Jadira and Prince Shura

They weren’t fucking coming for her. She was the
prince’s bodyguard, not a noble, not a government official, nobody important
enough to rescue. So Jadira curled up in her cell as best she could, which was
hard, because she had no hay or mattress to sleep on, and her arms were broken,
and her nose was clotted with blood. She was naked, and shivered violently in
the cold.

Prince Shura had retreated. She knew that. The
invading orcs had taken over Alabaster. There was no option left but to run--
and leave people behind. They discussed this, before she was captured.

Then, as they were planning their escape
together, someone had tried to assassinate Shura. And Jadira had done her job
defending him. He’d grabbed the friends he could and run. Jadira had stayed
behind to fight off the attackers and give Shura more time to escape.

And now there was no chance of rescue.

Doubtless everyone thought she was dead. Even if
they knew the enemy captured her and left her alive… even if they knew she was
alive…

They weren’t coming for her.

She wasn’t important enough.

As she was lying there, though, a quiet voice
called through the window: “Jadira.”

Jadira froze, barely breathing. That was her
prince’s voice. She clawed her way up to the window and stood on her toes to
peer out as best she could.

Prince Shura had climbed the tower. Which was
fucking insane. His pale, pointed face looked at at her through the bars. She
glanced down at the staggering hundred-foot drop beneath the prison tower.
“Shura,” Jadira hissed reproachfully.

“Oh, shut up,” Shura said. “You’re captured. You
can’t tell me what to do.” He fumbled. It was hard to tell what he was doing
through the tiny window, but it looked like he was digging something out of his
pocket. He shoved it through the little window. It was a small backpack.

Jadira sank to her knees and started going
through it. A powerful healing potion. Some lockpicks. A file. An easily
concealable knife. A Sending bead.

He reached for her through the bars. He grappled
her hand, then squeezed it.

Jadira didn’t know what to say. She averted her
eyes. “I thought you left,” she said gruffly.

“Told you I wasn’t leaving you behind.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fucking full of shit,
usually. Hire a new bodyguard.”

“I already have a perfectly good bodyguard,”
Shura said. He touched her face through the bars.

She closed her eyes. It was moments like this
that she remembered they were, technically, cousins. She just had no rank.
Nothing to inherit. A low-ranking, late-born member of the clan, born to an
offshoot of the main branch. Only good for guarding the trunk.

“I have a plan,” Shura said quietly. “I’m going
to retake the city.”

“Shura--”

“Just watch. I’ll be back. I’m sorry,” Shura
said. “I can’t get you out. Now right now.” He squeezed her hand tight, using
it to steady himself as he clung to the side of the building. Dexterous little
fucker, Jadira thought. “Heal yourself, cousin. Eat something. Arm yourself. If
anyone comes to hurt you-- fight them off. You don’t need to escape. Barricade
the door, shank anyone who comes to hurt you or torture you. I’m coming to get
you.”

Jadira nodded tightly. She clasped his hand with
her other hand. “Yes, prince.”

“It’s not ‘prince,’” Shura murmured. “It’s
Shura.”

“Yes, Shura.”

“I’ve got you,” Shura whispered. “I’m coming
back. Call me if you need me to come faster. I’ll be here.” And he began
scaling back down the tower.

--

Shura wasn’t lying. By noon the next day, he’d
taken Alabaster back.

Of course he did, though. That was Shura.

[[[Olga, Alone|NEXT]]]