• The modicum amount of blood was just enough strength to serge all his strength into a pounce. Asmara’s green eyes studied his movement like a rabbit would a panther. He was crouched ready to spring at her, but she thought that was reasonable after all he was near death. His body was switched to survival mode. Asmara stood frozen her wrist seeping blood onto the ground, but she did not move to catch the drops as they fell. Her full concentration was the predator in front of her that thought she was the prey.
    She could see his ankles tensing for the pounce, his heart pounding for the hunt. But then he looked hesitant. He froze in place and his focus on her shifted to behind her. A twig snapped. Her hair stand up on end, she turned slowly ignoring her conscious to keep an eye on Ezekiel. Her father was leaning against a near tree with a small entourage of guards gathered behind him. He studied her with suspicious eyes. She fought the urge to look away, but kept steady eye contact with him.
    She felt a little lightheaded but stepped forward to confront her father. The earth beneath her feet seemed to tilt under her as she walked. Kameil had been among the guards that had accompanied her father. He charged forward catching her as she fell. She slumped in his arms, emerald rivers of blood pooling over and dripping onto the ground below. Kamiel’s worried face doubled and spun in her vision. He was saying something she could not quite catch and she went completely limp.

    * * *

    Ezekiel watched with weary eyes as the bodyguard tore at his tunic to wrap it around his young charge’s wrist. It was quickly soaked up in Asmara’s blood. He watched as the defender took off his cloak and wrapped it around her. Her wounded arm slipped out from the clothing, every drip seeping into the terrain hypnotic, driving him to hysterics. But this was all kept locked up inside his head, not having enough strength to be able to lash out and lap it up like he so badly wanted to. He snarled, cursing at the temptation that lay before him. Then he saw elf boots step in front of him.
    The boot came in contact with his ribs. He heard a deafening crack and then more pain. He recoiled from the blow, spitting up a rivulet of jade blood that had been lingering on his tongue. The sight of the shade of blood caused the elf to inflict a fury of countless angry blows to Ezekiel’s side, while a string of profanities poured out of his mouth like poison.
    “Balifstar, stop.”
    “But he hurt the princess!”
    “If you kill him Asmara will never forgive us, and what use is a queen who hates her people? No, we will let him suffer a little longer.” He smiled an evil gleam in his eye.
    He’s up to something. Ezekiel thought.
    “Even though he killed…?”
    King Aslif stopped him with a wave of the hand. Balifstar gave Ezekiel a hateful glance, kicked him once more for emphasis, and then pulled him up by the crook of the elbow. Ezekiel grimaced at the force Balifstar inflicted. He leaned weakly against Balifstar’s side, much to the elf’s disliking. Ezekiel smirked against the pain. Another elf flanked his other side, mirroring the same disgust as Balifstar but with a more murderous tinge to it. Ezekiel gulped down air nervously, the oxygen feeling like sharp rocks grating down his throat. He looked over at the bundle that was supposed to be the elf princess and his heart lurched. Was she even alive? And then: All that blood gone to waste. He scowled at the limp cloaked bundle, Kamiel shifting his body to shield her from his view.
    His lips formed a grim thin line as he watched the protective man shield and his protected, in his arms, head back toward the castle. The guards didn’t bother to carry him so much as his arms were around there shoulders. As they walked slowly after the bodyguard, he swore that by the time they got there his feet would be merely smoke, his feet sanded completely off from being dragged from quite a distance. Though he found himself not caring for his own well being rather Princess Asmara’s instead.
    He smiled amused at his own stupidity. She was merely a pawn on the battlefield that needed to be snuffed out. Then she would be used for beverages and ink along with all her loyal subjects that she seemed to be keeping close to her heart. They didn’t know how foolish they really were. He knew well her intentions of them all. She would act all innocent and they would all forgive her for trying to cure an enemy. But once she gains power, her authority will turn her heart black and she will work them to death and just laugh from her place at the throne. He hoped not, fewer games to play if she did.
    The guards led him down a long corridor and then stairs, down to the dungeon. The dungeon was dank and musty, pools of water or blood, he was not sure, covered the cobblestone floor. Balifstar shoved Ezekiel away from him to unhitch the lock, and then threw him inside. He landed on his cracked rib and moaned. Balifstar smirked and closed and locked the door.

