Shadows Of The Crown

The Chains Of Betrayal

Chapter 2: The Chains of Betrayal

Ingvar’s wrists chafed against the iron shackles that bound him. The rough, cold metal bit into his skin, a constant reminder of his captivity. The wagon jostled over uneven terrain, the wheels creaking with each turn. Ingvar glanced around, noting the other captives, their faces marked by despair and hopelessness. He was no longer a prince, just another slave in a caravan headed to an unknown fate.

His thoughts drifted back to that fateful night. The attack on Ardenia had been swift and brutal. Pier had fought valiantly to protect him, sacrificing his life so Ingvar could escape. But the escape had been short-lived. He was captured, stripped of his title, and sold into slavery.

As the wagon trundled along, Ingvar clung to the only possession he had managed to keep—a small seal bearing the crest of his royal family. It was hidden beneath his tattered clothes, a symbol of hope and a reminder of his vow to reclaim his kingdom.

The caravan came to a halt, and the captives were roughly yanked from the wagon. Ingvar stumbled, his legs weak from days of confinement. The slavers herded them into a large courtyard, where they were to be auctioned off. The atmosphere was oppressive, the air thick with the stench of sweat and fear.

Ingvar’s gaze scanned the crowd, looking for any opportunity to escape. His attention was drawn to a young woman standing among the captives. Her eyes, though filled with fear, held a spark of defiance. She seemed out of place among the broken spirits surrounding her.

“Next, we have a strong young man!” the auctioneer's voice boomed, dragging Ingvar’s attention back to his grim reality. He was pushed forward, and the bidding began. Despite his best efforts to remain inconspicuous, his royal bearing was difficult to hide. The bids came quickly, and soon he was sold to a stern-looking man who led him away with a rough grip on his arm.

As Ingvar was marched to his new quarters, he couldn’t shake the image of the defiant young woman from his mind. He would later learn her name—Sabrina.

Ingvar was led through a maze of narrow corridors and into a dimly lit room. The walls were bare, and the air was damp and musty. His new master, a stern-looking man with a hawk-like gaze, tossed him a threadbare blanket and a piece of bread.

"Eat," the man commanded. "You start work at dawn."

Ingvar took the bread, his stomach growling in response. He ate in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of escape and vengeance. The meager meal did little to satisfy his hunger, but it was enough to give him a bit of strength.

The door creaked open again, and a group of other servants filed in, their faces etched with fatigue. Among them was the young woman he had noticed earlier. She glanced at him, her eyes curious and wary.

As the others settled into their makeshift beds, she approached him cautiously. "You’re new here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ingvar nodded. "Yes. My name is Ingvar."

"I’m Sabrina," she replied, her gaze studying him intently. "You don’t look like the others. There’s something different about you."

Ingvar hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "We all have our stories," he said finally. "What’s yours?"

Sabrina sighed, her expression turning somber. "My brother and I were captured when our village was raided. We were brought here and sold separately. I haven’t seen him since."

Ingvar felt a pang of empathy. "I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose a family."

Sabrina nodded, her eyes softening slightly. "We have to stick together if we want to survive this place. Trust is hard to come by here."