The Demon Prince

Alara: Sentencing

I don't know what to make of the exchange I just witnessed. I know I lied flawlessly, but I still felt dread in the pit of my stomach. I don't think any lie would have mattered. This sense of foreboding only seemed to grow when the royals left to decide my fate in private. A demon spawn wanting to discuss how best to torture me, and not wanting me to overhear what they're planning, cannot be good.

As a royal myself, trained in the art of prisoner interrogation, I know that is not the typical routine. It's usually best to let the prisoner hear their fate. This is often unnerving enough to get them to break without the need for torture.

Although, now that I really think about it, they probably want to torture me for fun. They are demons after all.

I've been mentally preparing for torture and death since I was first captured, but something about this entire situation just feels off, like something worse than death is coming.

As if a bucket of cold water was thrown on me, the sudden realization that I might not be immediately killed, that they may want to keep me prisoner much longer for sport chills me straight to the bone. There are worse fates than death, and I'm suddenly very sure I'm about to face just that.

I can feel the fear sinking into every cell of my body. I can feel myself coming apart. My vision is blurring, my body is shaking uncontrollably, and I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. I feel on the verge of passing out when I hear snickering coming from one of the guards holding me down.

"Not so tough now, are ya?" he asks. I could hear the sneer in his voice. The other guard laughs.

"Aw" he taunts.

"I almost feel bad," he says while laughing.

"She's so tiny, it's like watching a scared little kitten", he finishes with more laughter and the other one joins in.

The chorus of laughter at my expense breaks through my fear, quickly replacing it with searing anger. I am Alara Raey Silverwing. I am the heir to the throne of Lakenvale, the throne of all fairies.

I. Will. Not. Break.

I will not show weakness and I will survive, no matter the fate. I will make it home to my family and my people. I must survive for all fairy-kind.

As I begin solidifying this newfound determination in my mind, the heavy oak door opens once again and the four pairs of footsteps I'm now attuned to begin filing in.

By the time they complete the ceremonial slow march back to their corresponding thrones, my mask of blank calm is back in its place, as if it never left. I am determined to face my judgment with indifference, if for no other reason than to piss them off.

The Demon King Belrath slams his staff down three distinct times, the noise echoing on the marble like the final peals of a death toll. I take this as my que to look up, directly in his eyes, letting all of my defiance and anger burn into his.

"Alara Raey Windstrom" he begins, his voice as menacing as his coal-black eyes.

I steel myself for what comes next.

"You are banned from leaving my kingdom and my castle. Whoever you were, you are no longer. You are stripped of all rights. You will own no possessions. You will never access or use magic again. This will remain true until you choose to be honest and tell me everything about yourself and your people, after which you will be granted a swift execution."

He pauses, and I start to think that this doesn't sound unmanageable, that there's not even an actual punishment in this sentencing besides the loss of magic. I'm already imagining how much easier it will be to break out if I'm not chained to a wall and beaten every day.

He continues,

"For the crimes of lying, infiltrating my kingdom, illegal intelligence gathering to share with hostile enemies, and for being a hostile enemy of the kingdom yourself, you will be considered a war criminal."

This isn't unexpected, but suddenly I feel uneasy again. What will my final sentence be?

"You will serve your prison sentence— which will last until your death, as a concubine in my eldest son's harem."