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Through the door, his curses echoed in the stark hall. There were grunts and thuds and another door slammed.
Pressing her ear to the door, she could still hear his curses, though now muffled, and a faint thudding.
Closing her eyes, she sighed, resting her forehead to the wood for a long moment before turning to inspect the room she’d been thrown into.
Bed, chairs, bathroom. Simple.
They were deep in the mountain; the door would be the only way in and out of the room. Still, she looked about the room for a creative escape. No hidden access panels, the air duct was long and narrow. There was a tiny camera in the corner of the ceiling.
She sighed, bringing her hand up to brush the hair from her face, her new bracelet caught her eye.
If she could get these bloody things off, she could at least shift. She’d told Jori the king was the only individual that could remove them. As far as she knew. That didn’t stop her from trying to tug her hands free. They appeared seamless.
Flipping the chair over, she inspected it for any loose parts. If she worked on some way to break the cuffs, maybe she could also figure out how to get Jori and Elora out of the mountain alive.
Jori’s pacing was interrupted by the opening of his prison door. The king sauntered in with a smile. Stenlen and his cronies blocked the exit behind him.
“I thought you could use this, since you gave yours to your female.”
Jori looked at the offered shirt in the king’s hand.
He accepted it with a nod and pulled it on. The expensive fabric didn’t go with his shorts and hiking boots, but what the hell.
“Shall we begin again?”
A young man brought in a tray of food and set it on the end of the bed, formally acknowledged the king and backed out of the room.
Jori didn’t demand to see his mother again, or Kymri, instead he waited to see what it was that this man wanted from him. The king assessed him.
“You do look like your mother—an attractive female, without a doubt. I am pleased how strongly you resemble myself and my forebears. This is good.” He paused a moment, “You may call me Richmund. Jori… Mountainside, is it?”
He nodded.
“It is a good name. Good of your foster father to name you as his. But you will use your proper name from now on. Kargassa.” He clamped a hand on Jori’s should and gave it a pat of what he thought passed for affection.
Like fuck. “I won’t change my name.”
“Hm. You’ll get used to it,” he waved a hand and went on, “your female is carrying your child, yes?”
He didn’t answer.
“So quiet,” he mused, “takes after his mother,” he said to Stenlen with a laugh.
Stenlen stood in the doorway glaring at Jori.
Clearly, he didn’t like what he perceived to be Jori’s impertinence toward their leader.
“What do you want from me?”
Stenlen tensed.
The king turned his shrewd gaze on Jori. “Far more like your mother than I care for.” The king’s face hardened, his eyes became icy, his smile brittle. “Just to have my son at my side. What more could there be?”
“I have no interest in staying here.”
Stenlen growled.
“Close the door, I wish a moment with my progeny.” his hand flicked him away.
