When you're in a prison cell, you're either in despair or you're plotting.
There is nothing else.
~Alexander Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago
***
The common room once pulsed with sound, laughter ringing loud and the bawdy music of a lone fiddler tangled with the moans and shrieks of pleasure from upstairs, punctuated by the occasional crash of a mug or a shouted insult suddenly ceased. Or Ravenna thought it did, when she froze, bumping into someone.
The splash of liquid warmed her skin and the press of their bodies jostled her forward, veering to meet a displeased gaze and the damage she'd done, and a small gasp tore her throat.
The ale was spilled all over the man's robe. "Sorry," She muttered meekly, unconscious of the man's annoyance when she turned, meeting the faces of the three men she'd thought were... And a shudder ran down her spine.
Ravenna noticed it was merely the people who walked in. Two were massive, their shoulders blocking the view behind them, their arms heavy as though they'd been carved from stone. The polished steel plates within their cloaks caught only a faint glimmer, yet it was enough to betray what they were and she was convinced their intimidation was the cause of her hallucination. And an inaudible sigh escaped her lips.
Between them was a leaner figure, quieter in stance but no less dangerous. His movements were sharp, precise, deliberate—like a predator. The glimpse of his dragon-head sword hilt peeking from beneath his cloak struck her with a recognition she dared not name and her pulse thrummed in her ears.
W-what were they doing here?
She peeked, blinking to confirm her sight, as though the shadows were deceiving. However, the illumination caused by the flames from the hearth cast a sharp light on their features, proving her wrong.
They don't know you. They don't know you... She chanted inwardly, desperate to calm her pulsing heartbeat.
All her mind screamed was the misery of a world she was trapped in. And the worst of it all, Ravenna feared there was no escape this time around. For a moment, she preferred the wrath of those monsters to the real ones here in the room.
Their gaze swept the common room, taking in every slight detail, from corners to faces. Although shrouded better to avoid the glisten of their tunic, Ravenna could still recognize them and their unsmiling faces, their boots thumping against the warped floorboards, mingling with a few wasted men, then claiming a long stool near the hearth.
Immediately, a girl walked up towards the trio holding a jar of ale, swinging her hips seductively with a charming smile. She wore a see-through, her black nipples peeking along the rest of her exposed body, grabbing their attention and they seemed to drink up that sight for a moment.
Their gaze searched the room, seemingly searching for something or someone, and her heart raced, somehow convinced it was her.
Warning bells ticked at the back of her mind and her knees buckled, veering immediately when she noticed one of their gaze on her.
But before she could make an attempt to dart, a hand shot out like a viper, clamping around her arm. "And where do you think you're going, whore?" A snarl demanded, his ale gut brushing her stomach and his rank breath burnt her nostrils as he pressed her body into his, denying her the chance to recover. "This robe costs more than your miserable life," His voice was not slurred like the others' but sharp, clear, a blade drawn from its sheath.
His grip dug into her flesh, bruising instantly, but she was too paralysed to notice, to even care because she realized who those men who walked in were. Their cloaks might have been drawn close, shrouding the gleam of their mail, yet she would've known them like the back of her hands as they were no other than Vladoryn knights.
One of them was Knight Ecter, the other a bulky man with an unsmiling face by the name Victor, and the last one was unrecognizable. They were no ordinary Knights but the ones from the Castle belonging to the King.
Meanwhile, sensing the reaction from the girl, the man sneered, seizing her arm, and the sudden press of bodies jostled her forward. Wide-eyed, she was met with a hard stare and an overwhelming odor as he pressed in closer, almost smacking his lips on hers but she was quick to deflect, turning her face away that ended up on her cheek instead and his lips twisted into a grin that split his rotting teeth, his teeth so black, it looks like bugs have infested his mouth.
"Perhaps you can repay me in another way. A better way," He reeked of body odour and she was forced not to gag, nausea curling her stomach, his displeased yet greedy eyes roaming around her body in such a way she hated.
Her nerves kicked in dread, "Let go of me," She gritted, jerking her body away when he added pressure on her arm, frantically taking a meek glance around the room, and more focused on the trio seated afar who didn't seem to notice the sudden commotion.
With a snarl, "Shut up," he demanded, displeasure mingling with lust as his eyes drank the sight of her body.
The tavern's noise dimmed around them and a few men turned, smirking, waiting for spectacle. His body odor stenched so badly that Ravenna was forced not to gag at the overwhelming smell and tried to wrench her arm free, but his fingers tightened, iron bands around bone.
This cannot be happening... she muttered inwardly, her heart racing violently at the exposure the scene began to attract. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention, her unlucky life patiently waited for scissors to cut through in one slight mistake.
Her heart screamed to run, but her body was pinned, her secret teetering on the edge of revelation. "Let go," she hissed, forcing Hannah's sultry smile back onto her lips, desperation mingling with her voice. "I didn't mean—" Ravenna felt her mask cracking, Hannah Maere slipping away.
