Alone and in darkness, Prince Nethian was knelt up in his stone prison which was just large enough to stand up in, if he had the strength. Kneeling down on the filthy floor, his arms were hanging above his head by the two metal shackles extending from the wall that kept him still. His battle armour and weapons had been removed and discarded somewhere outside of the walls he was trapped in. Plastered against his face from sweat and dirt was his blonde hair now matted and dripping with moisture. He had his blue eyes shut, trying to control the tremors racking his body, making the drips of sweat shiver and fall to the stone.
Angrily, he lashed out at the shackles in yet another attempt to break free. He hated being trapped. And cold, he was so cold. The damp got everywhere in that cell, in the walls, against the floor, in his hair and even inside of him. A yell burst from him like a cornered animal as he sunk back down, striking the walls in his anguish. Blood trickled from his wrists as the shackles cut into him and the metal chains broke the skin, more blood covered the rest of his body from battle wounds and various other torture methods he had been subjected to.
"You will not have her!" He roared, though he was sure there was no one to hear him.
Furrowing his brow, he pressed his forehead against the sharp walls and ground it up and down.