    * * *

    Asmara woke up, the blood restored to her face making it shine a healthy glow. Her hand was completely healed and she found herself pacing in anticipation though she knew not why. She wasn’t sick, but she felt something had happened. Kamiel was unusually happy, the king was overly watchful, and she didn’t have any breathing room. She went out on her balcony feeling the air through her hair. Music blared and there were joyous conversations all around the kingdom. She couldn’t make sense of any of it. What had happened earlier that night?
    She rubbed at her eyes, trying to concentrate on what had happened earlier before. She looked down at her wrist, a tiny scar where magic had patched it up. It had to do with someone dying. She sat back down on her bed in defeat. What could be so important that her memory was erased while she was in the healing process? She looked up at her bleach white ceiling with gold leaves etched into its panels.
    There was a knock at the door and a healing elf walked in with the tray of food. A nurse with a long sweeping curtain of raven colored hair and sapphire blue eyes that carried the knowledge and care of a mother, swept gracefully through the room. The nurse smiled warmly at her like things like this happened to her all the time. She came over taking Asmara’s hand in hers, turning it over to check Asmara’s wrist. She cradled the tray in the crook of her elbow. She clicked lightly with her tongue examining the scar more closely. It was a small scar right under her palm the size of her thumb nail.
    “The wound stitched up nicely and the blood has returned to your cheeks. Eat up.” She placed the tray in Asmara’s lap.
    Asmara glanced down at the tray of steaming vegetables, her stomach cramping as the aroma wafted into her nostrils. Her nurse turned to leave. Asmara bit her lip and put down her eating utensil, fighting the urge to pop the root in her mouth.
    “What is the celebration for?” She said in a hushed voice, averting her eyes to her plate. Her nurse turned slowly, hesitance clear in her eyes as if she should’ve left when she had the chance.
    She swallowed. “We are celebrating the capture of the heir to the nemesis’s thrown.” Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she walked briskly over to where the princess was sitting, grasping the princess’s hands in hers. “This capture can bring us to victory! We can win back the land, that’s rightfully ours!”
    The blood drained from Asmara’s face as the nurse’s words registered in her thoughts. Ezekiel. Ezekiel was hurt and being held captive in the dungeon. Who knows if he’s even alive anymore? She had to help him. The nurse noted Asmara’s pallid face and looked at her nervously.
    “Maybe you should get some more rest, sire.”
    “No, no. I just need some fresh air. I’ll be fine.”
    Asmara fled from the room, the nurse staring blankly after her through the swinging mouth of the door.

    * * *

    Ezekiel stared up at the moss covered ceiling, the same dreary gray as the rest of the prison he was cooped up in. He didn’t know how much longer his body could take the cold uneven ground. He sighed trying to concentrate on his breathing, white plumes of his breath evaporating in the stale chilled air. But his mind failed him. His concentration wandered to the noises beyond the dungeon walls, the joyous shouts of celebration filling the air.
    The cries dyed out and Asmara’s face pooled into his mind’s eye. He wasn’t sure if they were having a party on behalf of his capture or if they were having Asmara’s funeral. He was hoping it was they were celebrating his capture. His throat swelled with guilt. Then his mind wandered on to his parents. Their faces were probably puffy and swollen with tears streaked down their faces. He felt the trail of tears on his cheeks.
    Mother. She would probably waste away faster in grief, her sorrow gnawing her from the inside out. They never found the cause of her illness, but his father blamed him and he had often gotten a good beating as a child. But he was smarter and stronger now. The faint scars on his back prickled at the ghost of a memory. Maybe it had been his fault. No, it was his fault. She wasn’t dead yet. He was a constant disappointment, never suitable to be a rightful king. Too soft hearted.
    He glanced back up at the ceiling, at the green snakes of mass that grew and enveloped the starved stones, not too far above him. He closed his amber eyes in wish for sleep, to sleep away his agony. His body screamed with exhaustion, having to work harder in order to keep him alive. His stomach ached, ivory claws of hunger scraping away at his insides.
    He stretched his stiff muscles in preparation of sleep, ignoring the intense pangs of agony as his sore limbs contracted. A red hot spasm raked down his body and into his legs, making him gasp in pain. He escaped into his mind, imagining the thrill of the heat in battle, fang scraping against skin, the flourish of wind through wing. An elf appeared before him, ivory hair whipping wildly in the breeze, a dagger ready in hand.
    His wings shot outward catching a drift, pulling him to a stop 10 feet in front of his enemy. A raging battle played out around him and his opponent, screams of defeat and victory filling the air. The elf standing in front of him grinned, hair flying every which way, revealing the elf’s sharp features, the most dominant trait of the elves. The elf’s smile broadened, murder plain in its hatred filled green eyes. It was Asmara and she was ready to kill.
    Ezekiel was shocked out of his fitful slumber gasping, a sharp pain in his side. Then he remembered where he was, perspiration thick on his brow. He shivered, instinctively trying to pull his wings around him. He winced, his tattered wings flaring hotly. He heard footsteps echo through the dank dungeon at the foot of the dungeon stairs.

