I warned you

The flame caught fast....the moment the torch kissed the fabric, it curled and blackened...then whoosh...fire leapt up the banners like it had been waiting all its life. Within seconds, the wall was alive with flames, blazing mad and angry, devouring royal cloth as it climbed higher.

Ian didn't waste time. He shoved the torch back into its holder and ducked into the nearest alcove, breathing hard. Smoke started curling along the ceiling. The faint crackle turned into a roar.

Shouts of panic soon rang out. "Fire!...Get water! Move!"

People running through the hallway. Dozens of them...Just as he wanted.

One by one, the guards peeled away from their posts near the exit, rushing toward the flames with pails, whatever they had. The chaos was perfect. Screams, panic, confusion.

Ian slipped out from the alcove like a shadow himself. He sprinted through the outer corridor, ducked low, dodged behind pillars. His heart hammered in his throat, but his legs kept moving. When he saw the edge of the courtyard, he didn't slow down.

The moment he was past the castle gates, he kept running. He didn't look back.

Through stone streets, past dark alleyways. He didn't know this city. Didn't know the layout. He ran until finally, he spotted a small wooden shed, tucked between two larger buildings. He ducked inside.

Panting. Shaking. His hands trembled as he yanked off his jacket. He turned it inside out and draped it over his head, tugging it low. His red hair had already drawn too much attention. It couldn't be seen. Not now, not while he managed to get free.

He crouched in the dark, listening for any sign of pursuit. After a while...he ventured deeper into the city... heading towards the City gates.

He walked until he had gotten far enough.

At least, that's what he told himself as he stumbled past another empty alley and slumped against the side of a crumbling stone wall. His breath came in heavy, ragged gulps. But he was out, away from the castle. He closed his eyes to rest a little.

"You're really a smart one," a familiar voice said, smooth and cold. "You managed to escape this far."

Ian's eyes snapped open. The Queen.

He spun around, panic surging. But before he could even take a step...

His chest seized. Like invisible fingers wrapped around his heart and twisted.

"Ah—!" he gasped, clutching his ribs, collapsing to one knee. It was exactly like before, back in the woods, when they first met. His body betrayed him, his limbs locked. He couldn't breathe.

She walked toward him calmly, she reached him, then grabbed a fistful of his red hair, yanking his head up so he had to look at her.

"I left a mark on you, redhead," she whispered. Her voice didn't need to be loud. It cut. "You can't escape me. You can fool everyone else... but not me."

Then she released him, and the pain vanished just as fast as it came. Ian dropped to the ground, wheezing, sweat soaking his collar.

With a flick of her wrist, guards surrounded him.

"Take him," she ordered.

Ian didn't fight. Couldn't. They grabbed him, bound him again, and dragged him through the side streets like a broken trophy. The Queen didn't follow immediately.

She just stood there, watching as they took Ian away.

There was something off about him. Something different. He wasn't like the others. The redheads before, the ones who brought plague, war, famine, chaos, you could feel the wrongness in them. The stench of misfortune clung to their very souls.

But this one...he had different aura around him...that was what unsettled her the most.

Ian was dragged back to the cells...the cold iron door groaned open, and he was thrown back inside like a sack of trash.

He hit the floor hard, shoulder first, the breath knocked out of him. From across the corridor, the familiar voice came again, dry and smug.

"I warned you."

Ian stayed on the ground, panting, one cheek pressed to the stone.

"I told you you'd only speed up your execution," the man added. "Now you've got guards watching. Two of them. You're done."

Ian rolled over slowly, face grimy and bruised. Blood crusted under his nose from earlier. His jaw clenched.

"Shut your damn mouth," he muttered. The man just chuckled.

Ian sat up against the wall, glancing toward the bars. Two guards now stood posted a few feet away. Both had their arms crossed, stone-faced. Unmoving. Watching him.

His eyes drifted up to the ceiling. Back here again. He wiped at the sweat on his brow with a shaky hand.

About an hour passed.

The cell had gone quiet again, Ian was sitting in the corner, arms wrapped around his knees, trying to stay warm and keep his thoughts from unraveling completely.

Then the door opened...Two guards stepped in. Before Ian could speak, they grabbed him by the arms and yanked him up to his feet.

"Hey—! What the hell now?" he barked, but they didn't answer.

He struggled, but it was pointless. They were strong, focused. They hauled him down the corridor without a word, past rows of empty cells and torchlit halls.

They brought him into a small stone chamber. Clean. Cold. And wet. That was when the water hit him. Ice-cold water slammed into his chest, soaking him completely. He gasped, breath snatched from his lungs. Another bucket followed. And another. Water pooled at his feet. He tried to resist, but they were fast, they tore his soaked shirt off, ripped the rest of his clothes away, and shoved him onto a low wooden stool. He quickly removed his necklace and clutched it in his hands so it wouldn't cut or get lost.

"Damn bastards—!" he shouted through chattering teeth, eyes stinging from the cold.

One of them grabbed a coarse cloth. Another poured something that smelled like herbs and alcohol into a bowl.

They started scrubbing his body hard. Ian winced, gritted his teeth, cursed again.

"Why the hell are you washing me?! I'm not some filthy pet!"

They didn't answer. Just kept washing him aggressively, the cold bit deep into his bones, and he hated how helpless he felt. Scrubbed like an animal. No control. No say.

He kept cursing them under his breath, he was helpless...all he could do was shiver. He had no idea why they were doing this.