𝕄𝔸𝕀𝔻 𝕋𝕆 𝕊𝔼ℝ𝕍𝔼 ✧ 𝔅𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫𝔰 & 𝔇𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔰 ; [ ʟᴜᴠɪᴀ ✟ sᴀɪɴᴛ ]

[Saint]

𝔓ʀɪɴᴄᴇss 𝔇ᴇʟɪʟᴀʜ ℜᴇʏ ℭᴀʟʏᴘsᴇ          𝔓ʀɪɴᴄᴇ 𝔉ᴇɴʀɪs 𝔇' 𝒱ᴀ́ᴛᴀɢᴀɴᴅʀ
ʟᴜᴠɪᴀ                             sᴀɪɴᴛ

♪
Used to be beautiful, now I'm a demon
They want me to perish in flames like a heathen
But they can't destroy me, I'll rise from the ashes
I'll take them by storm and make sure to raise havoc
Burn ​

---

The city was in chaos.
​

The once prosperous and peaceful capital of Calypso, which had been under siege for three months had finally been broken. Its magnificent walls had come crashing down, the screams of their people drowned out by the raging embers of destruction. The Sack of Calypso spared not a single soul, the full wrath of the Empire brought down upon its unfortunate denizens. As he fought between the hellish madness of the city streets, The Second Prince had been faced with horrors that no sane man should ever see, images that would scar hid mind forever. Prince Fenris was far from a novice to the vile stench of war— but this was different. This was not the strong asserting their dominance over the weak.

This was Slaughter. Rape. Genocide. It was not a battlefield befitting a warrior of legend, but rather a hellish landscape that no mortal should ever find themselves within. It sickened the Prince and yet, even he was powerless to completely stop it.

"Your Highness! Your orders?!" A familiar voice peeled the Prince from his trancelike state. What orders were there left to give? These people were defeated. There was nobody left to fight, only murder.

"Take half of the men. Find our officers and have their troops stand down. The rest of the guard will follow me to the Palace." He hoped that if the Palace would be taken, then perhaps this fight could finally end. This had to end, before there would be nothing left for them to conquer.

"Yes... Sir." There was hesitation in the soldier's voice, as if he was questioning the orders of his commander, but he knew better than question the Prince. "You heard the Prince, move out!"

---

​

"Delilah, there is no time! We must get you out of the city!" Clad in bloodied armor, Sir Edward stood above the Princess as he ushered her down the labyrinthian corridors of the Palace. He was an older gentleman, one that had served her father for many years, his greying mane and scars showing his age as a warrior. He would try his best to keep calm as shrills of terror reverberated down the hallways, followed shortly thereafter by the all too familiar sounds of battle. But what was even more disturbing and unnerving would not be the screams or the clatter of steel, but the silence that came afterwards. That foreboding sound of nothingness that foreshadowed the encroaching inevitable:

They were coming.

The Princess and her guardians hastily made their way through the halls, weapons drawn as she was flanked on each end by her trusted knights. They were loyal men that had sworn oaths to protect her, and never would Delilah had ever questioned their honor. They would die protecting her... and she would know that.

"This way. We had the servants ready the horses." If they could just get out of the Palace, then perhaps they would be able to sneak the Princess from the city. But as the group rounded the corner, they came face to face with several silhouettes standing before them. The dark figures were obscured by shadow, a single ray of moonlight illuminating the man that stood ahead of the pack. A tall man, his features would be difficult to study at distance. And yet, she would never be able to forget the vibrant shades of violet that peered in her direction. Those amethyst kaleidoscopes which glared down the hallway, practically glowing with otherworldly brightness as they focused themselves upon the Princess.

"Inside. Now." Edward grabbed the nearby door, opening the bedroom before ushering Delilah into it. "Barricade it once your inside. Don't let anyone in." The Knights would push the Princess within, before shutting the door behind her.

Once the Princess was hidden behind the doorway, the Knights turned their attention towards the hunter standing at the end of the hallway. "I suggest you leave, Princeling. You've outstayed your welcome."

The soldiers standing behind the Prince readied their weapons, but the Second Prince waved his hand downwards, beckoning his men to stand down.

"Too many good men have died today. It will be a shame to add four more." The Imperial Prince retorted, his hand reaching down towards the blade sheathed upon his hip, "Give my apologies to your King. He was a good man. Better than the one I currently serve."