"You don't mean until you pay," he cut her off, yanking her closer so hard her hip knocked against his thigh. His eyes were cold, dead, like winter stones. No flicker of warmth, no hint of mercy. Only lust and greed. "And I'm pretty sure as fuck Madame Lorraine won't mind you grinding my groin tonight,"
It was at that moment that Ravenna realized it wasn't about her spilling ale on him. At the mention of her name, the lady remained silent, slightly intimidated by the people also. Whoever they were, judging from Madame Lorraine's expression, she could tell they were bad people. And the ones most intimidating are the ones to beware of. And she stupidly bumped into a prison willingly.
She was used to this. To her, it was a mixture of pleasure and duty, where whores were given privileges to leave and return to the harsher world or endure and enjoy this world. Well, to a few, as most were bought, depriving themselves of any but to work. It was her decision to meddle with the latter and she wouldn't lie it never haunts her every day, however, there are always reasons for the things you do. That which kept her sane.
However, right now, this was different. It felt like it wasn't just duty but abuse. No one seemed to move, as though the presence against her was a god they feared and her heart sank, aware how this might end.
Before Ravenna could twist away, another voice rose behind her—light, feminine, urgent, followed by harsh thumps against the floorboard. "Leave her be."
Helga pushed through the crowd, her painted lips pressed into a rare frown and eyes flashing in concern. It seemed like her audacity elicited the barely audible gasps from the girls, and Madame Lorraine's eyes stretched in a strange dread.
She reached for Ravenna's free arm, but before she could pull her away, one of the bulkier men stepped in from nowhere. His hand shot out and grabbed Helga by the waist, fingers clawing at her skirts until his palm smacked against her ass.
Helga gasped, struggling, but he only laughed, dragging her back against him. "Feisty little dove," he jeered, licking his lips. "I'll take you first."
And the room buzzed with delight. Men shifted, chuckling, nudging one another while some clapped at the scene, and others called for wagers, like it was nothing. To them, it was nothing more than entertainment—two whores caught between wolves.
Ravenna's blood turned to ice, fury radiating within her. She would be damned to take any action ruining the chances of getting paid and caught tonight but fuck it. They could mess with her, but Helga would be the last person they would touch. "Let me go!"
He grabbed her by the cheeks with force, forcing her chin upwards as she struggled. He anchored her forward, even exposing her more and her gaze darted across the room, unconsciously locking with Lord Hectorherm.
He sat across the tavern, one leg still draped over the other and his cup in hand. At first, he hadn't seemed to notice her but now his eyes lifted, focusing on the small commotion. And surprisingly, he seems to be hiding from the gaze of the knights also, sipping his ale.
It was impossible to notice him, only if one looked closer, but Ravenna could identify the color of his hair even from afar. The way he knocked his mug against the table blended with the drunken men lost in their own world, more than enough disguise to buy him time. Perhaps, to escape without suspicions... or rumors.
His gaze sharpened as usual, lingering, and watching, so focused enough to kick her heart beat, perhaps at the recognition of her face or her voice that cracked, parting way for Ravenna's.
Oh God.
And when his brows ceased, her heart stopped. She could feel it—his attention and with it came exposure. Not only to him, but to them. To the three men who had cornered her, to Ser Johnathan's leer, to the knights. To the world, she had spent years burying beneath Hannah Maere's mask.
Just when she attempted to take a glance at the Knights, eyes darting to the corner, the lean man jerked her closer, his breath hot against her ear. "What are you trembling for, slut? Afraid?"
Helga cried out, trying to claw herself free from the bulk man's grasp, but it only added to the laughter and so-called fun. Her body twisted violently, a small cry escaping her lips and Ravenna's heart shattered into a million pieces.
She was vulnerable against the hold of the unwilling beast but she hoped Madame Lorraine would step in, rather, the Lady just stood at the corner watching, and fury radiated within her, scorching her entire body that she could hardly breathe.
The tavern roared with laughter, some banging their mugs on tables in rhythm when she tried to reach for her friend, but the lean man's grip wrenched her back.
Tears brimmed at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to give them that sight rather shutting it close.
Her reaction seemed to amuse him and what came after was an unsettling laughter, churning her stomach, until his eyes fell on a few silver strands peeking from the front and the laughter slowly diminished, replaced by a curious stare.
Ravenna's heart raced violently in her chest when he said, "Silver, huh?" He clicked his tongue in disbelief, trying to tug it off with extra strength and panic flared in her chest.
No, no, no, no, no... She twisted violently, struggling against his grip until she gained slight leverage to bite on his arm, eliciting a painful groan.
When his grip loosened, she took that moment to break free, however, the next second, a sharp pain cut through the insides of her cheek, sending her body flying to the ground, and the wig came off, revealing her silver hair scattered all over her face.
She had never felt more hunted.
She couldn't comprehend what stung most-- the burn on her cheek or the faint gasps following suit. It was at that moment that Ravenna realized the wig lying a few inches away from her body, and blood drained from her face.
NO!
***