Chains shook with every step she took.
A few minutes after the magic grabbed her, Elowen's feet touched the ground again. Her wrists were locked in front of her by black iron that felt warm. Strange marks glowed on the metal like little veins.
She pulled once. The cuffs cut her skin, and the magic pushed harder, like a hand on her neck.
"Don't try, princess," a demon soldier said. "Those chains are made to be strong."
"Stronger than you," Elowen said, still out of breath.
Some soldiers laughed. Another snorted. "She's caught, and she still talks a lot."
They walked across the muddy field, away from the fight. The sounds of war grew faint: screams, steel clashing, something exploding far away. Smoke hung low. Elowen slipped once; a soldier shoved her back up.
"Careful, princess," he sneered. "We don't want you hurt before the fun."
"Touch me again and you'll lose your hand," she said.
He laughed, but not fully—like he remembered the demons she had killed.
Ahead, the Demon King rode slowly on a black horse that moved like shadow. He hadn't looked back since chaining her.
Elowen glared at his back.
"What are you going to do to me?" she shouted. "Show me off? Hang me on your walls? Just kill me it will be faster."
One soldier whistled. "Straight to the point."
"Brave little thing," another muttered.
The King slowed his horse to match their pace. Without turning, he said, "Kill you? Waste such a tool? No, princess. We'll need your dear daddy first."
He half-turned, red eyes sliding over her like she was a puzzle piece. His mouth curled into a smirk.
"Alive, you're useful," he said. "Dead, you're just meat."
Elowen's jaw tightened. "You think my father will kneel because you caught me?"
"I think fathers make dumb choices when their kids are at risk," he said.
"Then you don't know my father," she snapped. "He won't kneel. And I'd rather die than be your chain toy."
"Noted," he said.
"And when he doesn't kneel," she pressed, anger burning, "you'll still lose. Our people fight for hope. Yours fight because they're scared."
The soldiers shifted uneasily.
"Watch your mouth, human," one hissed.
The King raised a hand, and the soldier went silent.
He studied Elowen. "You have your mother's tongue," he said.
Her heart jolted. "Don't say her name."
"I didn't," he smirked. "But I remember how she spat at envoys. Charming."
Elowen's vision burned. "You were at the accords."
"Of course."
"Then you remember this," she said, lifting her chained hands. "She promised to cut the throat of anyone who threatened Valmere. Pray she comes for me."
Some demons laughed.
"She thinks they're coming," one snickered.
"Maybe we should send them a finger," another said.
Elowen's stomach turned, but she didn't flinch.
The King's face cooled. Amusement gone. Only calculation left.
"Your spirit is fun," he said softly. "For now."
"Go to hell," she said.
He chuckled. "Princess, I brought hell with me."
She wanted to attack him, but the chains pulsed each time she pulled, numbing her arms.
Her magic, usually warm in her veins, felt blocked, like it hit a wall.
She looked down. "What did you do to my magic?"
"Chains kill it," a soldier said proudly. "No healing, no tricks. You're just flesh now."
"Fuck you," she muttered.
"What was that?"
"I said fuck you."
The King sighed. "Endless noise. I didn't think humans could be this annoying while walking."
Elowen bared her teeth. "You took the wrong Daralei if you wanted quiet."
"Oh, I took the right one."
He stopped his horse suddenly. The line jolted. Elowen stumbled, the chain pulling her forward.
He turned fully, facing her. His presence pressed down like a storm. His eyes glowed brighter, the air humming with power.
"Just be silent now," he said.
"Make me," she shot back.
The words hung bold and reckless.
A soldier muttered, "She doesn't value her life."
The King stared, then shrugged.
"Fine," he said.
His hand flicked.
Magic slammed into her head like a hammer. The world tilted, colors blurred. Her knees buckled; only the chains kept her up.
"Coward," she slurred.
He smiled faintly. "Sleep now, princess."
Blackness swallowed her.
---
Elowen woke on cold stone, blood in her mouth.
For a moment she lay still, eyes closed, senses slow to return. Her head pounded. Her tongue felt thick. Something damp pressed her cheek.
Then memory hit: battle, chains, demons, red eyes.
Her eyes snapped open.
The ceiling was rough stone, wet drops catching faint light. The air smelled of iron, mildew, and something sharp that burned her throat.
She groaned, pushing upright.
Chains clinked.
Her wrists were bound to an iron ring in the wall. Her legs were free. The floor was cold and uneven.
A cell. Great.
"Oh," a voice said. "You finally woke up."
Two demon soldiers leaned outside the bars. One flipped a dagger. The other chewed dried meat. Both were wearing dark armor.
"Where am I?" she asked.
"In the palace dungeons," dagger-flipper said. "Congrats. Most humans see it for five minutes before they see nothing."
His friend snorted. "Don't scare her. King's got plans."
"I'm not scared," Elowen said. "Just bored. I thought demon prisons would be more creative."
The second soldier raised his brows. "You'd prefer spikes? Flames? A pit of souls?"
"Something with better air," she said. "And maybe a window."
He laughed. "You're either brave or stupid."
"She's royal," the first said. "Usually both."
Her head throbbed. She pressed her bound hands to her temples.
Green light flickered weakly at her fingers. It sputtered and died.
She swallowed. "The chains—"
"Still blocking you," dagger-flipper said. "No healing tricks."
"King doesn't want you fixing every bruise," the other added.
"You touch me," Elowen said, eyes closed, "and when I'm free, you'll eat through a straw forever."
They went quiet.
After a pause, one muttered, "I liked her better asleep."
Metal footsteps echoed down the hall. The soldiers straightened.
Elowen opened her eyes.
The Demon King appeared, cloak trailing black, crown glowing in torchlight. His magic filled the space before he reached her cell.
The guards bowed.
"Open it," he said.
One soldier unlocked the door. It creaked open.
Elowen sat straighter, chin high, refusing to move back as the King stepped inside. The chains rasped as she shifted.
He looked down at her, bored.
"How's your head?" he asked.
"Still attached," she said. "Sad, really."
His mouth twitched. "Knocking you out didn't fix your attitude."
"Sorry to disappoint," she said. "If you're here to gloat, hurry up. I'd like to plan my contempt later."
The guards stared, shocked she spoke to him like that.
The King sighed. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"I tried once," she said. "It was dull."
"Mm."
He studied her, gaze sliding over shackles, posture, tired eyes. Something seemed confirmed.
Finally, he shook his head.
"You're not staying with me," he said flatly. "You're too much trouble."