From beyond the door, the Princess would be able to hear the clatter of steel and the shouting of men once again. Then—... silence.

 

[Luvia]

»»» ————　♕　———— «««

𝑉𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛
0:00ㅇ──────── 2:36
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

Stoic. Numb. For someone whose entire family had been slaughtered and their home destroyed, the Princess of Calypso was too quiet. Too composed. It was unnatural—an eerie opposite to the surging screams of battle that sounded from the doors behind her.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
​

She took slow and measured steps towards the balcony of the room, the sounds of her heels echoing off the cold, marbly walls. It was a magnificent piece, made out of the finest stone and glass, adorned by intricate patterns that danced all over the palace walls of the Royal Family. The creation of the palace itself had been a labor-intensive process; it had been the kingdom's jewel and pride for hundreds of years, a testament to its unwavering wealth and abundance.

...

The Princess pushed herself past those pristine glass doors and stepped outside. Immediately, she was greeted by the stench of spilled blood, intermingling with the embers of fires that had consumed nearly everything in their wake. A glance downward gave way to the gardens; what was once the heart of the palace, was now a site of slaughter. Mangled bodies lay strewn across the flower fields, fountains were running red, the once peaceful chirping of summer crickets was now replaced by deathly nothingness. It was a sinister cacophony of terror.

Delilah Rey Calypse walked towards the edge of the balcony and allowed her hollow gaze to sweep over the horizon. The night sky was drowned in the colors of war, glaring back down at her in shades of orange and crimson. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, as if to shun away and protect herself from the horrors in front of her. Then she covered her pale face with her hands, which were always framed by a pair of silky, black gloves. She remained like this for a couple of seconds.

Instead of breaking out in hopeless tears however—she started to laugh.

"Ha... HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

It was a wretched, manic sort of laugh, a stark contrast to the soft and elegant way she'd carried herself for the last three years.

The gaps in between her slender fingers revealed her eyes, which were wide-open and glowering with unbridled repulsion and mortified disbelief.

"Useless. Useless, useless, USELESS cretins. Artless, beef-witted mongrels. IMPERTINENT WORMS!"

A myriad of curses spilled from her naturally ruby lips. The venom that had been cleverly hiding inside her rotten core, now forced itself to the surface and through the cracks of her once calm composure—all at once. Her chest was heaving up and down heavily, her breath had become labored. The strings that had kept her together for the past three long years were beginning to unravel one after another rapidly. Everything she's worked so hard for, had been stomped on and taken from her within three measly months. It was ridiculous. No, hilarious.

If anything, she had played the part of a beloved and obedient Princess well; to the public, Princess Delilah was his Majesty's pride and joy. How could she not be, as radiant and clever as the flower of society she had been? And yet, she couldn't care less about that bastards death. Not about him, nor about anyone else in this disgusting family. No, in fact, she was delighted.

Day in and day out, ever since she'd been brought inside the palace at the age of eleven, Delilah had been terribly mistreated, not only by her half-siblings, but by the servants as well. Her father, the King, had never deigned to visit her ever since, uncaring about the events that took place in her own quarters. He had whisked her away from the slums she had been born in—an act, which in his eyes, was well worth the kindness of a lifetime, his duty done. Where others were spoiled with impeccable service and tended to with steamy baths, aromatic teas and stellar food, she was given cold, unclean water, left to her own devices and munching on stale, moldy bread. Because her mother had been a mere dancer, her daughter was made to carry the shame of the impure blood that was flowing in her veins—dirty whore, flaw of the royal family, illegitimate brood. Delilah grew up with bruises on her arms, with needle pricks on her thighs that hadn't been there the night before, and a ruthless father who cared about nothing but his kingdom. That is, until three years ago.

She had woken up from a terrible dream, a dream in which she'd dreamt about the future. Or rather, about the events of the next three years. Within those three years, her life had taken a turn for the worst: Sold to a foreign, royal advocate who was thirty years older than her and who violated her every night, both mentally and physically. Rumors had it, that he'd had ten wives prior, all who disappeared for unexplainable reasons. Her life had ended on a stake, burning alive, for attempting to kill him in his sleep.

