#oc emory

Emory shuffled backward on the cold stone floors, his eyes at once locked on Zane’s but skirting around the periphery to catch sight of the room he was now trapped in. Like he wanted to know where he’d been taken but he didn’t want to stop watching Zane as if he were a predator ready to strike.

Perhaps that was true.

“Where am I?” Emory asked.

He patted down his chest and then hips, searching for a weapon. They’d all been removed from him before entering, as well as the outermost of his clothes, leaving him with just his shirt and slacks. If Zane was feeling merciful, he might give the poor thing some slippers.

But he was rarely in that kind of mood.

“The dungeon,” Zane replied casually. “Where else?”

Emory swallowed nervously and settled his hands on his knees. Zane saw them starting to shake even as Emory was clearly willing them not to. His smile grew wider.

“You should be thanking me, really. I let you sleep after that whole…” he waved a hand in the air in a noncommittal gesture. “…ordeal. You seemed tired.”

While Zane spoke, Emory had discovered the chain around his ankle and began tugging on it to no avail. He looked idiotic, sitting there and weakly pulling on a thick metal chain as if that was going to do anything at all, but then again, they always tried something at the start. Zane was used to it by now. He was, admittedly, rather bored with the usual methods as of late and wanted to try some new concepts on this newest acquisition.

Emory’s head snapped up the moment he realized he wasn’t going to escape merely by brute strength of destroying a chain with bare hands.

“Let me go!” he shouted, fire in his eyes.

Zane scoffed. “Not on your life.”

Emory growled and lunged, causing Zane to stand up from where he knelt and jump back toward the door. Emory’s chain pulled taut and rattled, catching him from going any further. He fell forward onto the stone floor with a loud slap, his jaw taking a good bit of the impact. He was still after that, shutting his eyes tight and not making a sound.

Zane laughed, low and breathy. The thing could hurt himself just fine without Zane’s involvement, so this was going to be very fun indeed.

He leaned back against the door, waiting for Emory to collect himself. When he did, he sat up and rubbed his chin.

“What do you want from me? Money? Power?” he asked.

Zane peeled away from the wall and took a step forward. “Information.”

Emory’s eyes flicked up to Zane’s own, seen through mussed bangs. “On what?”

Zane rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. “I’m sure you know.”

There’s no way he wouldn’t. Zane had been ordered to get information from Emory, and until that knowledge came to light, there was no way the captive was getting out of here. Well, not that he was, but he’d have a much easier time here if he did.

But where was the fun in that?

Zane dug into his satchel and removed a metal collar and leash. He held it up while giving Emory the most shit-eating grin, just to admire the shocked reaction to the thing. That expression quickly morphed into anger and reticence, but it wasn’t like Emory had any choice in the matter.

“Look what I got,” Zane said.

Emory’s hands clenched into fists. “You are not putting that on me,” he grumbled.

“Oh, but I am.”

Emory backed away while still glaring fiercely at Zane from his position down on the floor. He could have stood if he liked, given the chain allowed him the freedom of movement, but Zane supposed he was too terrified to think of that as an option. Hm.

“Is this because you want me to betray my family’s secrets?” Emory asked, an edge to his voice. “Because I won’t.”

Zane shook his head slowly, taking methodical steps forward in time with the movement. “No, no, it isn’t that. This,” he wiggled the leash in the air. “Is because His Majesty wants to make a show out of you.”

That put a bit of anxiety into the boy, who now looked downright queasy at the mention of the enemy king. He gulped, drawing back, but hit the wall. His breath hitched, a quick rise and fall of his chest. His motions were so jerky and tense, while Zane was unbothered. Cool. Calculated. As to be expected of the king’s personal dungeon torturer.

He stood with his toes just before Emory’s knees. Looking down on him from above, he could see the expressions warring on his face between wanting to look tough and hide his fear but being unable to stomach the possibilities of what was to come. And Zane hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.

“Now, come with me. Let’s go for a walk, shall we? I’m sure you’re just dying to get out of here.”

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