The Kings Personal Joker (boyxboy)

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty Six

[A/N] At this point if I updated on time I think it will shock my followers more than if I update late !  There was no internet for a while there, I had to make do with books. I felt like a caveman. ('T᷄⌑T᷅) 

[Belem's POV]

When the carriage turned roughly on its uneven path, every wheel rattling off its own desperate plea to stay attached, and the rope around my neck, though knotted at the base, was pulled taut and I was choked before for a moment before slamming into the walls of the carriage. With my arms bound behind me I had no way of slowing down the collision and my face knocked against the side of it.

Breathing heavily, in the surprisingly stifling container I was being transported in, I stretched out my legs and kept myself steady with my shoulders pressed against one side and my feet against the other.

I was exhausted, my mouth was dry, bruised and sweaty, my shirt wet having soaked through.

I could no longer gauge how long we had been travelling, it might have been a minute or an hour or a day, my mind constantly slipped between sleep and being awake, my eyes at time glued shut so tight the ride seemed timeless.

When at last I had enough sleep to keep my eyes open I tried once more to free myself, whatever knots the man had used were brutal, they tightened the more I tugged at them, a warning that if I tried too hard I might just lose my hands before the ride was over. Only the rope around my neck did not tighten, but it choked me the moment I was turned on my side or against the wall.

When he finally stopped, spending some time relocating the horses, to graze and drink, I assumed, I heard his footsteps slowly amble along the outside of the carriage toward the back, and a chain was unlocked slowly, the doors opened.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of my forehead as cruel face of my abductor appeared, his jaw square and eyes expressionless.

"I'm not Belem." I whispered, my voice barely above a croak.

He observed me but said nothing, just stepped up onto the carriage floor with one swift movement, one heavy thigh followed by another, the large shoes calmly stepping in my direction as he took out a flask, cold dead eyes watching me from above.

Always, around him, I felt as though I was one inch from death itself. The cold tendrils of fear gripping my limbs and binding my into paralysis.

He did not waste words, crouching, examining me slightly, from head to toe, where I was bound.

I would have tried kicking him if I still had that lack of will to live from before, but gods how I wanted to live now, I wanted to live, to see Cigol again, to know what he thought of me, would he follow us? Did he think me dead?

I wanted to see anger on his face again, the rare change in expression as his pink-red lips grew thin and his eyes tried to bury the flame that accompanied his darker tendencies. The cruel sweetness that made my lungs burn from begging.

I beg, return him to me. I pleaded with the Fates.

He pulled out a leather drinking pouch and held it up to my mouth. "Drink." He looked at me, waiting for me to open my lips.

I shivered from the cold as I frowned at him and pulled back against the wall of the carriage, my chest chilled with fear despite desperately wanting a drink, preferably something fruity, a heavy spirit that would drown out the rest of my fear.