Everything was blindingly bright, though through the haziness Cyr concluded that it was decidedly some sort of night time. Nothing had hurt until the shadow started<span style="font-style: italic">speaking,</span>but once it happened there was no stopping the splitting pain in his head, as if his brain itself had taken to ripping itself in two. His fingers twitched at his immediate instinct to grab his head to keep it together, but she - yes, definitely a she - had taken all necessary precautions to make sure that he was as uncomfortable as possible.<br/><br/>A line of something between concern and amusement drew down the center of Cyr’s brow at the mention of being drugged. The corners of his lips twitched upward just slightly, and if he’d been able to form a coherent thought he would have responded. Or, perhaps not. His mouth was<span style="font-style: italic">horribly</span>dry and numb, and Cyr recognized it as the familiar feeling of nausea and dehydration.<br/><br/>“Water,” he managed, his voice catching in his throat and coming out in a hoarse whisper. He looked up at his assailant from his slightly slouched position, his violet eyes locking with her own blue. She was small, even smaller than Ion, and younger than either of them by a couple hundred years or so. The thought crippled Cyr’s pride slightly, but he supposed pride didn’t matter much wherever they were. The small woman sat across from his perch against the elderwood, selfishly sporting bread and a wineskin that was practically bursting at the seams from excess. His tongue idly flicked out over dry and cracked lips at the mere thought of it. “I need something to drink, and if you don’t give it to me then I will get it myself. With magic.”<br/><br/>There was no seminar or meeting or council that instructed royals how to deal with hostage situations and things of that nature, but if there was, Cyr was sure that whispering hollow threats at your captors was not part of the curriculum. Nevertheless, he stood by his words, content to just sit on them for a time and bite his tongue the next time he decided to get smart with.. An assassin? Hitman? Loon? The possibilities were endless, and guessing wasn’t going to get him much of anywhere. The fact of the matter was that whoever she was, she had him bound to a tree and desperate for food. Oh how the mighty have fallen.<br/><br/>Straightening his back just a bit more, he put on his most unabashedly royal face and one hand grasped aimlessly for the other behind his back, thumb passing idly over the stone of his holy ring. “No magic,” he corrected himself, damning his inherently passive nature. He got that from his Father. Unfortunately, dear old Dad never taught him how to diffuse kidnapping situations. He’d have to have words with him whenever he returned to Yridhren. “Please. May I have a drink?”