cornered doe. That only served to make him grin wider. “If you really pushed me, I may even be inclined to add a crop or a cane. I think you could imagine the number of things I could do to you whilst you are tied up. How I would make you writhe beneath me, how I would make you beg.”

“People enjoy that?” Her face was mixed with fear and curiosity and the air was tinged with the scent of her arousal. At that moment, Rowan wanted nothing more than to take her to his bedroom and exact those plans. She was right though, he was meant to be resting and they were both expected to present themselves at court shortly. He wanted to take his time, not be rushed by how long they needed to present respectfully to the king.

“Words cannot describe exactly how much I would enjoy that; it would simply be art to see you splayed out prone like that for me. But it is not something everybody enjoys being subject to. Many do, but not all.”

“I would try it for you,” she breathed. Rowan couldn’t help himself as he kissed her once more, crushing her into him. How he had been so lucky as to endear the princess to himself, for her to return to him despite his mistakes, for her to be so willing to give him everything he wanted, he was unsure. But as he held her, capturing her lower lip with his fang, grinning at the gasp he elicited, he knew he could not let her go. She would be his.

He was sure that her guard would have heard and smelt everything that had gone on in the room, and that they would know exactly what sort of sexual interactions he and the princess would have, but he cared not as they exited the room. It was better they know and not interrupt, to be perfectly honest. Morana seemed to come to a similar conclusion, for her face went beet red a few seconds after they emerged from his chambers before she decided to hold her chin high.

His princess flushed and reeking of her lust beside him, they began their journey to the council chambers.

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