With an instant sharp knock came impatience.
Aren and Amira froze, their eyes locking across the small underground room. And the air around them was filled with a palpable tension as if something terrible was about to happen.
Then, without as much as a flinch, the door above came crashing down almost violently. Heavy boots thundered down the stone steps and armored guards surged into the room, drawing their swords with cold eyes.
Leading them was none other than the prince himself.
Towering over all of them in fine black and red embroidery, he wore a demented smile that never quite reached his eyes. His focused on Amira first, gorging himself on her presence like a starving beast.
"There she is," he drawled, stepping forward. "The shining jewel of the jungle."
Amira's hand tightened on her bow as the prince snapped his fingers, and two of the guards wrenched her bow from her grasp, pinning her arms behind her back.
Aren stood silent.
Amira turned desperately to him. "Aren," she gasped in a trembling voice. "Do something!"
For a fraction of a second, Aren's fingers twitched towards his sword. But slowly, he began to step back, raising both his hands.
"Wait," came his coolly impassive voice. "Take her, take her, I can care less for my life, I do not want to die for a mere...jungle girl."
Amira's face cracked. The prince laughed, the sound cruel underneath the stone walls.
"You see? Even your so-called hero knows when to bow before power," he said with a sneer, grabbing Amira roughly by the chin.
"You'll look just perfect beside me at the royal feasts."
Aren still did not budge.
With his head bowed, he concentrated all his attention on the floor beneath his feet, which was covered in dust.
The guards took Amira with them; she offered no resistance.
By Aren's words, she had lost her strength, replaced instead by an aching emptiness. They all but forced her up the stairs when she turned for one last glance back.
He never looked up.
...
To the villages, her carriage made way, the villagers peeked from the windows and market stalls, their whispers full of horror and confusion. Amira felt all their eyes, each stare piercing deep into her heart.
At the palace, the handmaidens took over. Her jungle leathers were stripped away, only to be exchanged for shimmering gold and emerald robes, heavy jewels being wrapped around her neck and wrists. Her hair was combed and twisted into elaborate shapes, pinned with shining metal flowers.
She sat before the vast mirror, and the girl looking back was a stranger.
One of the maids stroked her shoulder gently. "Please, lady. Don't fight. The prince wants it."
Amira said nothing. Her mind reeled with confusion: betrayal. Aren's voice echoed in her head, laughing, teasing; it was like poison now.
And yet, another part of her held onto the thinnest sliver of hope. No. He wouldn't leave me. He can't.
Back To Aren
Meanwhile, deep below his room, Aren sat all alone.
The sword lay across his knees. He stared at it, eyes empty. Slowly, he unfolded a crumbling scrap of parchment; an old, incomplete map of the palace.
He started to draw. Lines crisscrossed, arrows twisted down hallways. Every few minutes he muttered to himself. "East hall... no, too many guards. Kitchen passage... yes. Servants' stairs, hidden balcony... "
He sketched, erased, sketched again. Sweat dripped down his brow, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. His whole world had shrunk down to the map and her face.
"They think I'm a coward," he whispered to the empty room. "Good."
His hand became a fist over the paper.
"They think I have betrayed her. Even better."
He looked up, fire dancing in his eyes, wild and sharp.
"This isn't over. Not by a long shot. "
In The Palace
In the palace, the prince walked in his halls, gloating to his advisors. He spoke about the dawning of a new age, how Amira's beauty secured his power, how that he would have the perfect ornament by his side.
Amira sat silent; her hands lay in her lap. Every now and then, her eyes would close as she'd breathe slow, deliberate breaths. She tried to recall the wind from the jungle, the smell of melting moss, and Aren's idiotic jokes.
Deep down somewhere, she knew he was coming.
BACK TO AREN
Back in that underground chamber, Aren stood at last. He pulled on a cloak, strapped on his sword, and tucked a small dagger into his boot.
He cast one last glance at the maps, then turned to the vacant space where she had stood beside him barely a day ago.
With one last deep breath, he turned toward the stairway.
"They want a show," he whispered, lips curling into a dangerous smile. "Then let's give them one they'll never forget."
He extinguished the lanterns, and in that last moment of darkness, only his bright eyes glowed, sharp and alive, and unrestrainable.
"I'll Come for you".