Ifan slowly opened his eyes. He didn’t know where he was or for how long he had been here. He felt the cold coming from the stone floor on his face. He hissed as he felt the sharp sting on his left flank. But his side wasn’t the only thing that hurt, his entire body was sore with bruises.

Ifan had to blink many times for his vision to slowly come back. As he started to see again, in front of him was a large stone wall that seemed to have been worn by time. Fissures were decorating the wall as pieces of stones laid here and there on the damp cold ground.

He perceived a hint of orange light reflecting on the wet stone. A torch’s light perhaps coming from behind him. The wall was damp and moss had started growing at the bottom, patching the many cracks. A musty smell filled the space. After a moment, he slowly realized he was in a cell… a dungeon cell.

Then, he remembered. He remembered that his entire family was dead, murdered.

He wished that this would only be a horrible nightmare and that he would wake up in his room.

But the sharp pain on his left flank, on his entire body, but mostly in his heart, was all but too real. He tried to sit, but he didn’t have the strength as his injuries ached too much, so he stayed there, laying on the freezing ground. He glanced at his side and saw that poorly made bandages had been wrapped around his waist as stains of blood could be seen on top.

Ifan was feeling dizzy, he was thirsty, and his head still throbbed. His thoughts went back to his family. Flashes of their dead bodies appeared before his eyes. His lips started trembling.

They were all dead. And he couldn’t do anything to save them…

Tears began to flow on his bruised cheeks. “Father… Mother…,” he hiccupped. “Athelan… Kolthen…,” He cradled his hands on his chest as he tightly held the gemstone of the necklace around his neck. “Ilithya…” he wept even more.

All he could see was their faces right before they died. Their frightened, pained, and distressed expressions haunted his mind. He hated himself for not being able to do anything for them. He hated himself for being so powerless! All he did was watch them get killed one by one, cruelly murdered by his uncle and what he once called his best friend.

Hatred suddenly seized him as tears were still running down his face. He wanted them to suffer. He wanted them to feel the same pain he felt. He wanted to make them pay, all of them. Orian, Eloden, and all the guards that betrayed his family!

The cell around him seemed to start trembling. He was feeling this immense rage, a hatred that he had never felt before, and yet, seemed so familiar at the same time. He couldn’t understand why, and he honestly didn’t care. All he wanted was for Orian and Eloden to suffer for what they did.

The trembling immediately stopped when the Elf Prince suddenly heard the creaking of a door behind him. It was coming from the hallway of the dungeon. As footsteps got closer, he tucked his necklace inside his shirt and wiped the tears off his face. If it was Orian that was coming or even Eloden, he shall not show them any weaknesses.

The sound of steps stopped right in front of his cell door that his back was facing. He breathed deeply to get his composure. He will need it.

“Did you just do that?” a perplexed voice asked.

Ifan immediately recognized the voice. That disgusting and wicked voice of Orian. What was he talking about? He did nothing. How could he do anything anyway? He felt way too weak to even sit. And Ifan had no idea what he was referring to either. He didn’t do nor hear anything before Orian showed up.

“I’m talking to you, you useless Prince.” Orian barked, visibly irritated that Ifan wasn’t answering him. “What? Did I break you already? All I needed to do was to kill that annoying little kid?” he snickered, clearly referring to Ilithya.

Ifan’s hatred was yet again boiling inside his heart. This man, no, this monster sounded proud of himself. He sounded proud to have murdered an innocent child, and probably many other people that didn’t even deserve to die that dreadful night.

Despite the immense pain he was feeling, using the little strength he had left, he pushed himself up slowly and managed to sit. He then turned his gaze towards Orian. Ifan’s fiery glare was filled with disgust and contempt as it made the monster on the other side of the metal bars door stiffen for a moment. He stayed calmed. He said nothing back. He simply glared at him with such hate. He held Orian’s gaze, he wanted to make him understand that he was not afraid of him, no matter what he would do.

Even though Orian was taken aback by Ifan’s calmness, he still seemed to enjoy the expression the Elf Prince was giving him. Disgust filled Ifan’s eyes as he saw the satisfied look on Orian’s face.

Orian snickered wickedly. “That’s a new one. I never saw you this angry before, your highness.” He cooed.

But Ifan didn’t answer back. He just stared at him. He noticed that there was another person with him. Eloden was here with Orian. His uncle was silently studying him, his arms crossed on his chest.  

“Orian, don’t taunt him,” Eloden warned. “I think he doesn’t even know, so let’s make sure it stays that way for now,’’ Eloden ordered.

Orien stiffened at his words but still looked irritated by them. “…Right.”.

Ifan had his hand on his wound, sweat beaded on his face and he didn’t think he would be able to stay awake much longer. What were they even talking about anyway? What was that thing he didn’t know and shouldn’t know? Orian seemed almost frightened by that secret, and Eloden was evidently being cautious. Even though tiredness made his eyelids heavy, he didn’t want to faint just yet. He fought it as he needed to look at their traitorous faces. He needed answers.

“Why?” Ifan surprisingly calmly asked as it startled the two men that were looking at him.

