Hands.

Whispers.

Hands.

Guards roughly brought Ptolema into the Prince's room and laid her in his bed. The mattress folded around her curves and fixed to her body to make her warm. Her head was set, gently, onto a silk pillow that allowed the muscles in her neck to relax. Ptolema let out a sigh of relief as the whispers from her head stopped. She had stopped screaming a while ago, but the voices had kept whispering to kill as rough hands grabbed every part of her.

"Pto? Ptolema? Are you awake?" An actual voice rang through her ears. All she can manage to do is to slowly open her eyes. She blinked a few times to make her vision less fuzzy. Once she was not seeing three of everything in her vision, she managed a gasp. Her eyes widened.

"I have a request," the Prince informed Ptolema as she sat up and rubbed her head.

"I won't take up on anything you ask me to do!"

"I'm not asking, I'm ordering! If you want your friends alive, then I suggest you cooperate. Trust me." Droian placed his hands on either side of Ptolema's head. She held in her blush and smiled at the Prince's face that, is now only, a few inches away from her's.

"Kill them for all I care. I. Won't. Do. Anything. For. You." She growled into his face. Their noses touched now. A new - evil - smile spread from ear to ear on Ptolema's face. The Prince laughed at her smile before fully coming ontop of her. She kneed his crotch and he fell ontop of her taking his hands from beside her head. She grabbed his hands and pulled them behind his back. Ptolema sat up on the bed with Droian groaning in her lap.

A cough came from the door.

Ptolema looked up to see the King wrapped in a blue silk sleep robe. He looked as pale as death, but his eyes - oh, those deathly eyes - scolded into Ptolema's soul. They burned into her soul, her spirit, her body. The green eyes of a serpent stared at Ptolema, the enemy stared at Ptolema. The Prince wiggled out of her grasp and ran toward the king while Ptolema sat shocked at the sight of the king. Alive. The king is still alive.

He coughed.

But not for long. The sickness inside of the King will devour him inside then out. It's decaying his bones and muscles right now.

He deserves to die. Ptolema thought.

"You will kill for me," the king said before coughing again. Ptolema's jaw dropped to the floor after the words rang through her ears. The King - the King who has an entire blood thirsty army - just asked Ptolema to kill for him. Ptolema hated that the King asked her the question. If the Prince would have asked her, she could have easily said "no" and pinched his damned nose into his godlike face.

She stared into the King's damned green eyes and nods, hesitantly. She moved away from the bed and bowed to him while gulping down her nerves.

The King knows.

He knows about her.

"I will only do it, under one condition," Ptolema's face had turned bright bright, "Irik comes with me."

The King laughs his evil laugh, then turns to the Prince, who chuckles a little. Droian walks toward Ptolema with such grace her knees almost buckled from holding her stance so loosely. She forgot to breathe as the King's eyes dug deep inside of her, making every inch of her flesh scream for fresh air.

The Prince grabbed Ptolema's hand making her look at him instead of the King. He smiled at her as he leaned in to whisper something.

"I'm coming, not him."

Ptolema had to stop the urge of elbowing his guts right out of him. The King would definitely kill her for that.

{\}

Droian does not know why, but when he touched Ptolema, his heart skipped a beat and he felt the urge to push her onto the bed and... Droian pushed the thought aside and stared at his father to give him a command.

His father waved the guards to grab Ptolema from Droian, but he told them he would take her to her cell. She gave him a confused look, and started to walk with him through the door then down the hall. Ptolema did not speak until they turned left (the opposite way of the cells).

"Where are you taking me?" She demanded while pushing Droian up against the wall with her forearm.

"I'm not letting my guest sleep in a dirty cell all night. I know you don't want to, but please consider our offer." Ptolema lifted her forearm from his chest.

"Why me? Y'all have an entire army that we trained from birth."

"Right now, many countries don't just want your head on a stick, but they want your skills on their side. Your special, Ptolema, whether you know it or not."

"Riker can kill as easily as me, why not him. Why not Irik. Just kill me now."

"Here is my room, don't worry I'm sleeping on the floor. No one bothers me because last time someone did, they didn't live to talk about it." This made Ptolema laugh. She walks through the door, after Droian.

"Tell me one thing, "Ptolema said while closing the door behind her, "Where is Irik?"

Droian stops making the bed to look at Ptolema. Her face showed no emotion, but her voice had a slight terrified deepness that echoed through his thoughts.

"Open the closet."

"What?" Ptolema looked towards the closet and rested her hand on the knob.

"You heard me, open it."

She twisted the handle and pulled the door towards her. Droian saw her eyes widen as she kneeled by the wooden closet. She reached into the closet and brought out the person who goes by Irik. The way that Ptolema smiled when she saw him made Droian satisfied.

"If you want Irik to go with you, I have to go as well. Trust me, I don't want to, but since Irik is a you-know-what, then I have no choice but to come with. My father thinks I killed him, but I knew you would never take the request if he was dead, so..." he trailed off. She went over to Droian and slapped his face. Hard.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier!" She yelled loudly, but not too loud, for the people might be walking by the door.

"I know who you are, Ptolema. Unless you want word getting out, you will respect me, my dear wife." Droian snickered. The color drained from Ptolema's face.