The prince guy swanned off as soon as we got through the gates, and now I’m in a small room with the two fey who grabbed me at work, and this terrifying fey woman with waist long green hair that seems to move on its own.
There is not much in this room. One huge ornate wooden desk. Red and gold wallpaper. A tall and thin window draped with thick blood red curtains. Two doors with gold handles. No convenient escape routes. Especially when both my arms are being held in a death grip.
I’m helpless. A fly caught in a web, waiting for my impending doom.
I’m still trying to process how everything has gone so wrong so quickly. I was at work. Now I’m a prisoner of the fey, and I have no idea why. I’m just an ordinary guy. A depressingly boring, ordinary guy. Of all the people in the world they could drag to Buckingham Palace, why me? It doesn’t make any sense.
The woman in front of me holds up a sharp-looking needle threaded with silver thread. Oh, fuck. This cannotbe good. I try stepping backwards, but my escorts don’t even flinch.
Alright. Calm down, Jamie. She might just want to sew your clothes.
Suddenly, I’m slammed down onto the desk. Hard enough to knock all the breath out of me. A rough hand twists in my hair. I’m seeing stars. My lungs are burning. Cold fingers grab my ear lobe.
Okay, definitely not stitching my clothes. That was a foolish hope.
Sharp pain lances through me. Bright and shocking. Is she piercing my ears? With a needle and thread?
Now she is mumbling and chanting. A squeak escapes me as white hot pain burns me again. Is this fucking bitchsewingmy ears? What the fuck!
My body tries squirming, but it’s pointless. The men holding me are as immovable as mountains. And it is probably not a good idea to wriggle when a crazy woman is digging into your flesh with a razor sharp needle. Whatever she is doing to me is awful, but I imagine it will be worse if her hand slips.
The hand in my hair lifts my head up, turns it and slams it down again. Right on my freshly savaged ear. My unmutilated ear is grabbed. Oh please, not again. A pathetic whimper spills out of me. Bracing for the pain only seems to make it worse. One, two, three times she stabs me. I can feel the drag of the thread through my wounds. I’m going to throw up.
My head spins as I’m pulled upright. Warm wet drops are dripping onto my shoulders. It has to be my blood.
“Now you can understand your orders,” says the woman, as she flashes her pointed teeth at me.
A shudder wracks my body. I can hear her strange, lilting words, yet I can also understand them. This is so disorientating. And confusing. I swear the prince dude talked to me in English, back in the call centre. Though, I suppose it was only a few words. And why go to the effort of speaking a foreign language to your captive when you can simply sew their fucking ears with silver thread and then bark orders at them in your own tongue?
“Undress.”
I blink at her.
She smiles again. “You heard me.”
My arms are freed, but I doubt I could make it any further than the door.
My hands are shaking as I reach for the buttons of my crumpled work shirt. I always thought I’d be feisty. Brave. Have some balls. I’ve read plenty of books, watched thousands of films. I arrogantly assumed I’d kick ass if I was ever taken prisoner. It turns out reality is infinitely more terrifying than fiction. A deep, primal part of myself is screaming at me to obey. It seems evolution has concluded that not pissing off the scary predators is good for survival.
I undress as if in a daze. My three fey companions glance at my naked body with complete disinterest. Thank heavens.
I’m marched through to the next room, all turquoise and aquamarine tiles and a sunken bath. Is this an original feature or something the fey installed? I can’t imagine King Charles swanning around in a large sunken bath, all Romanesque style.
I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. I really don’t want to think about the royal family’s fate. There has been no mention on the news, and I don’t want to know.
“Get in,” says the fey woman.
Well, that’s an order I don’t mind obeying at all. This bath looks incredible. I step forward with what I hope is a haughty and confident tilt to my chin, and immerse myself in the water. It is deliciously warm.
“Wash the blood off!” she snaps.
Jeez, lady. Whose fault is it that I’m bleeding? I bite my bottom lip so I don’t say that out loud. Quietly, I do as I’m told.
“Out.”
Really? Already? Reluctantly I leave the warm, soothing water and walk back towards my captors.
I’m given a soft towel and a bundle of silk clothes. I dry myself off while my little audience watches. I attempt the clothes but I have no idea how to put them on. The woman huffs in annoyance and starts dressing me like I’m some human-sized doll.