Ever since that night, Delilah had done everything in her power to escape such a cruel fate. Using it to her advantage that the King had forced her to entertain high society ever since she'd blossomed into adulthood, ripe and beautiful as she was, she'd weaseled her way into powerful, political relationships that would make it impossible for her to be sold like a mere brooding mare. Her plan was to ruin the royal family from the inside out with her knowledge of the future; to have them destroy themselves in the most ugly ways. Her meddling had indeed changed the course of time, so much so when the Adrestian Empire had launched its invasion on the Kingdom of Calypso—she hadn't seen it coming.

Delilah dropped her hands and her face hardened.

Silence.

The screams of the knights who were protecting her had stopped. A spiteful smirk spread on her lips. 'Delilah'. Until the very end, these people had refused to address her properly; not as Your Highness, but by her maiden name.

Her dress rustled gently as she reached for the dagger that she had tied to her hip. The Princess stared down at its blade coldly, at her own reflection. Her wavy, bright gold hair looked disheveled and her cerise eyes reflected one last mad wish, burning with the intensity of that desire.

If she had to die, she would do so by her own hands, and no one else's. She would stay in control until the very end.

Delilah turned around to lean against the stony railings, to look at her place of torment for one last time. In the end, she hadn't managed to escape from this place. It was maddening, truly sickening. Every cell in her body was singing, clamoring, condemning the injustice.

She raised the tip of the dagger to her throat, causing for a droplet of blood to run down its length.

Hah.

To hell with them all.​

 

[Saint]

​

𝔓ʀɪɴᴄᴇ 𝔉ᴇɴʀɪs 𝔇' 𝒱ᴀ́ᴛᴀɢᴀɴᴅʀ ————————— ♫

---

The flicker of steel and dance of blades had ended quickly, the silhouettes of inanimate shapes now strewn across the ground at the Prince's feet. The Prince held a moment of admiration for the men, who had been so willing to throw their lives away to protect their Princess. Little did he know, these men had not been the Princess' guardians, but rather, her prison guards. If he had known this, perhaps Fenris might have reserved his pity for another day.

With a slight movement of his hand, the Prince would signal the men behind him to stand guard, before he moved to resheathe his bloodied blade upon his waist. A moment later, he would be reaching for the door, an audible 'CLICK!' resounding throughout the silent hallways.

As the Prince entered, he was greeted with the sight of the Princess once more, a sharp dagger nestled deep against her throat— and if he decided to make any sudden moves, her leaning position made it clear that she could just as easily plunge herself down into the city below. Admittedly, the sight of the Princess so willing to take her life annoyed him. Perhaps it was an irrational thought, but to see that this was what this entire war had been fought over. All of that destruction, all of that chaos, all of that depravity. Just for this frail, pretty, little thing.

A weak Princess that needed to be protected, that would discard her own life at the first sign of danger. It was frustrating— nay... insulting.

Prince Fenris deigned not to speak at first, instead, he hovered closer, until the dark silhouette of his shape gave way to more discernable features underneath the moon's cerulean rays. Even under threat of the Princess drawing her own blood, he continued to saunter evercloser, until his towering stature was positioned between the glass doors that led out to the balcony. There, she would be able to see the man that wrought destruction upon everything she had been working upon. His hair was long and unkempt, though that had to have been expected during the months long siege. It would be only after his hand brushed aside dark bangs that she would be able to see his full portrait. That unerringly stubborn jawline which reached upwards into high, attractive cheekbones... those violet gemstones which practically glared upon the Princess before him.

"Go ahead. I'm waiting." He remarked curtly. There was no plea for her to stop, no demand for her to drop the dagger which she held between dainty fingertips. No, the Prince didn't care whether she lived or she died. To him, she was a pitiful thing, something that had no value to him. He knew that this was a world where the strong would cull the weak. His stare was not one of malice, of pity, of desire. It was a stoic gaze, similar to how one would stare out into the void.
He didn't care if she lived or if she died. In fact, it might have been humorous for his brother not to have what he truly desired.

"Have you ever used a blade before?" Slowly, he placed two fingers upon his own neck, before slowly caressing his digits upwards. "I recommend you cut here. Otherwise you might not find the results you're looking for."

When it seemed like the Princess wasn't going to immediately cut her throat, the Prince took the opportunity to move closer still. He didn't care if she would dig the dagger deeper, or if she would move herself closer to the railing. He continued towards her, before settling an arms reach from her flank. He, too, leaned against the railing, his gaze transfixed on the destruction he had created below.

