CHAPTER 3
"He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die." ~Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian.
PRESENT
The prisoners emerged from the other end of the portal and were spat out unceremoniously onto the cold, hard floor of a chamber whose location remained undisclosed.
Gasping for breath, they rose unsteadily, their limbs trembling from the disorienting journey. They formed a ragged circle, clutching at each other for support, seeking solace in their shared fear and uncertainty.
Prisoner 112 surveyed the scene, her senses dulled by the ordeal. The image of the burning form of Lord Ifrit of Alt Dənyə was seared inside her retinas.
She was sure she would not be able to forget it as long as she lived. She looked around and saw two very young girls, barely 15 years of age, holding hands and crying. Their faces were etched with terror, their eyes wide with apprehension.
"You're here. About time, girls," a voice echoed through the chamber and it drew Prisoner 112's attention as she strained her neck to locate its source.
Eventually, her gaze settled on a diminutive, dwarf figure, barely reaching three feet in height. She was draped in flowing black robes and wearing a plain silver mask that obscured her features.
She looked so grotesque that it was funny. Prisoner 112 recognised the ram's skull and serpent crest on the left side of her robes.
"My name is Süt," the figure announced, her voice tinged with authority.
"Head maidservant to His Lordship Kral Laquis the Third. You will address me as 'Ma'am' at all times, should you choose to address me at all. I prefer silence, unless spoken to. Do I make myself clear?" Her voice had a high pitch that hurt their ears.
Despite her appearance, Prisoner 112 sensed an undeniable aura of power emanating from Süt.
She decided this was a woman she did not want to cross paths with.
Without waiting for a response, Süt continued, "You must be wondering where you are and why you are here."
"For those of you who don't know, you're in His Lordship's castle in Qarran, the capital of Qaranliq."
Süt paused before continuing, "Let me be blunt, for His Lordship is not known for his patience. Our Lord desires a child," she said in a loud, ringing voice.
Though her face was covered, Prisoner 112 thought she could feel Süt smirking underneath the mask.
A ripple of horror passed through the procession at Süt's words. The prisoners looked appalled at this declaration. Most of them went ghostly pale and nauseous. While others recoiled, their bodies trembled with revulsion.
"And," Süt said, unfazed by their reaction, "His Majesty seeks a suitable vessel to fulfil his desires. A vessel that is magically worthy to carry a child for the Kral. Such a vessel cannot be ordinary, can it?"
Her eyes swept over the prisoners, assessing them with clinical detachment, oblivious to their disgust.
"Only one among you lot will have the honour of carrying the blessed child for the Kral," she declared, her voice carrying an air of finality.
"Only one," she reemphasized.
Süt scrutinised their faces, attempting to determine which girl would be most suitable for the upcoming task. As the prisoners exchanged anxious glances, Süt paused, deliberating over her words.
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WHISPERED SINS 👑❤️🔥
Romance"I used your blood to bind you to me. There's no escape. You're chained to me until your last breath." She hated him so much that she wanted to poison him, rip the mask off his cruel face, and stare into his eyes as she plunged the dagger repeatedly...
