The Substitute Hostage

Marry Or Death

"Straighten your back!"

A small but robust hand slapped the back of Villard's legs leaving a red spot on her pale scrubbed clean skin. Another delicate hand simultaneously drew her hair tightly like they were pulling every strand out of the roots of her skull but still, not a sound left her lips. Villard's face was as bare as a desert as she stood there and allowed the manhandling.

They were rough with their actions, treating her like a mundane object that deserved not even an ounce of gentleness. To them, she was inferior, even below a scullery maid but Villard had no time to care about their callous treatment even if pain flickered through her spine from the harsh grooming.

Grooming to be fed to a beast on a silver platter.

That was how she heard it, no matter how much that Elvalian King sugarcoated it. It was clearer than the Silate mirror she was reflected in. She was a sacrifice for this Avarion Kingdom's survival. The Elvalian King placed it on her head with a smile of kindness, like he was negotiating but Villard was no fool.

She was a hostage, a replacement for that scum's daughter.

"How about a deal with an Elvalian King,"

Villard had wanted spit in his face. She was making no deal with an Avarion, over her dead body before she stooped so low. She was willing to accept death than to hold the hands of the murderers who killed her mother.

But she had to admit. Convictions do change. They were as thin as sand. His words sunk into her bones and pulled her out from underwater, her hatred of Avarions was founded from her mother but what did she actually know about this cursed Elf race of traitors.

Nothing.

She was born and raised in a prison cell. Her mother taught everything, but she didn't doubt her words, not for a second even if the Elvalion King tried to sell them as such.

She didn't have a choice even though he made it seem that way. His words had held knives that were on her neck ready to decapitate her in an instant.

The moment she said, no.

"I will pardon all your crimes," The King smiled after receiving a handkerchief and wiping his face. He was an old elf. She could see it through his youth. He wasn't anything but an ancient scorn of time.

Magic couldn't hide everything, but it could hide the slightest of deception.

"You will see that prison cell no more, you will be a free elf on this land forever but only on one condition," He continued. He peered down at her with animosity blazing in his detestable emerald purple eyes.

"You will marry the Werewolf King, the ruler of those savages,"

Villard wasn't shocked. She stared at the senile thing in front of her like he was dumb. The idea was distasteful. It was well known that those wolves didn't tolerate elves, not even for a quick conversation.

It was always death on sight for either species so wasn't this man just sending her into the flames of hell?

What freedom was he speaking of?

"You will become his bride to seal this peace treaty for me, and for this Kingdom," He continued dropping the handkerchief onto the floor. He placed his hands behind his back and walked around her slowly like he was scrutinising every inch of her body.

Villard almost laughed but she didn't have that much joy in her to find his words funny, even though they were a symbolic example of a joke. She didn't find it amusing because she was considering this absurd proposal in its entirety.

What did she have to lose? Her measly life to a raging wild wolf?

Better than dying at the hands of these scums.

But how will they ever convince that werewolf king she wasn't a replacement?

He couldn't be so much of a fool not to see through this petty ploy.

Many questions had filled Villard's mind one after the other. The hands-on her shoulders tightened when she had started to rise from her kneeling position on the ground. She was tired of that bastard looking down at her like she was dirt on his white shoes.

Villard didn't care that she was naked. She didn't even notice the dirty rags that grew with her were torn off. Clothes had always been a luxury to her in that dreary prison cell. Her mother had barely worn anything too.

Villard forced their hands back and finally found her footing on the cold palace ground. Her long crimson wet hair clung to her face and covered her round plump bosom. Her bare legs were tall as she stepped forward shakily to reach the Elvalian King. Her height wasn't one to scoff at.

The Elvalian King's eyebrow rose at her display and her blatantly staring straight into his face. She could see the anger pooling into his eyes. It didn't sit right with him, a prisoner overstepping her place. Villard's expression was stoic.

The urge in her to see blood spatter on this glistening white floor was immense, just to wipe that look off his face.

She wanted to reach out right this second and curl her hands around his throat so she could mercilessly snap his neck but if she knew when she was outnumbered. She could feel the scattered hidden magic of elves around there just waiting to puncture her lungs. One move and she was dead so instead, Villard breathed out,

"Deal,"

Her voice was scratchy and hoarse. She used her voice only to talk to her mother but when she died, Villard didn't utter even a single word until now.

"Guards!" The Elvalian King commanded. He smiled at her then lifted his hands. Happiness exuded from his figure. He was happy he found a scapegoat to sacrifice to the beasts.

Villard was sure his plan would fall through but she wasn't here to make it work, she was here to make it fail. She wasn't willing to negotiate with a filthy Avarion Monarch but she was willing to negotiate with a beast with deadly sharp teeth.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and an elf looked like the king's spitting image burst through. He almost fell but he kept up. The guard who was lining up to take her away parted for him. He looked like a damsel in distress with his beautiful silver hair thrashing about his face. His doll-like facial features were screwed in panic.

Elves were delicate beings, no matter the gender, absolutely beautiful creatures seem like they were carved from Jade but Villard hated every ounce of it.

"Your Majesty!" He shouted when he came to a stop in front of the Elvalian King.

He was heaving and he could barely catch his breath. The King looked down at him and his expression morphed into concern.

"The Werewolf King has arrived!" He bellowed almost shaking in his boots.

"Nyx Nion has crossed the border,"