Ghost of the Sun
an excerpt

She had made it. The mad rush down the corridors had exhilirated her to a great extent, but she did not stop to catch her breath anymore. She grabbed a crossbow off the chest to her right and clutched it protectively as she strode down the length of the Armory to the back door. She was grateful that the servants had decided to clean this room before the Sea Folk arrived, because it had been a downright stinking mess before which would definitely have attracted some of the lesser Soulless's interest. Torches hung on the walls here as well, just like everywhere else in the Palace, but their light was much dimmer. The flickering light threw shadows on the wall, marking points of swords and arrows and elongating the spears until they reached the high wooden ceiling. She was thankful that the wooden floor had been replaced with the current stone one, however, because the old one had always creaked a lot. Quietly, she neared the small black door at the very end of the room. She threw her bag over her shoulder before she twisted the brass doorknob in front of her and stepped inside of a room she had thought to be deserted.

"Hello there, little Princess." A hoarse whisper greeted her ears and she shut her eyes briefly, praying to whatever god was watching over her that she would survive this night. She dared not whirl around as she felt the cold steel of a knife's blade on her throat. She let out a hiss of pain as a hand gripped her hair tightly. "So, we meet again."

"I do not know you," gasped Sarah. She moaned as she felt the familiar swirl of blackness try to get a hold of her. The feeling of the energy of the man behind her was nauseating, but she could not double up in agony now that he held her at knifepoint and did not let go of her. Her only hope was now fastened on the knowledge that he would have already killed her if he wanted her dead, but it was a small comfort. "Who are you?"

The throaty laugh that followed her question did nothing to abate the feeling that she would scream at any point in time now. She let out a whimper as his left hand dropped out of her hair and gripped her waist tightly. He began to pull her backward into the room. With a curse she dropped her crossbow as her bag slipped off her shoulder. Vaguely, she was aware of silvery unfamiliar markings having been made upon the blackened floor. She frowned, not recalling that it had been black at all before, but did not get the time to look at them closely as she was slammed unceremoniously into a very uncomfortable wooden chair. She let out a moan again, loader this time, as she nervously touched her back. She would have to take one long hot bath to get rid of the bruising that would undoubtedly follow. Somehow, that irrational thought made her angrier than she had been before.

"I asked you a question," she grated out as the sharp point of the knife was being pulled away from her throat. It took all of her willpower to not sit and cower in her chair like a little girl, but she straightened her back — with a tiny whimper — and lifted her chin proudly. "You apparently know who I am," she pointed out with a cold voice that was not at all like her own, "and I demand that you tell me your name!"

"Patience." Another laugh came, quieter than the one of before, and she heard the unmistakable sound of a knife being resheathed. Somehow, however, that sound did nothing to stop the fact that she was now breathing heavily. She wanted to do nothing more than curl up into a ball and bawl her eyes out as the blackness intensified all around her and the very light on the wall seemed to fade and flicker out. She was surviving on pride and arrogance alone, now, and she silently thanked the gods that Ash had never managed to get that one little royal streak out of her.

Her ears picked up on soft footsteps behind her and the sound of something being thrown onto the table behind her. She did not dare look to see what it was. The footsteps neared her chair again — she never knew that the mere sound of them would feel heavy, but it did — and she blinked as a cloaked figure came into focus in front of her eyes. He did not pay attention to her at all, she noted with a slight twinge of annoyance, but instead sauntered up to the crossbow she had dropped and picked it up. The very grace with which he moved reminded her of the predatory wolves she had seen in the country a little way up North. It was not until she saw his black eyes that she recoiled in her chair and stared at him in a mixture of distaste and panic.

"You!" she hissed. The man inclined his head, quirking his mouth into the ghost of a smile as she clenched her fists, and opened the door behind him in a single fluid motion. The crossbow was thrown unceremoniously back into the chamber where it had come from. The sheer liberty the man was taking amazed her, but she was not able to let go of the fact that she would have to stand up against him before he walked all over her. "Give me back my weapon!"

"My dear girl," he replied with just the right amount of disdain in his voice, "would you really call a crossbow with no arrows in it a weapon?"

"I can still hit you over the head with it," she pointed out acidly. He arched his eyebrow in response. She reseated herself on the edge of her chair. "In case you have not noticed yet: I am not tied up and can get up out of this chair at any point in time."

"Why do you not try it?" he hissed in response. His eyes flickered with an emotion akin to hatred as he looked at her. She kept staring at him, however, and made no attempt to get up. He would undoubtedly prevent her from getting up in some form or other — and she did not fancy having to find out just how he would stop her. He nodded in appreciation as she slid back in her chair. It felt to her like she was giving up. "Good girl," he acknowledged as she decided to direct a glare at him. "You have now officially decided you do not like me."

"I did not officially like you last week, either," she retaliated vehemently. "You are a murdering scumbag."

"And yet, you are alive and relatively well considering the circumstances," he commented. "Funny how things work, is it not?"

She huffed in response. "I would not call you waiting here for me 'funny' in any way." She rolled her eyes as he stopped pacing in front of her and pulled another chair up in front of her. "What are you going to do? Bore me to death with a talk about your ruined childhood?"

"No." The stare he directed at her was pensive this time, she noticed with some interest, but the look on his face was lost as he quickly seated himself on a chair that actually was clad with red fur. It looked far more comfortable than her own. Yet her fury over the chairs diminished rapidly as he fixed her with his black gaze. "I am going to get you out of here."

"Good luck with that."