“I told you why last night, didn’t I? Are you dumb? Did-“

“Enough, Orian,” Eloden commanded, making his former friend immediately shut his mouth. Then his uncle turned his cold eyes on Ifan. “You don’t need to know why.” He simply said. “You are simply of use to me.”

“I… don’t need to know…?” Ifan repeated in shock. “They… They are all dead because of you and I… don’t need to know why?” his voice trembled.

He had no words that could express how hurt he was by the coldness of his uncle. Just like Orian, Eloden had fooled him with such ease. He thought his uncle to be a good man. He was always kind and supportive. Ifan looked up at him just as much as he looked up at Athelan and his father. He felt so terribly stupid at this very moment. So foolish to have been manipulated and lied to like that.

“You should be glad you’re still alive, you shitty Prince,” Orian added, irritated. “By the Gods! You’re pissing me off so much when you act all pitiful. I just want to hit that fucking pretty face of yours!” he snarled as he held the metal bars tightly in his hands.

“No, you don’t need to know.” Eloden completely ignored Orian’s little tantrum. “A servant will bring you food and water. Stay alive until I need you for the next part of my plan.” Eloden plainly and coldly said. He then turned his cold gaze towards Orian. “I know even if I order you not to do anything to him, you won’t listen to me. So I’ll simply say; don’t kill him. And be careful, I don’t want what happened last night to happen again.” Eloden warned him.

Orian’s face brightened at what he just said. He seemed pleased like a child that just got permission from his parents to “play” with his new toy. Eloden then turned away and disappeared into the dimmed hallway of the dungeons.

Orian watched him leave and turned his head towards the Elf prince, smiling wickedly.  Ifan shivered. He didn’t know what he would do to him. But he kept his composure the best he could as Orian lifted his hand towards the lock of the cell. His hand glowed a silver light and a small circle of runes appeared in his palm, unlocking the cell door. He entered and slowly walked towards the Elf Prince, kneeling in front of him, and simply stared at him with that same disgusting grin plastered on his face.

Orian then lifted his hand and whispered a spell as a silvery rope appeared from the ceiling. The magic rope came down like a snake, wrapping itself around Ifan’s wrists, tying his hand tight together. The silvery rope then straightened and pulled the Elf Prince up on his feet, his arms up over his head.  

As he was pulled up by the magic runic rope, Ifan let out a small grunt of pain. His entire body hurt. Orian pulled out a small knife that was fastened to his belt and rubbed its flattened side on Ifan’s right cheek. 

The cold contact of the small blade on his skin made him slightly shiver. But the Elf prince had to keep his composure. Even if he started to feel terrified by what Orian was about to do to him, he had to hide it was affecting him. He had to stay strong. He will not show him fear. He felt disgusted towards Orian, but he kept his gaze on his cold grey one.

“Let’s see how long you can keep that stupid face on before you break, Ifan.” Orian giggled. “Maybe you’ll give me new interesting expressions like the ones from last night?” he cooed as he pressed his fingers on Ifan’s left flank.

Ifan hissed from the pain, but he still kept his composure. He will not give that monster what he wanted from him. Never.

***

Orian left the cell after what seemed like hours to Ifan. He was back in the same position he was in when he woke up earlier and all his body hurt. Orian took pleasure in torturing him, making sure to leave cuts on his “annoyingly pretty” face like he had said. But Ifan never gave him what he wanted. He stayed composed the whole time even if the pain was unbearable. His lower lip was bloodied so much he had to bite it to retain the scream that wanted to come out of his mouth.

However, this obviously only angered Orian more as the Elf Prince resisted. Orian simply kept on hitting him harder, reminding him how he was worthless, useless, and how he so enjoyed killing his family. He used an Arcane spell that sent waves of magic energy that would hurt like millions of needles were piercing through his body.

Even if Ifan wanted to fight back, he couldn’t. Not only because he was magicless and didn’t know how to defend himself, but he was too weak, too tired. Not reacting to his torture was his only way to fight back. He kept asking himself why this was happening to him, but a thought started to grow into his mind.

What was the point in fighting back if he had no one left?

His whole family was dead. He was alone. No one would look up for him. He wasn’t even respected by his own people, he doubted that people would try and rescue him. Being rid of a useless Prince like him should delight all the Nobles…

He wished his father had told him why he chose him. What reason did he have to trust the entire kingdom to a magicless second-born son?

But now it was too late. He would never be able to ask him why. He will never hear their voices again. He will never be listening to his father scolding him to be more responsible again. He would never be hearing his mother telling him that she loved him again. He would never be teased by Athelan about anything and nothing again. He would never be hearing the gleeful laughter of Kolthen and seeing the sweet smile on Ilithya again…

The sound of a door echoed in the empty dungeon hallway. He heard guards instructing a servant where the Elf Prince cell was. He heard the servant walking nervously to his cell, put down the plate and pushed it under the bars like instructed. The servant seemed to wait for a moment.

But Ifan didn’t move. He wasn’t hungry and he honestly didn’t feel like eating. He was only tired. He then heard the servant turn around and walk away. As he thought about his family and that he could never see them again, the exhaustion took over him as he fell into a deep slumber, tears rolling down his cheeks yet again.