Urhl returned hours later, hauling a heavy sack over his shoulder.

He stalked back into the cave, the familiar reek of damp earth filling his nostrils. The prince was still resting in the corner, his fair face pale, thinner than Urhl remembered. He was staring at the wall, his mind a tangled knot of defeat.

Urhl avoided the usual bounty of vermin found in orc territory, opting instead for something fit for a delicate palate, hunted in the humans’ lands.

Urhl dropped the sack on the ground with a thud. "Evolved delicacy," he muttered, gesturing for Astar to look.

The prince didn’t move.

Urhl swore under his breath, frustration bubbling inside him. He pried open the sack, revealing plump quail, delicate spring vegetables, even a piglet. It was a feast fit for a king.

“Eat,” Urhl boomed, his voice echoing through the cavern.

Astar looked up, his eyes narrowed in disdain.

“I will not eat. I will starve to death.”

Urhl snorted. Starve to death?

The tiny creature was clearly too proud for his own good. He scooped a quail from the sack, the feathers still warm.

“You’re a fool,” Urhl grunted, offering the bird to Astar, but the prince flinched completely away.

Urhl watched the prince, annoyance simmering. The little thing was playing a dangerous game. He’d never seen a prisoner waste away so deliberately.

The prince's defiance had started to wear thin. Intrigue had replaced that initial amusement.

Urhl continued to watch as Astar's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his face pale and drawn. How long had it been since he'd eaten? Days perhaps?

“Waste,” Urhl muttered, shaking his head. “Just a waste.”

He stood there for another long moment.

The prince’s refusal to eat was becoming a bizarre sort of challenge.

Urhl went to move closer.

He watched the prince's naked chest, not rising and falling with steady breaths anymore. The slight tremor that had been there before, was gone. The prince's head had fallen forward onto the bearskin.

Urhl stared down at the pale, lifeless form.

Astar, the delicate prince, lay limp, his eyes closed.

"Useless," he muttered.

No, he wouldn't die.

Urhl hoisted the prince's limp form onto his shoulder, feeling a strange weight, almost ethereal.

It wasn't worth killing this creature. This prince, no matter how irritating, held possibilities.

Maybe, just maybe, he was worth something after all. A hefty ransom.

He needed advice, someone who dealt with humans more often than grunting, mindless orcs.

Grumbling, Urhl turned, heading towards the labyrinthine passageways.

He emerged blinking into the daylight, squinting against the unexpected brightness. His eyes adjusted slowly, taking in the familiar, rugged landscape surrounding his cave.

Beyond the familiar scrubland, lay the village of his clan amongst rocks and trees.

"Mor! Mor!" Urhl boomed, striding towards his destination. "I need to speak with you!"

Urhl ignored curious gazes, carrying the unconscious naked prince towards Mor's modest hut. Mor was known for his wisdom, often sought out when matters beyond battle strategy arose.

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“Mor!" Urhl growled, pushing past the entrance. "So I caught myself this prisoner. Human, you see.”

Mor, seated amongst furs, lifted his cloudy gaze. His wrinkles deepened, framed by wisps of grey hair.

"A prince, actually." Urhl dropped the limp form onto the furs, the fabric rustling softly.

"A prince? Interesting," Mor rasped, his eyes narrowing. “Why bring such a creature here?”

Urhl snorted.

"You know, humans pay dearly for their elite. Ransom. Gold. Gems. Things valuable, easier than stealing."

Mor remained silent, peering at the prince.

His cloudy gaze lingered on Astar’s pale, sweaty body, tracing the graceful curve of his cheekbones, the slender length of his neck.

They’d seen countless prisoners. These captives were always bruised, broken.

Astar lay sprawled, naked, unconscious. Despite the dirt caked onto his skin, his features remained captivating. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, revealing a sculpted physique honed by luxury rather than hardship. His hair, a cascade of golden waves, spilled across his shoulders and his damp chest, catching the dim firelight.

"I've never seen a creature so…beautiful."

Urhl shifted, a grimace twisting his features as he stared at the sleeping figure.

"Useless," he muttered. "He won't eat. Thinks he can starve himself to death."

Mor chuckled, a dry, crackling sound.

