Imprisoned

Chapter 2

Arianna

With my hood secured over my head and my robe closed, hiding me from view, I stroll through the village, both saddened and frightened by what I see. Cherish has become a wasteland. At one point, it was a vibrant and welcoming populace, now it’s cold, sad, bleak. It reeks of death as I walk along the walls, trying to remain an obscure observer as I wander through the streets of the market.

In so many ways, Graeline has not evolved with the rest of the world. We separate ourselves into dozens of small villages. A castle on the hill overlooks its people. There aren’t many vehicles, and technology does not run rampant through every home like so many other areas.

I've always enjoyed the solitude, but now I wonder if we wouldn’t have been better off consumed by social media, fake news, and so much vanity.

Our people have always enjoyed the simple things, but seeing them now, frightened to their cores and nearing hysteria makes me wish I could do something. That I was more than a silly girl.

Not paying attention to where I’m going, I bump into a bulky mass. “Apologies,” I murmur, keeping my head down, trying to make my escape.

Strong hands grab me by either arm and immobilize my momentum. Frozen with fear, I can’t get my voice to work to call out for help.

“Whoa, there. Are you alright?” That voice. I know it. The slight lilt of an accent mixed with the caring concern of a powerful man.

“Apollo?” I turn, my hood falling away, and meet his deep, chocolate stare filled with surprise.

“Princess?” He masks his response quickly. I nod once. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” Unexpected hands behind me raise my hood to cover my hair and face before anyone notices who I am.

Turning my head, I take in another man. He’s darker. Harder to read. But he makes my blood rush just as fiercely as Apollo does.

“Ares?” I whisper, and they both suck in a shocked breath. Callista told me before I left that war was coming. The gods had landed, was the way she put it. Her visions aren’t always accurate, and I usually have to decode what they mean.

This one was easy given how large this man is.

“How do you know that?” Ares’ gaze narrows on me, and I’m rendered mute. Trapped in his aura of anger and confusion.

“The witch,” Apollo mocks.

My head swivels to glare at him. His insult is unnecessary. “She’s not a witch. She’s a mage,” I snap.

“What’s the difference?” The big one asks as I tug my arms from their possessive grips.

“A witch casts spells, boils in cauldrons, gazes into glass balls. A mage is much more powerful. She can see into the past, the future. She can cast charms; she is earth, wind, and fire. A mage is born of mother nature and is her most trusted being. Do not insult Callista again,” I warn them both. Not only will I not tolerate it, neither will my friend.

Ares narrows his eyes hesitantly while Apollo holds his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, princess, we’ll let it go for now. I don’t believe in this hocus pocus shit, but whatever you say.” Ares is honest, and I find that refreshing. “Care to explain why you’re out here and, presumably, without anyone to guard you?” His focus sharpens as he looks around.

“You begged for my help yesterday because your people were going missing. This is pretty fucking irresponsible of you.” Apollo’s anger is unjustified. He doesn’t know me, so why would he be angry?