ARIDEN SARETHOL IS A LIAR. Upon witnessing a hostile organization try to take control of a family heirloom, he must enact a dangerous plan that may get him and his friends thrown to prison, or worse, killed. As the veils of false peace slowly fall a...
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2412 Dalfa 17, Kindreth
A sharp, stabbing pain nipped on a particular spot on Ariden's forehead, and if not for the heavy chains strapped to his wrists, he would have fussed over it and made it worse. His butt hurt from sitting on a flat slab of stone for gods-know-how-many hours, and no one has come for him still.
He imagined the entire Palace going into a state panic the moment the news reached them. His father might have a seizure or something, but it's worth it.
The cell they threw him in was boring. Cubical, painted with a bland white shade which has started falling off, and if not for the grated metal rails opposite him, he would have lost his mind earlier on. He hated stagnant things, and that included himself and his present situation.
Most of the scrambling inside the Temple's gallery was a blur. It was certain he felt a trickle of blood burn its way down his forehead, the bridge of his nose, before parting ways down his cheek and chin. The bullet, by Xyndall's mercy, only grazed his skin and not embedded itself into his forehead. If he died in that tacky gallery, he would never let Pidmena pardon his crimes even if she aimed to do that. He'd rather rot in hell for all eternity.
The soldiers dropped out of their induced shock and closed in on him. His cheek hit the ground with a force that shook his brains out. A weight pressed on his back, and he felt the cold lash of a muzzle on the base of his neck.
"Don't move, Your Highness," Avorel growled in Ariden's ear.
And he didn't. Until they forced him to stand up and ushered him towards the Temple's main hall. The priests and priestesses flitted out of their quarters to check their shameful procession, whispering among themselves as to why the entourage of soldiers came into the palace and dragged a heathen who looked like the Crown Prince with them. And why was his hands tied behind his back? Was he caught?
The words never left Ariden's pointy ears, and as they transferred him to a holding facility fortweres from the Temple, he made sure to never forget them. It's the penance of the choice he made in ensuring things ended exactly this way.
Since then, he sat on this freakishly cold stone slab and picked at the angry streaks the twine left on his skin before being replaced by a harsher metal chain. Not that he's planning to escape. He willed to be here for a reason, just as he planned the caper for the Earthshaker for the sole reason of making it fail.
The corridor on the free side of the world came alive with footfalls, and Ariden slipped off his perch and crept towards the grates. If they wanted to talk, best do it face to face. He got as far as standing up when his leg knotted together. He stumbled forward, noting the tight leashes knocking his ankles together.
"Do you think we'd let you have it easy just because of your title?" a smug voice streaked into Ariden's senses. He turned to find Avorel, along with the Head Curator of the Temple, standing a few paces off the rails. "It's not even something you worked for. You just inherited it, unlike the rest of us."