"If Calypso had been strong. This wouldn't have happened." The Prince mused underneath his breath. Weak. Frail. Soft. All things that the Prince had learned to despise. He hated Calypso, not because of who they were, but because of what they allowed him to destroy.

"And you. Are you weak, too?" Those violet eyes shifted towards her, beaming with impatience, "Only a coward would slit her throat. A lion— a lion would fight to their very last breath."

"So tell me, Princess, are you a coward?
Or are you something more?" ​

 

[Luvia]

𝒟𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓁𝒶𝒽 ℛ𝑒𝓎 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓎𝓅𝓈𝑒 ————————— ♫

---

When the doors inside the dark room in front of her opened, she hadn't expected to see only one person enter. Delilah narrowed her eyes sharply. It was difficult to discern their appearance well, though it was easy to guess who it was. She did nothing to welcome the intruder, though. His presence made no difference. Nothing mattered anymore. Her posture and her desire to end herself remained unchanged. Thump, thump, thump. She could feel her heartbeat thrum strongly against the tip of the dagger, as if to confirm her resolve. Or was it begging for her to stop? It hurt, for sure. More blood dripped down her pale throat as she pushed in the blade deeper, coating her skin a lovely shade of red, disappearing into the bodice of her dress.

Her breath came in short, exhilarated puffs.

"Go ahead. I'm waiting."​

Oh, he was adorable. This had her laughing again. Instead of feeling terrified, she looked amused, like a woman who had lost her mind. A crazy woman. Maybe, she was one.

"Welcome, Princeling," she sneered at him finally in a grand gesture, raising her unoccupied hand high into the air in a suave arc. A blankness suddenly settled between the lines of her face as she regarded him from head to toe. He looked rugged and dirty; the war had taken a toll on both parties it would seem. "... though you look more like a mutt, really."

She'd be lying if she said that she wasn't, at the very least, curious about the man who had savagely destroyed her plans for revenge. There he stood, blissfully unaware of the fact that he'd destroyed something unholy that bad been years in the making. Truthfully, it had been a long-winded, exhausting and meticulous process. It had taken her blood, sweat and tears to be where she was today.

Ah.

Maybe this was the price of trying to defy her destiny, for craving to hurt those who had hurt her. It took a monster to destroy a monster, after all. She had known that she'd never make it to heaven, all things considered. But this—it was just too cruel.

"And you. Are you weak, too?"
​

Now this—it caught her attention. His words felt like nails being dragged across her skin, leaving terrible, ghastly rivulets in their wake. It made her nostrils flare and her eyes widen. The nerve of this bastard. She wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and choke him, right then and there.

"So tell me, Princess, are you a coward? Or are you something more?"​

His provocations dug deep, deeper than the blade to her neck. Her left eye twitched in annoyance. He was hurting her right where it hurt most.

"You don't know anything about me," she spat back, mindful of how close he'd gotten. Delilah took a step away from him, with her back still against the railing.

"But... on the contrary, I've heard a few things about you." A gloved finger pointed at him. "You, the younger, second Adrestian demon spawn." She dropped her hand listlessly. "I wonder how it feels to serve a fake Emperor who is known for his whoring antics and vulgar methods." Every word was pronounced with venom. "You, an honorable warrior, at the beck and call of someone who couldn't care less—your being here proves that. At this point, what is the difference between you and a dog?" She tilted her head cutely, pouting. "The great Lord Fenris D' Vatagandr, amounting to nothing more than a disposable bitch." She chuckled sadistically, hoping that he felt just as aggravated by what she was saying as she felt.

The man had been mistaken in comparing her to a lion. Delilah's methods were much more vicious than one. Vicious and destructive. She was much more akin to something like a murderous bee—if he dared to get closer, he would be stung, and it mattered little to her if she died in the process. It was what she wanted anyway. If she was able to drag him to hell with her, all the better.

 

[Saint]

𝔓ʀɪɴᴄᴇ 𝔉ᴇɴʀɪs 𝔇' 𝒱ᴀ́ᴛᴀɢᴀɴᴅʀ ————————— ♫

---

Violet pupils squinted as the defeated royal answered back Fenris' taunts with a venomous retort. The Second Prince was by no means thin-skinned, but even he could not have anticipated the poison that would be spat between those supple lips. He deigned not to show how deep her words had stung, mortal wounds instead hidden beneath a stoic canvas. But even the greatest of actors wouldn't have been able to salvage the Prince's performance. A chord had certainly been struck, and while Fenris had been generally accustomed to hiding his emotions, there would be no hiding the displeasure that came in the form of a twitching eyebrow.

