Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 126

Chapter 126: Life of a prisoner Chapter 126: Life of a prisoner Sorza’s life as a “guest” of the princess was more like a comfortable imprisonment.

He spent most of his days confined to his chambers, under what was effectively house arrest.

The room was large and well-furnished, but the gilded surroundings did little to ease the burn of captivity.

Occasionally, Sorza was allowed brief reprieves, where he could step outside into the palace gardens.

In the serene garden, the flowers in bloom, the calming breeze, and the chirping birds contrasted sharply with the turmoil he felt inside.

To be defeated and reduced to this was a humiliation that festered in his heart, made worse by the knowledge that it was a mercenary that delivered this shame to him.  One of his few comforts was the ability to meet some of his captured knights, particularly those who had been part of his personal guard.

These were men he trusted, and their presence brought some ease to him .

All of them awaiting for the ransom coming from thier prince.

The days passed uneventfully, one blending into the next.

When Sorza first heard about the fate of Arkawatt, an idea had bloomed in his mind-a plan that, if executed, could turn his captivity into an unexpected victory.

A woman had taken the throne, and he was unmarried.

He thought of the possibilities: if he could somehow convince the princess to marry him, it would mean not only his freedom but also the union of two princedoms under their future son.

No ransom, no humiliating release-just power, shared and expanded.

At first, it seemed as if the princess entertained his notion.

She allowed him to meet her on several occasions, their conversations cordial and even friendly.

Sorza, ever the strategist, began to believe he had a real chance.

With her heirless and him available, it would have been a strong political match.

But in recent days, the tone had shifted.

At first, he didn’t notice, thinking perhaps she was simply preoccupied.

Then, slowly, he realized the truth-he was not her first choice.

He was her second option, a fallback if something else failed.

It became clear to him that she had already set her sights elsewhere.

Whispers in the palace confirmed his growing suspicions: the mercenary who had captured him, the very same man who had humiliated him in battle, had returned victorious and was now rumored to be betrothed to her.

Sorza could scarcely believe it.

Passed over for a common man?

The idea seemed absurd, an insult beyond anything he had ever endured.

The very thought that this man, without noble blood, without titles, had not only bested him on the battlefield but now stood to marry the princess was a double-edged wound, cutting into both his pride and his plans.

Sorza sat by the large window of his chamber, the dim afternoon light filtering in through the glass as he lazily flipped the pages of a book.

A cup of red wine sat within reach, its deep crimson hue catching the faint light.

He took a slow sip, savoring the taste.

It was now his 23rd day in captivity, each passing moment waiting for his freedom.

The room was silent save for the crackling of the fireplace, and Sorza leaned back in his chair, his mind wandering from the words on the page.

He had heard voices earlier that day-hushed whispers among the servants and guards-that negotiations for his ransom were underway.

That brought him a measure of relief, though the thought of being ransomed like some lowly prisoner only deepened the pit in his stomach.

Still, it was better than the alternative: remaining here, a ‘guest’ of the princess, while the world moved on without him.

He took another sip of his wine, letting the warmth of it spread through him as he thought of the future.

The heavy wooden door to Sorza’s chamber suddendly creaked open, breaking the quiet of the room.

The young prisoner thought that one of the guard had come for his daily stroll around the keep garden.

Instead a young maid stepped inside, her head bowed respectfully, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.

“Lord Sorza,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “the princess requests your presence.

Envoys from your father have arrived, and they wish to see you.” At her words, Sorza’s heart leapt in his chest.

He felt a sudden surge of happiness, the dull monotony of his days as a captive briefly forgotten.

Finally, after weeks of waiting, there was a glimmer of hope.

He set the book aside without a second thought and rose swiftly from his chair, nearly knocking over the cup of wine as he did so.

Straightening his tunic, Sorza strode towards the door, his posture more upright, his steps more eager than they had been in days.  “Lead the way,” he commanded, though his tone was not harsh.

He was too elated to care much for formalities now.

The maid nodded quickly and turned to lead him down the long corridor.

Sorza followed her, his mind racing with thoughts of the meeting ahead.  Sorza followed the maid down a winding series of corridors, his heart pounding in his chest.

