His Captive Sorceress

Chapter 53: Queen

Evening is upon us, and the army has stopped to set up camp. Trevus and I are tethered to the wagon, only able to watch as soldiers unpack and raise their tents

Soon the men congregate around fires, chatting and cooking food with a delicious scent. I'm hungry, but that's not likely to change.

I was hoping nightfall would present an opportunity to escape. While most soldiers have settled by the fires, two remain behind, staying within thirty feet and occasionally glancing in our direction. They're assigned to watch us. Despite the more casual appearance of Ceramayans, with long hair and sleeveless outfits, they're no less organized than Versillians.

A dozen men suddenly step out from between the fires, half of them armed with javelins, and all of them looking mean.

I nudge close to Trevus, keeping my weight on my good leg. He's firm like a rock, standing tall without a hint of fear. Nothing less than death seems to scare him.

The men surround us, but none bark commands in our direction. Instead, they speak to each other, commenting on the journey while working to free our chains from the wagon.

To my surprise, their weapons remain sheathed on their hips. My hands are uncovered, and the chain attached to my wrist has enough slack that I could reach a few of them.

Our chains are detached from the wagon, but the shackle is left in place on my left wrist. I glance between the men. Even if I were to put the two holding my chain to sleep, we'd still be left surrounded by the other ten.

I look up to Trevus. His gaze brushes over our surroundings before finding mine. He shakes his head. Now isn't the time to make a move.

"This way," a middle-aged man says. He looks like the one in charge, and he's waiting at the center of the group.

Trevus steps towards the men. I follow with a limp. My leg has healed enough that I can walk, but it's challenging. The soldiers split to allow us through, and the ones holding our chains follow behind.

We're led across the camp, with the men forming a group around us. We're left untouched, and all the soldiers are within reach. This is nothing like the last time I was in captivity.

We arrive at a tent far larger than the rest, raised with three poles that stretch high up into the sky.

Trevus leans in to whisper. "Select words wisely. Our fates shall be determined here."

I nod. Speaking to people holding my life in their hands isn't a novel experience.

The tent curtains are drawn back, and we step inside. A myriad of candles light the room bright as day. The tent roof is dyed sky-blue, and its height approaches the throne hall in Lystra.

Soldiers and servants stand in wait around the edges, but the carpeted center is empty – reserved for us.

The middle-aged man gestures for us to continue forward alone, stepping off to the side himself. The center is the last place I want to stand. I wish we could follow him instead.

Trevus continues to the center, and I walk at his side. The other end of our wrist chains remain in the hands of two soldiers six feet behind us, the only others sharing our carpet.

We're standing before a large platform. It raises their ruler to over twice our height. I lift my gaze to find a thin figure - a woman.

She's wrapped in a neat, black jolcan. Her wavy dark hair frames her sharp features, and a set of javelins lie at her feet. There's no need for personal arms with the soldiers at the edge of the tent. She must prefer to have a hand in executions. I shiver.