    * * *

    Asmara racked her brain as she ran through the sunlit halls dodging surprised civilians as she did so. She slowed to a walk as she reached the dungeon doors, a cold sweat trailing down her back as she took in the guards stationed at the dungeon doors in front of her. They wore cold expressionless masks, regarding her with silent judgment. They brandished spears of the greatest elf craftsmanship.
    She smiled brilliantly at them despite her fear of their height and bulk. The guard nearest her eyeballed her suspiciously. She stepped forward showing her authority over them. They shifted uneasily under her guarded gaze.
    “W-what do you need Princess?”
    “I would like to visit the prisoner that we captured just recently. Feel free to go enjoy the party, boys. I can take it from here.” The guards eyed each other as if sharing in a secret joke.
    “We can’t do that… Princess.” The guard furthest from her said nervously.
    The other guard laughed at his companion. “Of course you can.” Then his expression molded back into its usual hard mask. “You have 15 minutes.”
    They stepped aside to let her pass through the doors, their spears standing vertically upright at their sides. She passed through the towering doorway into the bone-chilling chamber, dull gray overpowering the vivid colors of the palace that she was used to. A shiver ran down her spine as she walked down the torch lit hall, the flames casting dancing shadows onto the opposite walls. She took one of the torches from the wall nearest her and walked on. The flames illuminated the light deprived path in front of her casting an eerie glow as the torches in the walls slowly disappeared behind her.
    Asmara entered the prison chamber. It was completely dark beside her torch. She could hear prisoners moving in their imprisonments. She couldn’t see them but she had a feeling that they could see her regardless their same eyesight.
    She reached Ezekiel’s stall, peering through the bars into the dark cell. Her torch’s light fell upon Ezekiel’s still form on the ground. Her heart leapt into her throat and unlocked his stall, throwing herself inside. She knelt over him. He stared up at her, dazed, squinting in the iridescent light of the flame. She laughed relieved. Sparks flared at her fingertips.

    * * *

    Ezekiel heard his inmates pacing restlessly in their cages as a flickering flame traveled down the isle to his stall. He saw Asmara unlock his cell with a flick of her wrist and then run into his small barred room to him. Sparks ignited on her fingers before his eyes. As she touched his skin, he felt a warm sensation spread through him as the sparks traveled through his body.
    He felt his wings underneath him start to mend, slowly snapping back in place, and then the thin membrane started to stitch together like an invisible needle and thread weaved the ragged fragments that were left back together. Slowly his muscles no longer stiff from near death and his blood was restored. He sat up flexing his renewed wings and smiled in admiration at Asmara. She smiled back, tears welling in her eyes. A sob escaped her pale lips. He put a comforting clawed hand on her shoulder and pulled her to him embracing her in a hug. He closed his eyes and took in her earthy scent, but stiffened as heavy footfalls echoed through the stony chamber.
    He got up quickly backing up close to the wall, holding Asmara to him. In one swift motion, his powerful wings knocked against the stones leaving a deep crevice. Asmara pulled away from him and placed the flat of her palm on the cracked cool stone, her hand glowing. The stones beneath her hand cracked noisily and fell away, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. She smiled satisfied at him. He stopped and stared amazed, but shook his head.
    He took Asmara’s hand in his and stepped through the rubble, easing her over the broken stone chunks after he was outside. He helped her onto his back, making sure she was holding tight around his neck before lifting them into the air and launching into the black sky, never turning back.