A storm lashed against the tiny cell window, rain running rivulets down the bars are pooling on the stone floor. Wind rattled the chains that filled the room, the rattling echoing throughout. It was these chains that a figure hung, suspended. Black iron wrapped around her wrists, under her breasts, around her neck, hanging her from the ceiling. Enough chains had been wrapped around the starved body to keep her suspended without her choking. Lightning flashed outside and the cell was illuminated in a cold, grey glow. The figure cringed, manacles clinking. She lacked the energy to even squeeze her eyes shut, although exhaustion had rendered them shut weeks ago. Icy white hair hung limp and grey, tangling in the chains. Scars, old and new, crisscrossed her body. Bruises coloured her abdomen and blood dripped from her fingertips.
Footsteps echoed from outside the cell, they grew louder, multiplied. The door swung open silently and a group of six stepped inside. One was a large, bald man with tree stumps for hands. A ruin of a scar blinded his left eye. He carried heavy wooden club. The next four to enter, entered in a diamond formation. They stood tall, resolute and emotionless. Armour glinted in the dim light. Guards. At the centre of the formation stood a slightly shorter figure. He was stout with a salt and pepper pepper beard and glossy black hair. He was by no means a handsome man, his head a little too wide, his nose a little too small, but his eyes... His eyes shone like sapphires flecked in gold. He was garbed in a red velvet doublet and ermine cloak. Never had a man looked more out of place than the dingy cell. Atop his head, nestled among the black ringlets, was a circlet of bronze and onyx, a circlet fit for a King.
"Are you ready to confess?" The King asked, sneering at the prone form above him. The girls eyes twitched before opening slightly. White sapphires flecked in gold stared back at the King from a hollow face.
"Are you ready to bend the knee to your rightful Queen?" She asked. Her voice was hoarse and raspy with disuse. She tried to spit at the King's feet but her mouth was too dry and she only succeeded in opening an old wound on her lip. A new would split just under her right eye accompanied by hot, white pain as the bald man crashed his club into her skull. Stars clouded her vision and for a moment the men standing before her became shapeless blobs.
"Fallion, my dear, let us not play this little game again today," The King smiled. "Surely you grow weary of this little back and forth, and I'm not sure how many more teeth you have to loose trying to win this battle."
"Don't say my name." The girl, Fallion, seethed.
"Now," The King frowned a little, anger creeping into his voice. "Is that anyway to talk to your King and you father?" Fallion scoffed.
"You may be my sire, but you are no father of mine." Another bout of pain overtook her as the club slammed into her gut.
"I'd watch your mouth, girl, if you intend to keep it." Fallion smiled, a savage, broken smile. Her tongue darted out between her missing front teeth.
"Bend your knee, Father."
"Watch your tongue."
"Bend. Your. Knee."
"Watch your tongue!" The King stepped towards the girl, stepped right up until he was a hairs breadth away from her. "You do not want to underestimate the power of a ruler."
"You're right. You aught not underestimate my power." A screech of pain escaped Fallion's lips as she twisted in the air, using the last of her strength to kick her leg upwards. Her foot caught the King between the legs, knocking him down to the floor and gasping for breath. At once the guards rushed forward to help their King to his feet. "That's right. Help him up. He is so weak he cannot stand himself." A grating laugh racked her body. She turned her attention to the guards. "How does it feel protecting someone so weak? How does it feel protected him? The King the could not rise from the floor?"