From where he sat, he looked almost as ominous as the lions. Ren had never been this close to a Lowlander before. There were some in the city, begging for money in alleys and on street corners, but the guards his family travelled with were always efficient at keeping them at a distance. Ren had heard stories of the Lowlanders since he was a child, some of them perhaps a little too wild to be true. Nursery rhymes and old wives' talk meant to scare children into obedience. Yet, there was no doubt that the Lowlanders were a dangerous kind.

Ren could remember very little actual fact about them from history and geography lessons. A collection of smaller villages in southern Skarlan made up the Lowlands. Instead of purging their lands of the volatile strangers, the Skarlans used them as a resource, as slaves and workers in their capital city of Iskaal. Ren had always thought it seemed like a terrible idea to let them wander around so freely.

“Get up,” Ren said, filling his voice with as much authority as he could. He positioned himself very carefully out of arms reach from the bars of the cell.

For a moment, it seemed that the man would ignore his order. Then, slowly, he stood.

“Come forward.” Ren's voice echoed in the silence of the dungeons.

When the prisoner took a step into the light, Ren took a step back.

The man was no less intimidating in the light.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean but powerful build. His dark hair was pulled back from his face into a short, tufted ponytail.

Ren's eyes travelled down. The Lowlander was shirtless, skin golden, and the tattoo Thais had mentioned covered his right arm from elbow to wrist. But what drew Ren's eye most was the jagged scar that ran vertically from his armpit up over his collarbone to the top of his shoulder. Other, smaller scars criss-crossed his chest and arms, although none as obvious as the one on his shoulder.

Ren hadn't expected him to be handsome, but he noted with a sting of displeasure that the Lowlander was both taller and fitter than himself. Maybe a few years older, too.

Ren huffed. “What's your name, prisoner?”

The silence stretched on. The young man's entire body was tense, as if he expected Ren to lash out at him at any moment. The look in his eyes was pure and unshielded hatred, the intensity of it forcing Ren to avert his gaze.

“Anik,” the Lowlander replied finally.

“What are you doing here, prisoner?” Ren continued, keeping his voice carefully level.

“I don't know,” the prisoner – Anik – responded, his words coloured by a slight, flowing accent that Ren found surprisingly pleasant. It turned his voice softer than Ren thought it would be.

Ren pushed the thought aside, setting his jaw. “Don't lie to me,” he demanded.