“Alright,” Alastor says. “I am willing to admit you had your reasons.”
“Exactly. We can talk next steps when we meet up with the others. You left the message at the fountain?”
Alastor nods, but he’s still looking at the sleeping princess.
“She really hates you, you know,” he says, as if commenting on the color of the sky.
I shrug. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? She’s hardly a threat to me. She’s a pampered princess who’s been wrapped in fluff and wool her whole life. I doubt she’d know hardship if it smacked her in the face. No magic? So what? I doubt she’s ever even needed it. And perhaps if her parents had been a little less focused on keeping their precious little heir safe and spent more time worrying about the state of things in the rest of their kingdom, then?—”
I cut myself off, aware I’m saying too much. Alastor gives me a knowing look but doesn’t probe any further, bedding down for the night.
I try to sleep myself, watching the princess through the edge of the dimming flames. Maybe I’m being unfair to her. She might look like her mother, but that doesn’t mean she’s anything like her.
As I grow drowsy, I find myself remembering that night in the tavern. The way she rescued the serving boy from what she believed were the big, bad fae. How she bargained for his safety before she’d been forced to bargain for her own.
And how I’d turned my back on her.
Because you had bigger things to worry about. Because you have people relying on you.
Still, I can’t help recalling the way she looked up at me, her big hazel eyes wide and desperate, her full mouth parted with outrage when I said no to her.
I push the memory away, and only then—when her distracting face has been blocked out of my mind—do I find sleep at last.
* * *
MORGANA
I wake cold and sore, the ache in my limbs not allowing me even a moment to pretend I’m not here, in the middle of nowhere, with two men who might slit my throat if I’m too much trouble.
The smell of cooking meat tells me the fae have been hunting something other than Trovian princesses, however. I crack an eye open to see them turning a rabbit over the fire. I’m hungry enough not to turn my nose up when Alastor offers me some. I do, however, eat it silently, taking the time to slowly start testing ideas for escape.
My hopes build when the two discuss finding a community for supplies, but Leonidas—or Leon as Alastor called him—doesn’t even let me down from the horse, and we stay on the outskirts of the village as Alastor, in his glamour once again, fetches food and water. After that, we ride. And ride some more.
Being on the run, it turns out, is incredibly boring. We travel through forests and on back roads for most of the day and barely see a soul. Part of me wonders if I did actually die in my bed in Elmere, and I’m stuck in the Gloamlands, forever glued to the back of this horse with the Nightmare Prince as my eternal punishment.
The rest of me focuses on what I need to do to escape. For starters, I need to avoid any more outbursts like last night. The fae need to think I’m passive, docile, and then they might be less vigilant. If I keep going on tirades about the prince killing my parents, they’ll not let me out of their sight. So I don’t speak to them most of the day, only accepting food with a nod of thanks. I notice that today, the prince doesn’t offer his hand to help me dismount the horse. I’m glad for it, eventually getting the hang of sliding off without losing my balance. But that precious opening I hope for—the one I can use to make a break for it—never comes. Instead, what arrives is the night, darkness rolling in. We make camp, and I try to sleep huddled beside the fire…
Water dashes against my face, filling my throat. I’m drowning again, opening my mouth to gasp or scream, but that only allows more water to flood in. A heavy weight presses in above me, and I can’t move, thrashing as I choke for air. Darkness dances at my vision as something mauls my body, touching every inch?—
I bolt upright, hauling in great lungfuls of breath, panting like a hunted animal. Eventually, the sheer coldness of the air helps to calm me, pulling me further from the dream, back into reality.I’m not in my room at Gallawing, I tell myself.I’m here. And while “here” isn’t exactly a picnic, it’s certainly better than the place my mind has just come from.
“When did that happen?” a low voice floats over to me.
I whip my head around to see Leon watching me across from the fire. Alastor is asleep not far from him, but the prince is very much awake, his eyes boring into mine.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, still disoriented from the nightmare.
“The accident you were dreaming about, where you nearly drowned. When did it happen?”
Shock washes over me as I realize he used his sensic abilities to see my dream.
An awful heat creeps over my body, mixing fear and shame with something more volatile. My anger is back, and I can’t stop it before it answers for me.
“Keep your magic out of my head,” I snap, glaring at him.
The thought that he’d been in there,watching…I shudder, feeling violated all over again, only this time it’s his magic crawling over me, pawing at me.
His neutral expression is gone in a flash, replaced with irritation.