"You're right. I know nothing about you." He acquiesced softly, "I know only about the stories. The Jewel of Calypso, they call you." He attempted to hide his displeasure beneath a faux smile, a wide grimace that curled upwards as he spoke. Even in his frustration, the man's voice retained a calm and almost soothing cadence, one that never seemed to waver despite the trying circumstances. It was a voice that commanded armies, one that needn't not yell or raise itself to get its message across.

"But if I'm a disposable bitch— then what does that make you?" Suddenly, he would move to close the gap between him and the Princess, what little space was left soon overtaken by the advance of his oppressive stature. She would barely have the opportunity to raise that dagger she kept clasped between her palms before he was upon her. Regardless if she attempted to plunge that knife into his chest or her own throat wouldn't matter, for the result would be the same. The Prince would skillfully capture her dainty wrist within an ironclad grip, his masculine digits wound tightly around her arm and suspending that dagger in place.

"A pretty little object, woefully incapable of protecting herself... useful for nothing more than warming one's bed." Taking full control of her arm, the Prince would use her own body against her, spinning her about until she faced the opposite direction. With just the right amount of pressure exerted on her nerves, he would manage to force her fingertips to loosen their grip— until she would have no choice but to allow the knife to exchange hands, falling harmlessly into the Prince's grip. Once the knife was in his hands, he would pull her deeper into his chest, until the crux of her back was pressing against his firm silhouette.

"At least a dog can still bite. But you?" He whispered, the reverberations of his voice aimed directly against the Princess undefended earlobes. "Powerless. A diamond without any value but to entice the desires of men." With that, he would release Delilah, before moving towards the end of the balcony. He would flourish the dagger in his hand, spinning it between his dexterous fingertips before hurling it, unceremoniously casting the blade from the perched edge and into the fiery abyss below. With it, he hoped to have dispelled any further attempts for the Princess to take her own life. She would no longer have the option of a coward's way out, lest she decide to throw herself off the end as well.

"If you want to die. Then die. Otherwise, we make for the Empire tonight." With that, the Prince had turned to leave, retracing his steps back into the bedroom before dissipating back into the darkness. Despite his cruel words, the way he disarmed and discarded the dagger contrasted his previous statement. Whether that conflict between words and actions registered for the Princess would be yet to be seen, though he would have been lying if he had said living would have been a better fate than suicide. He knew what destiny held for Delilah should she return to the Empire. His greedy, deprave brother wished to enact deprave things upon her, to abuse her like she was nothing more than a toy for his amusement.

And yet, he selfishly still wanted her to live.

It would be moments after that two, new figures would emerge from the darkness, clad in the same colors as the Prince before them, though their presence certainly lacked the same tense aura as before.

"We will be escorting you to our camp, Lady Delilah. We ask that you come quietly, though Prince Fenris has commanded us to treat you with the same respect of a guest." The soldiers would have less patience than the Prince for any unexpected antics, their gazes transfixed on the Princess as they awaited her to follow their lead.

 

[Luvia]

𝒟𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓁𝒶𝒽 ℛ𝑒𝓎 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓎𝓅𝓈𝑒

---

The Jewel of Calypso, ah, yes.

That's what they called her in recent times. It should have made her feel valued and loved, to be declared the most precious jewel of a kingdom that was known to be abundant in them. And yet, all Delilah felt was disdain. She'd learned a lot within the last three years. They had shown her just how grotesquely fickle and vain human beings truly were. Ultimately, whether it be slaves, commoners, nobles or royals alike, everybody wanted something they couldn't have. Everybody sought to nurture their own personal gain. Before she'd left her mark in both social circles and political affairs, she'd been treated like a waste of space. Worse yet: Like a free-for-all punching bag. Her half-brother's face, Erden, briefly appeared inside her mind's eye; he had been her worst tormentor. She still bore various scars across her body that had started to fade over time, a testament of his cruelty. However, in the end, even he had caved to her and ended up caught in her intricately woven web. How did she do it? Well. Everything. All it had taken was her everything. The way she walked, the way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she spoke, the way she dressed, the way she smelled - this kingdom had consumed her to her bones, leaving her with nothing but her own rage to cling onto. It was all she had left.

