His Captive Sorceress

Chapter 1: The Man in the Black Uniform

A column of soldiers stream through the city gates below. I watch them from the window of my tower prison cell, through an opening barely wider than a crack. The local populace shies away from the thirty large men clad in black uniforms.

One man stands out above the rest. A crimson stripe embroidered across his jacket's shoulders announces his prestige. Other soldiers wait while he engages in dialogue with the city guard. He's their commander, and probably the highest-ranking Versillian officer in this city.

His gaze falls on me, and a shiver runs down my spine. I step back from the window, retreating deeper into my prison cell. There's no way he could have seen me at this distance, up in a high tower with a window no thicker than my arm. But it didn't feel like he was looking at the castle. It felt like he was looking at me.

No matter how I adjust my tattered maroon robes, they do little to hide the bruises that dot my arms and stomach. While the tower guards usually leave me alone, they become particularly rough when there's an exalted guest. They like to show off by demonstrating their dominion over 'the Mephian witch', as they call me.

Sunlight from the sole narrow window cuts my stone cell in half. The gap is too small to fit through but still wide enough that I can observe Antiock's buzzing streets. It's the one mercy they grant me, and without it, I'd have lost my sanity years ago. But today is different. Watching the dirt road below would only bring dread. I know where the convoy of soldiers will be headed – the castle, my prison.

My stomach twists as scenes of my near future play out in my mind. I scan the semicircle room, my subconscious panicking like a rat on a sinking ship, but my plight is just as hopeless. The stone walls offer nothing but my plots of the stars. My life's possessions total two water buckets, a pile of hay and a blanket that shields me from both the cold and the prickly straw. It's all useless. The only way in and out of this room is a thick wooden door, which is locked from the outside. Whether they come for me now or next week, there is no escape. There is nothing I can do.

The sounds of heavy boots stomping up the stairs invade my ears. They're here. The locks click open, and metal bars scrape against wood as they disengage. I face the door, my hands curled up into fists.

My last barrier is breached by two men in gray uniforms. One has a staff – to handle me without getting too close, and the other has a sword – in case I do get too close.

Both men step inside my cell. I grit my teeth, my glare burning. They're both a head taller than me, and after eating their scraps for years, I'm not particularly strong.

"Lay prone, witch," the one with the staff growls. I've overheard them call him Kerius before. He's a meaner one. Countless times I've demanded that they call me by my name – Jade, but they don't care.

I stay standing, ignoring their order. This isn't a visit to refresh my water buckets. They want to present me to their new guests in black uniforms.

Both men move in, and the point of the staff nears my body. I step back. They press forward together. I retreat again and again, until my back touches the curved wall. My legs are ready to leap away, but in reality there's nowhere to go.

The end of the staff stops just an inch from my chest, nearly touching me on each quick breath I take.

My eyes dart between their weapons. With the curved wall against my back, moving left or right would only force me closer to the sword. The iron blade has been ground so sharp that it could pass for silver.

Kerius pulls back the staff and swings. I lunge to the side, narrowly avoiding his strike but losing my balance. I stumble, and my backside hits the hard stone floor. It's not a fair fight. I'm unarmed, there are two of them, and the staff gives him so much reach.