Rise of Fire: Dragons Reborn [COMPLETED]

Chapter 44

Bromyr sat on the bed with a glour on his face. He had been trapped within the room for nearly two months now, a prisoner in a gilded cage of the King's making. He had never felt so.... Controlled. Even under the heavy thumb of his father he had never felt so hopeless or helpless. As a Prince it was always his duty to attend the people and any menial tasks his father couldn't see to. Yet within the white walls of the castle he was unable to even leave. He hadn't seen the outside halls in so long he was forgetting the passages to freedom.

More than that he had recently noticed a change in his food. A few days prior he noted a change in the taste of his food. At first it was subtle, he assumed stale bread or sour ale, but he had started to notice himself craving the time his food would be delivered. Not a craving associated with hunger but a craving he recognized as addiction. It was like how he craved his pipe after a long day of work. Except he could deny himself his pipe. He was already sweating in anticipation of his meal, his hands were shaking and his mood was as irate as a prepubescent girl in the full throes of the moons.

He paced the breadth of his quarters like a caged wild Thunder-bird. He could almost imagine himself summoning the storms of his homeland in a fit of rage. There was nothing he hated more than doing nothing. Hearing nothing, knowing nothing, he was a game piece to a human and it was the most humiliating position he had ever been in.

"I was pivotal in the rescue and hatching of a dragon. How is it I've become nothing more than a pawn to such a human? My father would laugh in my face. I would be the royal disgrace... Again." He clenched his fists at the very idea. He had spent years clawing his way back from the brink of political and social ruin. If his entire kingdom would be so ashamed...

He startled at the knocking on his door. Was it finally time? He turned and stood, brushing his clothes off and trying to appear as disinterested as possible. Through the door stepped an unfamiliar woman. Previously one of the robed healers would have delivered his meals with a tight lipped nod. He wondered just where they might have gone as the woman pushed her way through with her nose pointed straight to the ground. .

She was a meek looking thing with short dirty brown hair. She has thin gaunt cheeks and a pallor that couldn't be healthy. The tray she carried shook as if it took every ounce of effort she had to keep it held up. She wore the common smocks of servants in the dull colors of peasants, brown, gray, and black.

"Who are you?" He asked sharply. He may have stood at three quarters of her height but he certainly wasn't going to pussy-foot around her. He couldn't bully the healers into talking to him but she seemed different. More aware perhaps. She flinched away as she lay the tray on his table and pulled the cover from the hot food. He noted his usual ale, stale bread, somewhat molded cheeses, and warmed over meat that was surely from a few days ago. If he didn't end up with food poisoning he'd be blessed by the gods.

The woman turned to go but he managed to block the door. He was starting to shake as the scent of the food filled his nostrils but he could wait to sate his mystery addictions later. For now he was going to get answers, and for the first time the King had thrown him a bone. He only wished he was like Talia, full of bloodlust and weapons.

"Your name, lady?" He tried to keep his tone cordial and kind but he was pretty sure she could detect the iron beneath his words. The barely hidden threat. She stood silently as her body shook, hands clasped politely in front of her. He waited for a few minutes as his impatience grew. She surely couldn't outlast the healers, but as the minutes ticked by he was starting to wonder if she could outlast him.

'You're a dwarf, a prince of the highlands... You've spent more years than she's been alive training for any battle you come across... If you can't get answers from this pitiful creature you dare not claim the title Prince.' He coached himself internally as his focus started to drift from answers to food. What had brought him so low? He felt defiled by the mysterious magics that held him captive. Had the King bewitched him?