"If I'm a disposable bitch— then what does that make you? At least a dog can still bite. But you? Powerless. A diamond without any value but to entice the desires of men."
​

It didn't come as a surprise then that his words struck a chord with her. They triggered that deeply-rooted, telltale rage which had allowed her to survive thus far. The temporary numbness, which had settled over her body the moment she was notified of the royal family's slaughter, dissipated. In its stead, she could feel a remnant of the fire that had been her fuel to keep going all this time. It started as a small, little flicker and had developed into a scorching, blazing flame by the time the prince wrung the dagger out of her hands and flung it into oblivion.

She was not a fucking cock sleeve. She was not an object. She was NOT powerless. Power was not to be measured by physical prowess alone.

But most importantly, she realized—

She didn't want to die.​

Not now, not ever, until she'd finally tasted what satisfaction truly felt like. A silver of contentment. Happiness. She'd been able to tame a kingdom once, to manipulate her environment to her favor. Who was to say she couldn't do it again?

When the two Adrestian guards approached her, her face was expressionless save for the simmering intensity that was lingering in her gaze. Delilah said nothing, nay, she didn't even look at them - but she started to walk. One foot at a time, she began to retrace the very same steps that her new captor had walked. Willingly. The guards, confused at first, merely watched her back as she made her way to the bedroom door. They looked at each other as if to confirm that they were both seeing the same thing. When they did, they regained their composure and followed after the princess, leading her to where the rest of their brigade would wait for them.

---

​

"Your Highness!" One of his men approached Fenris, greeting him with a tense and respectful salute, dried up blood covering the entirety of his breastplate. The Adrestian army was getting ready to return to the Empire. Treasures ranging from gold, royal artifacts taken from the treasury, as well as a select few Calypsian women, men and children taken to be used as slaves lined the rows of its spoils of war. Among them was the Jewel of Calypso. The princess stood out like a sore thumb, beautiful and dignified even as she was being dragged towards where the prince was getting his horse ready to depart. Several Adrestian soldiers devoured her with their eyes, hungry for the embrace and warmth of a woman after months of enduring the hardships of the war. Her people called out to her, crying, begging for mercy, beseeching their new masters to at least spare her. She couldn't even bear to look at them.

Delilah's hands had been bound by a single cord of thick robe which was harshly tearing at her wrists. The two guards who had led her here were now standing in front of their commander. "What should we do with her, Your Highness? Shall she walk with the rest of the slaves, or shall she ride with you? We were unsure of what to do with her, as you've instructed us to treat her, well, like a guest." A guest, her? The unspoken question slithered in between the moments of silence among them.

She peered up to look at Fenris, curious to know what his answer was going to be. She wanted to capture the expression he would make upon seeing her again, savor the arrogance dying in his throat as she levelled her newfound will at him. You will regret keeping me alive.

 

[Saint]

𝔓ʀɪɴᴄᴇ 𝔉ᴇɴʀɪs 𝔇' 𝒱ᴀ́ᴛᴀɢᴀɴᴅʀ

---

The Prince had been tightening the straps upon his mare when he would be suddenly approached by one of his subordinates. He would gloss over the man's salute with a tired, yet stern gaze, before those violet orbs would finally settle upon the Jewel of Calypso. Where the soldiers ogled the royal prisoner with voracious, predatorial eyes, Fenris could have not been more disinterested, as if such a pretty thing wasn't worth wasting his breath. At first, he ignored the pair, almost pretending like he hadn't heard the soldier— maybe, just maybe, if he ignored them for long enough, the problem would resolve itself. But when the shrills of the prisoners clamored from beyond, it was clear that there was far too many eyes for him to simply brush the situation aside.

"What should we do with her, Your Highness?"​

"Still alive, I see." The Prince let out a brief sigh as he turned himself towards her once again. He was tired, covered in dirt, ash and blood— babysitting his brother's troublesome prize was not something that he looked forward to. Yet, even as he cared little for her, Fenris could feel that seething glare which beamed in his direction. If looks could kill, no army would have been able to save the Prince. Still, such a trivial decision would possess immense weight. A small mercy for the people of Calypso might have been a drop in the bucket for the terrors the Empire had brought upon them, but it would have been a mercy nonetheless. However, such mercy was seen as a weakness, something to be criticized by his bannermen. Delilah may have been a Princess, but she was a woman, a slave destined to be bedded.

