A Crowned King (Complete)

Chapter 32

Mako woke suddenly though from what he couldn't tell and he rolled over onto his back. He stared up at the roof over his head, but he could barely tell what he was seeing. It was so dark in the dungeons and with no windows the dungeons were too dark to see much of anything. He was basically living in darkness at that moment with no real way of lighting the room. 

He'd thought of using his arcane arts to either light  the room or even melt the bars, but he'd found that when he attempted to conjure his magic, it wouldn't come. That could only mean one thing. This cell -- and probably all of the other cells -- were warded against magic which would make it impossible for him to draw on his magic. 

The Prince had learned that early on and he hadn't attempted to use a spell since. No harm in it, he thought to himself as he attempted to draw on his magic once more. He felt his ribs give a pang of pain again and he hoped that the spell that he was trying to cast would work. He figured that maybe if the spell wasn't an offensive one like a fireball or a spike of ice or a lightning bolt it might work. Since the healing arts were focused inwardly maybe the wards wouldn't catch on that a spell was being cast and nullify the effects. 

As the healing magic started to work its way through his body, Mako sighed softly to himself. He felt a lot of his hurts and pains going away in mere seconds. That was something at least. If he was going to be in here, at least he wouldn't have to suffer while he waited for the results of this whole affair. He was still hoping against hope that he would find a way to get out of the situation, but he was starting to doubt it. It was very unlikely that he would find a way out of this dungeon when the very King of the Nation of Galtea was still inside. If anyone would've been able to find his way out, it would've been the man that had lived there his entire life. 

Thoughts of Dante Battle brought the Prince's mind to the King's daughter and Heir, Winter Battle. He wondered where she was and how she was faring. He could only pray to the Father that they were treating her kindly and hadn't beaten her like they had done him before throwing her in a cell. Perhaps she was locked up in a warm room with fine furnishings and was being fed every hour. 

He smiled at that thought. He doubted the Ranger would like that kind of treatment. It would only confirm what she would already know in her heart: she was a hostage to ransom or to keep the King of Galtea in line; to make sure that he didn't try to escape or to call on his allies and those that were loyal to the Battle Clan for help. 

Mako was drawn to look towards where he believed the bars to be by yet another noise; a scuff of leather on stone. That had been a footstep. Someone was down there in the dungeons in the dark with them, but for what he didn't know. For all he knew, they were down there to bring him to have his head cut off or hung, whichever way they decided to execute him. He knew that if they did kill him, they would bury him in an unmarked grave and never pass a word about him. That was the way of war. 

The Prince could see a flickering light coming from outside of his cell and he rose to his haunches. If they were going to come for him, he wasn't going to make it an easy taking. He would fight and hopefully he would be able to kill one of his attackers before they managed to draw him out of the dungeons to his death. As the light got closer though, he was able to make out a torch held by a bony, pale as milk hand. The full figure stepped in front of the bars and bent forward to stare at him. 

"There you are, Prince of Star and future King. I've been looking for you." the figure said in a snake-like voice and leaned forward towards the bars. At that moment, the torch illuminated his features. 

He was by far not a handsome man. His features were sharp with a pointed nose and half of his face was burned. His head was bald and his eyes were the color of milk, but it was obvious that he could see from the way he was peering into the cell. He was dressed in white robes that flowed around his stick-thin body and trimmed in gold, his feet covered in soft-soled black leather boots.