Mesaytara [FOP]

By the gods, he should've never underestimated the whore. How could he have possibly misjudged the situation like that. Gritting his teeth at the still fresh sensation of fire against his skin, he threw his head backwards, resting it against the cold, stone wall as he sat down on the floor of his murky cell with nothing but his anger and the memories of last night to keep him company. For all he knew, this might have been the last place he'd be able to lay his eyes upon before being thrown into the ring tomorrow and possibly being torn to shreds by whatever man or monster they decided would be worthy of killing him in the most entertaining of ways. A chuckle rolled over his lips at the thought. If he knew he'd end up like this, spending his last possible hours in the dungeons of the Daetrys' palace, he would've made sure to go for a few extra rounds last night.

Caught up in his self pity, he hadn't noticed the footsteps echoing through the dungeons until they couldn't be far anymore. He didn't grant whoever decided to stop by at his cell a look, keeping his eyes averted from the bars as he remained to stare up at the ceiling. Whether it was a guard sent to beat him up some more, or someone to simply rub his questionable choices in his face, he wouldn't grant them a glimpse of the frustration surging through his body right now. Instead, his remaining attention was focused on one of the rats in his cell, forced to run around in circles until it would eventually collapse as long as the necromancer raised one of his hands, the injuries of being strangled to its death still visible by its twisted spinal cord.

It was quite pitiful, how circumstances had changed compared to last night. From eagerly catching up with the man he hadn’t expected to ever lay eyes upon again, to his back against the wall of the palace dungeons, awaiting whatever twisted fate the Queen had in mind for him tomorrow during the last day of the festival. He had said it himself, boasting about how a Zinyra was able to cheat death, but even someone like him knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance within the ring. Not when the Queen had already decided on his fate.

Drowning in his thoughts of self-pity and regrets, he ignored the sound of approaching footsteps and unexpected rays of light shining through the bars of his cell. He refused grant another guard the pleasure of seeing through his facade as he beat him up, keeping his gaze focused on the rat in front of him, which was still running in circles as if it’s life depended on it.

It wasn’t until a familiar, unexpected voice came from behind the bars that he looked up and lowered his raised hand, causing the little creature in front of him to drop dead on the floor once again. The necromancer quietly scoffed at her remark as his eyes met hers, forcing a smirk on his lips as he shook his head. ”Come to say your goodbyes? How considerate.” He couldn’t quite deny not to feel a spark of relief wash over him at her sudden appearance, seeing how he’d choose her company over some pitiful guard any day. At least then he got to spend his final moments with someone which company he actually enjoyed, even when this woman had been part the reason he’d been locked up in the first place.

Of all possibilities, Princess Nephthys herself visiting her imprisoned ex-fiancé hadn’t been one to cross his mind. And yet there she stood, looking as stunning as he remembered. Her long gown perfectly matched the dim, eerie lighting of the dungeon. A dark color which he couldn’t quite distinguish within the faint light of her magic, bleeding out into a shade of red. A shade which would soon match the pit of the arena once Radhja would be done with him. How fitting.

The necromancer didn’t hold her gaze for long, convincing himself that shame had nothing to do with that. ”Couldn’t be better, darling.” he replied, holding that same smirk as his words dripped with sarcasm. Yet he couldn’t help but faintly chuckle at her remark, shaking his head as he turned his face to her once more. ”I’m sure my looks would pale into insignificance, standing beside a Princess of Xaila.” He rolled back his shoulders, feeling stiff from sitting in the same position for Xeon knows how long.

Of course the infamous ‘what if’ would cross his mind at times, wondering what his life would’ve looked like if he hadn’t fled to Zahriyah that day. Yet he couldn’t say he regretted it. Being a husband, or a prince for that matter, simply wasn’t in the stars for him. ”It’s good to see you, Neph,” he continued. ”Though I wish we could've reunited under different circumstances.”