"Well, unfortunately for you, we are fresh out of royal carriages." Fenris remarked as he pulled himself up onto his horse, settling himself upon the saddle before returning the Princess glare with one of his own, "As for treating her as a guest— I do recall mentioning that. Do we normally tie up our guests, now?" He shook his head, "Begone from my sight, before my mind brews a more fitting punishment for you two." With that, the two guards that had bound Delilah had sheepishly dispersed. Though the soldiers might have ultimately questioned the Prince's treatment of their royal prisoner, they knew better than to vocalize their displeasure.

"Not you, Princess." He commanded, waiting for the soldiers to depart before continuing. "Prisoner or not, you are royal blood." It was less about mercy and more about principle. Royalty must be respected at all times, lest the people they rule begin to gain delusions of revolution; or that those that wear the crown be seen as disposable. Of course, giving the Princess a horse would not have been a likely option either, as there would have been nothing to stop her from riding away into the sunset. No, having a Princess running amok in the wild wouldn't do anyone any good. And so he did what he thought unthinkable. Slowly, a hand reached out towards Delilah, a palm opening to reveal the underside of masculine digits.

"This is not a choice," Fenris' words dribbled with the same venomous poison that slithered through Delilah's own thoughts. He was not the type of man who enjoyed repeating his commands, and that extended arm would continue to wait. Wait and wait... until the Princess would have no choice but to take it. Once she did so, he would pull her with surprising strength, until she was nestled firmly into the saddle in front of him. Those dexterous, powerful arms which had once forced the dagger from her hands were now wrapping around her waist, like monstrous tendrils, they found the reins that waited just beyond the Princess.

"I can see it in your eyes, little Princess." Lips hovered dangerously close to the Princess' lobes, his voice no louder than a hushed whisper that could have been easily mistaken for a lover's sweet nothings, "I've seen that look so many times before— from men who wanted to kill me." His words had practically been meticulously designed to illicit a reaction from Delilah. From the way he called her little Princess, to the way he so callously plucked the truth from those gorgeous, crimson kaleidoscopes. "I hope you don't disappoint." He would remark at last, clicking his heels against the horse to finally send the beast into motion.

Soon, the white mare that the two royals settled upon began to trot down the road, the flames of the burning city still emanating bright lights in the evening skies to their rear. The Princess would find her hands still bound to her front, her dainty silhouette captured on either side by the Prince's strong forearms. Fenris might have appeared like a disheveled dog, but no level of unkempt could betray those masculine arms which extended beneath Delilah's visage. With the sleeves of his uniform rolled up to his elbow, she would be able to closely see those pulsating, cable-thick veins which mapped out his rigid shape. Truly, for any woman lesser than the Princess, such a simple image of masculinity might have been seen as eye-candy, a single glance enough to invigorate the senses.

It wouldn't be long now until they would find themselves off towards Delilah's new home... or her prison.

---

The travel between the kingdoms of Calypso and the Adrestian Empire had lasted nearly a fortnight as the Imperial Army made its way back to the capital city. Each day would be the same, with the Imperials making a short camp before continuing onwards. Each day, the Princess would be made to ride along with the Prince, though few words would be exchanged between the two. Eventually, the army would make its final camp on the outskirts of the Imperial Capital, the towering walls of white granite reaching like spires into the sky.

Fenris' bannermen would soon make their homes within the camp, or disperse themselves upon the local villages for the comfort of inns and brothels. Within the walls of the Imperial City of Adrestia, any army was prohibited by law to enter. Only the Imperial Knights, who pledged their direct fealty to the Emperor, could maintain their arms. It was an archaic law that was designed to prevent a hostile coup from within. Yet, it was something that Fenris planned to use to his advantage, he would be able to control the narrative.
The Princess would not see the Prince for some time, being given the opportunity to bathe and stay the night in the safety of a nearby village inn. Though still heavily guarded, she would hear of rumors that the man she loathed was staying at another establishment. It wouldn't be until the next day that she would be summoned back to the military camp, to once again be stared upon by the men that had razed her kingdom, stolen her vengeance from her. Soon, she would find herself in the privacy of the Prince's tent, with a man staring at her from within.

"Welcome, Princess," The man smiled, deigning not to rise from his seat to greet her. "— Do I still look like a disgusting mutt?"