Bajancanadian bared his teeth at Jerome, straining his injured wrists against the rope, causing a new flow of blood to spill. He tilted his head up, glaring at the prince boldly, not an ounce of fear in those eyes.

Sadly, that was only a mask. An amazingly believable one, but still a mask.

Inside, his heart fluttered in his ribcage, like a panicked bird trying to fly out of its cage.

"Honestly, I expected better." The prince purred arrogantly, smirking at the captured assassin kneeling before him.

The brunette snarled viciously, continuing to fight against the metal ropes preventing his freedom, despite the sparks of pain he felt.

He wanted nothing more than to break free of the ropes restraining him and pounce on Jerome, grabbing his neck in both of his hands, and squeeze.

Hard.

A small triumphant smile twitching on the prince's lips, he jerked his head to the side, and three beefy guards flanking him came forward, each bearing different 'presents'.

One had a thick cloth in his hand, and pulled on the assassin's hair, pulling his face back, where he then expertly tied it around his eyes, therefore blinding him. Bajancanadian snarled horribly and shook his head back and forth, like a dog trying to clear water from his ears. Jerome chuckled at his discomfort and thus earned a couple of colorful words from the blind man.

The other two guards exchanged the metal ropes for permanent metal chains, shackled tightly around his blood caked wrists, ankles, and neck.

Then, with a heartless tug, the guards pulled him to his feet, and literally dragged Mitchell out of the prince bedroom, not giving a care in the world that the poor assassin banged into some walls along the way.

Mitchell's heart hammered frantically, and he swallowed, desperately needing to moisturize his dry throat, as the stench of mildew and piss wafted to his nose, as he made his way stumbling down wet cracked stone stairs.

The dungeons.

I'm caught.

I'm caught.

I'm caught.

Those were the words he was able to string as the guards yanked open the metal bars and dragged Mitchell inside, not only that, chained him to the wall.

They then left, left him to mull over his fate.

With nothing to entertain him, he started musing over who had betrayed him, and why.

It had to be someone he knew, in person, and was close to him, somewhat. He racked his brains, but no answer came to light.

He then shifted uncomfortably, since the shackles on his arms were chained so high above his head that his feet barely brushed the slimy floor. Even the smallest twitch of his hand would bring on a fresh wave of agony, from the cuts he had received in courtesy of the chains.

He stood, or hung still, his eyes cold and contemplative, but inside he was harshly scolding himself from being too proud, and falling into the trap, like a uneducated, foolish assassin, and relying too much on the element of surprise.

After what seemed like forever, the assassin jolted from his semi-conscious state thanks to the sound of rusty bars being heaved open and he was dragged once again, still blindfolded, to an unknown destination.

It is very well thought... He contemplated, keeping his fear at bay. By tying a blindfold around his eyes, they successfully stopped Mitchell from seeing his whereabouts, so if he does manage to free himself from the shackles, he would have no clue where he was, therefore refraining him from escaping.

~~~

"Is the nuisance caught?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes...sir."

"Good."

Nestled snugly on a jeweled throne, the dark purple eyed king of Aragrave placed a tanned hand on the arm rest, his eyes hard and devoid of emotion.

Seated next to him in a similar throne, only smaller, was the crown prince, Jerome. Unlike the king's calm state, his eyes constantly darted around, and he clenched his teeth to stop squirming.

A gust of wind blew from the massive doors of the throne room, alerting the royals of their 'guest'.

Mitchell was dragged in the room, a trail of blood, dirt and muck in his wake, and his blindfolded eyes were focused on the floor, face a mask of icy calm. Despite the throbbing pain he felt through his body every so often, he kept his face blank, unreadable.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

The king stood up from his throne, crown perched atop his brown hair, eyes alight with sick delight as he behold the chained assassin before him.

Clapping slowly, he walked, his feet planted and firm, towards Mitchell, who cocked his head, trying to find out the source of the sound.

The king gripped down on his blindfold, expertly tearing it away from Bajancanadian's eyes, giving him back his sight.

Brown chocolate eyes met of cold indigo. His face was devoid of emotion, lips a straight line, eyes blank, almost as if he was bored.

"Bajancanadian..." He paused, seemingly tasting the sound to his nickname.

Mitchell flinched mentally, feeling the silent caress of sadism playing on the king's tongue as he said his name.

Yet, he forced himself to be the assassin he was trained to be, cold, silent, emotionless. The perfect mask.

The king smirked, and gave a look that said,

If only you knew.

A shudder ran down his spine, cold sweat forming at the invisible malice and spite lacing that look as Mitchell tried his best to be Bajancanadian, the unnerved man.

"What should we do to you?"

Pushing his fear deep down into his gut, Mitchell forced a spark of challenge to flick in his eyes, a very, very small taunting smirk to edge the side of his lips.

"Kill me then, Herobrine."

Herobrine smiled, and Mitchell, at that moment, knew he was screwed.

"I think not, a lifetime of slavery should do you best."

_writers note_

I just dropped alot of hints.

;)

Oh and, just a random note, I based this off several books I read, and twitched the ideas around. Quite alot of books have the "assassin-is-caught-and-is-sent-to-jail-" theme, I found out.

Welp.

BAAI