They eventually lead me to a camp, tucked away in a recess in the shadow of a great cliff. The glimmer of firelight leaps out, like fireflies glimmering in the night. My captors roughly shove me into the ring of campfires. We finally reach a tent, tucked away into the shadows. It looks much like a traditional hunters tent that I've seen dotted across the landscape, an homage to a simpler time, a crossbeam deflecting the smoke if a fire was to be placed in front. They fasten the rope binding my hands to the roofpost, then retreat to the campfire, to undoubtedly crow over their new-found prisoner. The scrunts. To think I was taken in by a boy. A boy not much older than myself. That scrunt. But, I'm still inwardly cursing myself.

How could I have been so stupid?

Midnight passes. The guard rotation has changed, a new guard coming every few hours. I hear each one grumbling about having to guard a child. Maybe they're expecting someone a little more ferocious, not a girl barely out of childhood. If I just had my sling, I'd pelt every one of them across the head. Good, long and hard.

I'm soon surprised by an unexpected visitor: the leader of the group who's captured me. He lounges against the sloping wall of the tent, looking smugly at me. Up close, without his armour on, he doesn't look altogether too forbidding, but that might soon change. I have no idea.

"So, what's your name?" he asked, one hand resting casually on his scabbard. "Well, I'm not going to answer that, you scrunt." It's quite difficult to act defiant when your hands are tied, so I flash him a self-satisfied smirk.

"Why are you trepassing on the Council's land? Don't you have a mother to go run back to? Oh, I forgot. Rebel in the making, are you, little girl?" The nerve of this man. I've barely known him for a few hours, and he's already throwing jibes my way. How nice.

"It's not the Council's land. It's free land. Anyone can liv- hunt there." I hastily cover up my slip, but he notices.

"I'm Séverin of House Dwündaréï. You dare to disrespect your elders and betters! That land is protected. You've made a mistake, Ariana Mairé." He's evidently trying to intimidate me, but it falls flat.

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"Am I supposed to be impressed by that?" I say flatly, distinctly unimpressed.

"You're supposed to be intimidated because you're talking to the second most powerful person in the whole of Eleriad!" He scoffs.

"I thought that a thief would be more courageous. I'm sure your mother will come to mop up your tears."

I chuckle indulgently. "Surely you're not the heir to the throne, because I'm sure you can't manage it!"

If this is the calibre of royalty now, then this pompous princeling is going to meet his match in time. And considering that I've just been arrested on trumped up charges, it really goes far enough to highlight just how much of a ludicrous oversight it was on his parents' part to name him as heir.

Seriously. This guy has nerve. "Maybe the Council should just go and defeat the Scourge of Maldréa again. Oh, wait. They can't do that because the Wardens of Maldréa did that job for them."

Now it's my turn to scoff.

I'm trying to buy myself a little time.

"A rebel like you won't last long here." he says.

"Really? I find that quite hard to believe." My casual demeanour seems to be irritating him, if not making him a little unsettled- a girl a few years his junior is making a fool out of him.

"And, I really think your dad should have picked someone else. To be frank, you're unsuitable for your role, however much you want to gloss it over." This finally makes him explode.

"Do not disrespect your king." He snarls, his voice barely keeping any semblance of control.

"Your king, not mine." I say innocently, a calculated smirk on my face. Séverin flushes an ugly colour, his hand balling into a fist. However, before he can get anywhere near, the boy rushes in, flustered. "Séverin!" He screeches like a banshee, shooting me a look. I'm taken a little aback as I squint at him.

Séverin turns around, looking like he's about to rip the boy's head off. "Yes? What is it now? Boy." He growls, barely restraining his temper.

"Food's gone missing from the stores. Again." Neither of us moves a muscle. I can hear my own heartbeat; I can even see the boy shifting a little uncertainly under Séverin's gaze. He looks down. "I swear... Those celin excuses for rebels!" What in Daerion is this boy playing at?

"It may not be a rebel..." the boy looks shamefaced.

"Teghin. I don't have time for this." He grits out, shoving the boy. The boy doesn't react, instead, he stares blankly at him. Séverin's slight smirk is the only thing which belies any emotion.