Villainous [Wattys 2021 Shortlist]

MALEVOLENT 1: She Who Drinks The Blood of Nations

"In Terra they call her She Who Drinks The Blood of Nations."

Pain. It fragmented her vision.

"That's giving her a little too much credit, don't you think?"

Her arms were chained.

"I can't believe they're not letting us do whatever we want to her. She shouldn't have any rights after what she did."

Her legs were chained.

"I know. Prince Marko's orders. He doesn't seem to realise she's the She-Wolf of Vale."

She was strung in the depths of hell, her arms and legs held taut, in a twisted star shape. Blood trickled into her eyes. Her breathing came in gasps, accompanied by relief that her lungs still worked, yet also by agony that coursed through her body when her shattered ribs moved.

Life – it hurt so much that it was unbearable.

She wanted death. Craved it. Imagined the sweet, dark embrace, in which all her injuries vanished. There was no world outside the large, dim, cold room she was destined to remain in forever.

A knife dug into the tender skin above her heart. There were no clothes left to protect her, let alone armour. She'd had to suffer leers, staring men and unwanted hands, but those were the least of her worries.

"Delilah Coppin, eh?" The guttural voice close to her ear set her skin crawling. "Your so-called King and his armies were responsible for my brother's death. He was a fine soldier. He had a family. Now he's rotting in the Valley of Mist."

There was a foul taste in Delilah's mouth. Yes – Delilah Coppin, she had been called that. Once.

"Now look at you. You wanted to be queen, to rule the world, but you were only ever that black-hearted bastard's puppet. Now we've broken you in every way but one – and only because Prince Marko gave us orders not to defile you."

It didn't matter. She was already defiled.

Delilah Coppin was dead.

A snort echoed through the room and her chains clinked. Had she flinched? She had no feeling left.

"She's not desirable, anyway," said a new voice. "She's filthy. I wouldn't let my lowest servant touch her with a barge pole."

"Still, she doesn't cry out anymore," the first man replied, still too close to her ear. "It's as if she doesn't even feel the pain. I want her to suffer."

"We could always start chopping bits off if you're that bored."

Lank hair that had once been the colour of pale fire hung in front of her face, over her eyes. Not that she could usually bring herself to focus on anything she saw anyway.

The knife tip dug in harder, reminding her of its presence as a new cut opened on her chest. The blood was warm against her chilled skin.

Maybe you could carve my heart out, she thought fervently. That would stop me feeling anything.

The door slammed open.

"Take your hands off her," a bold, familiar voice commanded, and she would have clapped her hands over her ears if she could. The newcomer retched. "Great ancestors – get her some clothes, I can't look at her like that."

"Your Highness, if it's her decency you're concerned about..." the first guard began, disapproval evident in his tone.

"Not her decency – my honour," the newcomer snapped. "Unchain her, too."