Zara shook herself. A few minutes or hours had passed—she did not know which—while she crouched in the belly of this prison in a dream-like stupor. She clambered to her feet, her reverie broken now, although images of General Tarsus still flickered in her mind. Perhaps it was because of Tarsus that the whole of Minostaur was not already torn to bits with searching for her. She prayed that this was true; otherwise she knew she had no hope of escaping in her current state. Still, she must try.
As though in a dream, she wandered about the room she had found her way into, studying every inch of it for an idea, an opportunity. Eventually, she discovered a small wooden door in an alcove. There was no lock on it, so she was able to lift the latch, swing it open, and look in. She almost screamed. Closely the door swiftly, she sprang back across the chamber, recoiling in horror. Crouching down beside an unpleasant looking metal contraption, she clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to calm her breathing. It was alright, she told herself; it was only the dead.
Abruptly, jumbled noises ricocheted down the curving walls of the stairwell. Someone was coming. Desperately, Zara plunged down a narrow, claustrophobic corridor to her left, her muscles burning with the exertion. Rounding a corner, she saw dark silhouettes looming on the passage wall before her and hurled herself into a side tunnel just in time. There seemed to be pursuers everywhere. No sooner had she started down the new hallway when the sound of harsh boot-steps headed her off, forcing her onto a narrow stair. Panting, she ran upwards, her body screaming at the sharp, steep steps. They seemed to never end. Limbs beginning to shake, she staggered, scraping her shoulder heavily on the rough stone walls. Her feet lost their purchase for a split second, and then she was falling, skidding backwards down the stairs in a crumpled heap. With an unpleasant thud, her head connected with the unforgiving granite of one of the steps and her mind blanked out into oblivion.
When awareness finally returned to her, she was in one of the dungeon's many chambers. Reeling, she tried to take in her situation, her world still black. She seemed to be folded over a table at the waist, naked, her arms stretched out before her with wrists bound. Fear washing over her, she realized that there was a dark sack tied over her head.
They had found her on the stairs and taken her to some terrible torture room to kill her. She began to hyperventilate as she realized that this was it. Beginning to struggle violently, she felt someone catch her legs one by one and shackle them to the table's iron base. Zara fought off the urge to scream; she would not go like that. She was of the blood of queens. In a supreme effort, she calmed her breathing.
Suddenly, she felt someone press against her legs, felt soft cloth brush the backs of her thighs, and firm hands grip her shoulders. These hands traced down her back, outlining her spine and her ribcage, then the gentle slope of her waist down to her hips. She shivered, her heart skipping. Somehow, she knew those hands.
Hot breath, and a whisper in her ear. " You've been trying to get yourself killed. I found you lying halfway down a staircase with a bloody head, right there for anyone to fall over you." It was Tarsus. Slowly, her terror began to subside. "I had to whisk you in here and tie my shirt over you head so no one could see you face," he continued. Her body jumped as he ground his hips against her ass, the pressure of an obvious hard-on rubbing over her flesh.
"You've been very reckless, Milady. I may have to punish you," he told her, his voice throaty and purring. In her still somewhat hazy thoughts, Zara registered a touch of surprise. Was the General actually flirting with her?
She had little time to think it over, as he suddenly assailed her breasts, reaching under her to pull at them, pinch her nipples harshly, knead fiercely with his thumbs. His cock was now pressed between her thighs, pushing against the lips of her pussy. He thrust his hips into her even harder, causing the small, round bead of her clitoris to rake over the cold tabletop. Zara gave a strangled cry as an electrifying jolt shot up her body, her clit throbbing almost painfully.
"There are searchers going over every inch of this place ten times if they have once," Tarsus told her. "They will find us here... I need a good excuse for hiding away in here with a random prisoner, don't you think?"
Zara groaned in response as he pushed her into the table again—it felt like everything between her legs was on fire, her cunt was already dripping wet, and her whole body was twitching.
