Between the Enemy's Arm

The bloodied ring rolled onto the ground in her direction.

Melantha did not scream—or did not want to cry. Rather, she forced herself to watch as her maid sacrificed herself for her to live with wide eyes, registering every movement around her. Perhaps Ysara believed she might do something onward, so unknowingly she also felt she had a reason to make her go forward.

"What to do with the others?" a knight asked his comrades.

"Just kill them!" the other responded lightly as if he were talking about lambs.

Gasps of panic erupted as the two knights strode toward them. Melantha stood up—

"Move, move. OUT!"

Melantha's thoughts were cut off by the men's angry, loud voice.

"Hurry up!"

Melantha's body was cramped as other captors started going out. She moved slowly, her body stiff from sitting for days. As her bare feet touched the ground, a jolt of coldness swept through her body. The chains around her hands were so heavy that she could not raise them. The knight screamed behind her ear, making it buzz, then a strike was aimed at her back, taking her breath away.

"Move you lazy *****"

Melantha took short breaths, then began to move forward. Her eyes were scanning the area. Red flags with a big grey tree with sharp boughs and edges like claws. The Ironharth Kingdom! The huge wooden gate was closed behind them. Pale tents spread for as long as she saw. The voices of men greeting, cheering, and wrestling echoed like thunder. A rotten smell of smoke and blood stank around.

A chilling sensation crept within Melantha, realising she was at the heart of a military camp. Then with the tip of her eyes, she caught a view of a man, standing in the middle, dismounting from his horse. A man of a petite body hurried and took the horse away. The man took off his helmet; a few strands of his ash black hair stuck to it.

Melantha balled her fists, viewing the man with narrow eyes. A burning sensation furled in her chest. As if sensing her gaze, he turned his face to her, but Melantha dropped her face and moved near with the other captors.

"Why are you crawling? Move faster!" the knights screamed, kicking the captors to move ahead.

Melantha hurried her steps like the others, getting nearer to the prince. She kept her head low and her feet fast. As the distance between them got near and she could see his dirty boots, she stopped.

"Why did you stop? Do you think I'm playing with you!" he yelled, kicking her feet.

Melantha missed her footing, her body swaying to the side.

Suddenly, her body was thrown at a solid surface, and a hand circled her body. A shocked expression appeared on her face when she raised her face to see two piercing grey eyes looking at her.

He held her?

Her thoughts were interrupted when her body was slammed to the ground. Melantha hissed weakly. Then a sword was put at her neck.

"How dare you touch the prince!" the screaming knight yelled again.

"Liory!" the prince said with a calm yet cold tone.

"I apologise for the mistake!" Liory trembled, bowing slightly.

The prince walked away.

Melantha stood up, took another kick from Liory, then was dragged into a tent. Wooden bars lined up one after the other, making it a prison. Melantha was cramped inside. A heavy smell of dead people spread over. She fought the urge to puke and chose a corner and sat down. Her whole body was aching. Her throat was dry from the lack of drinking water, and she had not eaten proper food since she was captured.

Melantha ignored her body's situation as her thoughts darted to the incident a moment ago.

She was a step away from her family's killer. Crown Prince Vaelen of Ironharth!

What a bad luck! she thought.

If not the name of the kingdom was horrifying enough, then the name of its crown prince would send dread to all of the neighbouring kingdoms. Years and years of blood thirst inside and outside the kingdom were written with drenched hands seeking power and strength.

The kingdom believed only power would bring peace. And to display this strength, they would invade kingdoms, territories, and islands to spread fear, and they succeeded. No kingdoms dared to oppose them, or they would end up with nothing. 

And the succession battle was the deadliest. As long as she could remember, no ruler took the throne without having his hands covered with blood.

And this crown prince was the most horrific; no one was spared from him. His brothers, father and everyone involved. The throne was filled with blood.

When she heard the news last year, she frowned, feeling that he was a cruel ruler and his people would suffer. However, her father's hysterical fear was shown on his face, shouting at her for the first time, warning her not to speak about the kingdom or its ruler.

Melantha's head ached, feeling hopeless. The enemy was powerful, and she had no value now– a mere war captor from an enemy kingdom.

But she believed the sacrifices of her family and Ysara would not go unnoticed. If she were a weak creature, then she would use this weakness to be a source of strength, which would get that prince down to his knees!

If she wanted to seek revenge from the crown prince, she needed to be close to him.