A Tale From Lanoria: The Princess of Barough

Chapter 22: Memories

Oriana forced her eyes open after passing out from the cold. The dungeon held no light besides a few flickering oil lamps in the halls. She could see a water bucket in the corner of the cell. Crawling over to it, she dipped her hand inside, trying desperately to make sure there were no creatures in her palm before she took a drink. The water was ice-cold and stagnant. The frigid temperature of the water turned her hand red, but it didn't matter. Oriana felt hopeless and lost down there in the dungeon.

Her kingdom had no way of finding out where she was. Perhaps, after a thorough investigation, they might be able to find out that it was Winter Haven who was behind the attack. Though it could take weeks, if not months, during that time, Tyir could easily twist her personality into something completely different. She could be unmade by his psionic mages. She did not even want to think about what he planned to do to her body during that time.

All Oriana could do was settle herself against the cold wall where she'd been sitting before. Curling up into a tiny ball once more, she shivered as the temperature became colder. She could see her puffs of air in the dim light. Closing her eyes, Oriana could only think of Donovan. The thought of having a family with him and growing old with him. It was those kinds of thoughts that kept her going. She didn't care if it meant never having a king. Being an unmarried queen was worth it if it meant she could have Donovan by her side. Oriana knew that if she was to make it through this, she would have to hold onto those thoughts. She believed with all her might that she would be able to go back to living her life with Donovan.

Oriana's thoughts were interrupted when she heard a door creaking open and the heavy sounds of footsteps at the top of the stairs. A sense of dread told her that Tyir had returned, just as he'd threatened. From the sound of multiple boots on the stone steps, it was clear that Tyir had brought more people with him this time. He returned with the psionic mages he had mentioned. In a matter of moments, the prince came into view before the iron bars. Two men stood on either side of him. Both of them were rather fair skinned. What stood out was that the one to the left had inky black hair, while the one on the right had a long, thin red beard. 

"Good morning, my love. How was your sleep?" Tyir teased, a playful smile on the prince's face.

Oriana forced herself to look at the prince. She was clearly exhausted and cold. Her hatred for Tyir and a desperate need to escape fueled her. The poor princess was shivering so much that it was hard to even talk. 

"Terribly, there are far too many rats." A rat had crawled under her cape last night to use her warmth. Though she really meant Tyir when she spoke of rats,

Tyir didn't seem to catch what she was saying. "You know, the Psionic mages told me not to feed you. They told me that when they start to play with your head, you may throw up. How about this? If you give me a little kiss, I will let you have breakfast. Then we can save the Psionic mages for another time. My love."

The princess, however, did not have the strength in her legs to even stand. She struggled to get up, but the burning sensation in her legs said they'd fallen asleep long before, and she ended up in an ungraceful heap on the stone floor. Her head swam, and her vision started to go dark once more.

"Very funny, Oriana, that was not convincing," but his words started to falter. He opened the bars to the cell and approached cautiously. He was wary of a surprise attack, but he could feel how icy her skin was as he touched her face. It had been extremely cold down there.

"One of you get over here and start the process!" Since she wasn't able to fight back, he figured it was a good opportunity.

"It won't work, sire," the psionic mage said as he examined Oriana's weak state. "She is in a terrible state; if I root around in her mind, she will die after only a moment."