6
There was little for her to do in the bed chamber as she was left to wait for the One-eyed prince to return. Every time she heard a shuffle outside the door she hid behind what seemed to be a set of stairs going down into some unknown area, perhaps his own personal entrance, or dungeon. The maids would come in and clean, but all somehow avoided the area so she felt pretty sure it was some personal dungeon of unspeakable horrors.
As the last few left, leaving out food and wine again, she wondered if that meant he was to return soon, and then what? She still wasn’t sure why he was holding her chained to his bedroom floor. The chain was thin but strong and long enough that she comfortably could make her way around the room, including the balcony, which she spent much of her time on just watching the city below. It was a vast city with a busy port, the ocean air that carried on the wind made her wish she could visit a beach. Another curious thing about the chamber were the shelves full of scrolls and books. Many were history books, with lengthy descriptions of familial ancestry of what she assumed were important families of lords, or kings. Others were focused on the art of war. There were battle maps of old, and one was laid out that seemed fairly new to her on the table beside the chaise. She obviously tried reading some of the books, but many were in a language she has never seen before.
It was getting dark outside and she wondered if he would return soon because while the previous night he must have found other lodgings, this was his bedchamber, and she was pretty sure he was human enough to still require sleep.
She shot her head towards the door as it opened and she sighed in relief when she saw it was him. Only to catch herself that this was nothing to be relieved about, she still didn’t know his intentions.
He locked the door behind him and went towards the untouched food on the table. That’s when she saw that he was carrying a dress which he hung over the back of a chair beside the table. He went to the chaise where he removed his riding coat and stood in a black leather tunic facing her, no, studying her muggle clothes, the same ones she wore when she first saw him.
“ I think my clothes suited you better, my lady.” His lips curled.
“They can hardly be called that.” She replied, hating the fact that the silk tunic she used last night was almost see through.
He walked over again towards the table and pulled one of the chairs out indicating she sat down on it. She hesitated, but decided to gather her Gryffindor bravery and play along. As she sat down he pushed the chair in for her, went around to the other side and sat down to face her. Pushing the plate towards her, he urged her to eat. She took up a fork and speared a roasted carrot with it, putting it promptly in her mouth as he poured her a goblet of wine. The tension in the chamber was drumming against her eardrums begging to be broken.
He broke it first.
“I have read about your kind, witches, used to be more common with the first men, although many claim there is a bunch of your kind in Bravos, but the cost at which the Bravosie witches charge? Where would one even get so much gold.” She swallowed trying to piece together what he was saying, first men? Bravos? None of these things rang a bell, she was beginning to wonder what alien world she brought herself into.
“I am not from…Bravos, I have never heard of any first men, but I do know that I need to go back.” She said carefully watching his relaxed form. His one eye, unmoving from her. She continued, “ Listen, I don't know what you are planning to do with me, but I beg of you, let me go.”
He sharply leaned towards her causing her to almost fall back off her chair, fork clattering on the floor. “Tell me where your home is and maybe I’ll consider it, my lady.” He said evenly.
“London.” She gulped.
There was no recognition of this name in his eye as he pulled a fly away curl from her face gently, she twitched in reaction. He then stood up and patted the dress slung over the back of the chair, “Wear this, it’ll make it less obvious that you are a foreigner in our lands.”
She nodded and stood up to grab it, but before she did he took a hold of her left arm twisting it painfully. “and if anyone asks, you belong to me.” His eye was menacing as he let go of her and she grabbed the dress to go behind the folding screen. He poured himself wine, waiting for her to change. The dress he gave her was a beautiful green, with silver stitching and embroidery. Putting it on proved to be more difficult than she expected with layers requiring lacing up and tying. After much struggle, believing she did the best she could, she stepped out. He paused the goblet halfway to his mouth, examining her with his one eye.
“It suits you my lady,” he said in a breathy tone.
“Hermione, please just call me Hermione,” she flushed as he continued to study her.
“As you wish, Hermione.” He slowly approached her with that cat-like gait.
“Um…should I call you, Prince?” She said with uncertainty , she’s never had to speak to a prince before.
His mouth curled into a soft smile. “ Prince is what members of the court call me, but you, you may call me Master.”