When they arrived at a large oak door, the maid stepped forward, placing her small hands on the iron handle.

With a soft creak, the door swung open, revealing the chamber beyond.

 On one side of the chamber stood the princess, poised and regal, her hands clasped in front of her.

Beside her, to his bitter displeasure, was Alpheo, the mercenary who had twice humiliated him on the battlefield.

Sorza clenched his jaw, suppressing the surge of anger rising within him.

Next to them was an older man, one Sorza did not recognize-perhaps a noble or a close advisor, his stern face giving nothing away.

On the opposite side of the room stood Sir Marwoit, one of Sorza’s most trusted knights.

He was a seasoned warrior, well past his youth but still standing tall and proud.

His long, graying hair was tied back, and a thick beard framed his weathered face.

He wore a breastplate emblazoned with the crest of House Sorza, behind him were a few of his men, clad in armor, their eyes fixed forward, tense but composed.

Sir Marwoit bowed slightly at Sorza’s entrance, his steel-gray eyes meeting Sorza’s with a flicker of hope.

He had been a loyal knight to Sorza’s father and a close aid since Sorza had come of age.

“How is my father, Sir Marwoit?” Sorza asked, a hint of worry hidden behind his composed demeanor.

Sir Marwoit’s stern face softened ever so slightly, and a small, reassuring smile appeared beneath his graying beard.

“Your father is in fine health, my lord.

He waits eagerly for your return.” Hearing this, Sorza felt a surge of relief.

His father’s health was always a lingering concern, but the knight’s words gave him peace for the moment.

“And my mother?” Sorza pressed, his voice quieter, more personal.

“She must have been worried with no word from me for so long.” Marwoit nodded, the smile lingering.

“Indeed, my lord.

Lady Sorza was greatly troubled when news of your fate was unclear.

However, the letter you managed to send her was a blessing.

It did much to calm her fears, and she waits for your safe return as eagerly as your father.” For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile touched Sorza’s lips.  As the air between Sorza and Sir Marwoit settled, Alpheo suddenly broke the silence, turning his attention to the knight with a curious look in his eye.

His voice was calm, though it carried a weight beneath its polite surface.

“Lord Sorza,” Alpheo began, his tone almost casual, ” I hope that have you found the accommodations to your liking?” Sorza’s smile faltered immediately, his expression stiffening at the audacity of the man before him.

He turned to Alpheo with cold disdain, his voice sharp as he replied, “Are you unaware, mercenary, that a commoner should not speak unless spoken to by a lord?” The room seemed to tense at Sorza’s words.

Alpheo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his face.

But instead of rising to the insult, he offered a smile that was more cutting than warm.

“My apologies, Lord Sorza,” Alpheo said smoothly, his voice holding an edge of sarcasm.

“You see, I had little formal education.

My only teacher and tutor from a young age was war.” He paused, letting his words settle.

“Perhaps if the same were true for you, you wouldn’t find yourself a prisoner…

captured by one ‘below’ your station.

Though it was not your fault, I think most men would have ended with the same outcome if that situation was presented to them….” As the tension in the room grew thick, the princess cast a sharp look at Alpheo, her eyes flashing with disapproval.

Alpheo, sensing her displeasure, turned his head away with a casual shrug, offering a half-hearted apology to Sorza.

“I apologize,” he said, his voice smoother but with a hint of indifference.

“I meant no disrespect, it’s just sometimes my words come out of their own.” Princess Jasmine, her gaze still lingering on Alpheo, softened her expression as she addressed Sir Marwoit.

“You have seen how my guest has been treated well, I hope?” Her tone was firm, but polite, guiding the conversation away from the brewing conflict.

Sir Marwoit gave Alpheo a lingering glance, as if sizing up the man who had caused so much trouble.

Alpheo, for his part, merely smiled innocently, as if the verbal jab a moment ago had been nothing more than a harmless jest.

The knight turned back to Jasmine with a respectful nod.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” he said, his voice steady.

“I can confirm that Sir Sorza has been well taken care of.” He paused, then gestured slightly.

“Let us proceed with the negotiations.”