"Starve?" He leaned closer, his cloudy eyes studying the prince. "Humans are not like orcs. They are way pickier. Maybe he doesn’t want his meat raw.”

“Should I bring him cooked food then? He’s a fussy one. Didn't even touch the quail.”

Mor gestured towards the small fire crackling in the hearth, sending sparks dancing towards the ceiling. "Cook the meat. They don't typically eat raw creatures, do they?"

"Cook?" Urhl's eyebrows furrowed. The idea was foreign, unsettling. Orcs favored their food raw, ripping it apart with their bare hands, savoring the primal taste of blood and muscle.

But Mor's wisdom was renowned throughout their clan.

"All right. I'll get firewood," Urhl growled, already on his feet.

Urhl returned to the cave. He dropped Astar onto the bearskin, the prince’s limp form landing with a soft thud.

A group of female orcs came moments later, carrying a tray laden with roasted duck, its fat glistening in the firelight. The meat was seasoned with herbs and spices, the aroma filling the cavern with a savory scent.

Urhl watched as they carefully lifted Astar’s head, propping it up with a rough-hewn pillow of furs. One of the orcs gently lifted a piece of duck to Astar’s lips, pressing it against his pale skin.

Astar didn't move. Urhl sighed, a puff of air escaping his nostrils.

He dismissed the female orcs and, once alone, leaned down, his rough fingers gently lifting Astar's chin. The prince's skin was cool, almost clammy. Urhl grunted, unsure what to do. He'd never wanted to coax food into a prisoner before.

He picked up a small piece of roasted duck and held it close to Astar's nose. The savory aroma wafted towards the prince, mingling with the scent of damp earth and furs.

Astar's nostrils flared slightly. He didn't open his eyes, but a faint tremor ran through his body.

Urhl watched, his gaze unwavering. He waited patiently, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the unconscious prince.

After a long moment, Astar's lips parted slightly. He took a slow, hesitant bite of the duck, his eyes still closed. The meat was tender, falling apart easily on his tongue.

Urhl continued to feed Astar some small pieces. The prince ate slowly, his movements jerky and uncoordinated at first, but gradually becoming more fluid.

Finally, with a sigh, Astar leaned back against the furs, his eyes fluttering closed. He was asleep again, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Urhl stood there for a long time, watching the prince sleep.

Urhl felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. He didn't know why he was watching the prince so intently. He didn't even know why he'd bothered to feed him.

But there was something about the sleeping prince, something about his delicate features and peaceful slumber, that held Urhl's attention.

Days bled into weeks, as Astar began to recover, the color returning to his pale skin, the tremors subsiding. He ate regularly now, the seasoned meat and roasted vegetables offered by Urhl, surprisingly palatable.

However, his elegance, a once graceful dance of silk and smiles as he remembered it, dulled into a sullen slouch. He spoke little, only gruff insults hurled at Urhl as a way to express his seething contempt. He called Urhl "demon," "beast," spitting venom with each breath. These barbs, intended to wound, fell flat on the thick hide of the orc.

Urhl simply shrugged off the insults, a creature used to hear that its mere existence was an insult.

Though the prince’s recovery was swift, his demeanor remained affected. The once vibrant spark in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a melancholic despair. He stared unblinkingly at the walls, his mind clearly in a dark place.

One day, Astar abruptly broke the silence. His voice was hoarse from disuse, but his tone was clipped, impatient.

“How much does my life cost?”

Urhl paused in his task of sharpening his axe, the motion momentarily stilled.

He looked at Astar, his cloudy eyes scrutinizing the prince.

"You think your head has a high price?" Urhl scoffed, a rumbling laugh echoing through the cave. "You are nothing, prince."

Astar narrowed his eyes.

"Don’t play coy, you beast,” he spat. “You brought me here. What are your intentions if it wasn’t to eat me alive?”

Urhl wiped a stray tear of sweat from his brow. He approached Astar, his massive frame looming over the smaller man. His voice, surprisingly quiet, reverberated through the cave.

“A second prince like you? Maybe a few gold coins, enough for ale and a feast.”

He paused, meeting Astar’s gaze.

"But if you’re healthy when I toss you to them,” he continued, his voice ironic, “maybe some more."