When the wagon stops, those men are going to come back here and get me. I don’t know what they intend to do to me next, but I don’t want to sit here waiting to find out. I look around at the furniture. There’s not much that could serve as a weapon. The curtain rod is way too long, and most other things are too bulky. My eyes fall on a vanity table. The top is wrapped up in rags, presumably protecting a mirror.
The rags helpfully muffle the sound of cracking glass as I whack the mirror with the end of the curtain rod. I unwrap them and find the glass shattered into several big shards, just as I’d hoped. I carefully lever one out of the mirror’s frame and slip it into my new clothes.
She might have thrown me to the wolves, but at least that woman makes her dresses with pockets.
Then I wait. About half an hour later, I feel the wagon pull off the road. We move on a bumpier track for about ten minutes before coming to a halt.
There are more voices, more men. My drivers are meeting someone, though I can’t make out their words. When I peek through the loose seam of the wagon covering, I see trees—we’re in a forest now—and spot two new men with the drivers. One of them is holding a rope in his hands.
No.I won’t be trapped by another man again. The fae might’ve been my captors, but they never restrained me, and the idea of having my limbs pinned down, unable to move the way they were with Bede, sends the blood rushing through my ears.
Shuffling cautiously to the back of the wagon, I take the shard of mirror between my fingers. Even with Will’s training, I’ll struggle to take down one man, let alone four. The best I can hope for is to get in the first strike, before they expect it, and then run before they can react.
The men finish talking, the wooden flap on the back of the wagon comes down, and someone pulls at the cover.
Now.
I slash out with the glass and feel it meet resistance. Someone screams as I push my way out from beneath the cover, a spatter of blood hitting my cheek. The older driver is stumbling back, bleeding from a deep cut to his chin that’s already turning his beard crimson. Two of the others stand around him, shocked, but I know that won’t hold them back for long. The one with the rope is already moving toward me. I throw myself around the side of the wagon, lift my skirt, and run.
I haven’t done much running in my life. There’s not much call for it when you live in a house with few children to play with. I’m sure I’m not fast, and I’m very aware I don’t have much stamina. But I put everything I’ve got into it as I sprint through the trees. The telltale fizz of magic sounds behind me, and I dart sideways, hoping to avoid whatever they’re sending my way. I can hear their footsteps moving swiftly through the forest, but then that sound is drowned out by something closer—a loud buzz.
Something fat and black flies past my ear, making me jerk my head away. Then another insect, angry and loud, hits me right in the face—a big fly. I swat at it, disgusted, but it’s not alone. Moments later, a swarm of them bombards me. They batter me across the face or land, trying to crawl into my eyes and mouth. I clamp it shut, muting my scream of horror. Whomever among the men can control these things knows this will slow me down, making it almost impossible to see where I’m going.
I yank the hood of my cloak up, pulling it down over as much of my face as I can, and duck my head, trying to navigate by the sight of my feet on the ground. But the flies are everywhere, and I can’t help but flinch as one creeps across my ear, meaning I miss the root that trips me.
I fall, and keep falling, spinning downward over what must be the edge of a ditch. Piles of leaves do little to soften my fall, but I tumble fast enough that I lose most of the swarm, and when I hit the hard ground, it knocks some of the panic out of me. I throw my hood back, smacking away the last of the insects with a shudder, and listen.
I hear the footsteps of the men not far away, but I think the ditch might be shielding me from their view. I scramble across the ground toward the biggest tree trunk I can see and tuck myself behind it. My fingers find the glass shard I shoved into my pocket after I started running.
I pull it out now, examining the flecks of red on it, trying to slow my heart as I strain to hear the nearest set of footsteps. They’re definitely getting closer—but it sounds like just one person. Maybe they spread out to try to track me down.
The person nearby stops, a twig snaps, and I hold my breath, praying to Lusteris to keep me hidden, seeing as Firesta has so thoroughly abandoned me.
I’m aware of the world tilting around me. Perhaps my fever’s worse, or perhaps I’m just overheating after sprinting for my life. Either way, I don’t have much more running in me.
The leaves a few feet behind me rustle, and I lift the mirror. Maybe if I can get a few more stabs in before they overpower me, they’ll give up and decide I’m not worth it. Maybe?—
The blue-eyed driver rounds the tree. I see him coming, but I can’t quite make my limbs work in time. He grabs my wrist, the one holding the shard, and twists it sharply. I shriek, but keep holding on, though that only makes him twist harder. When I think he might break the bone, I give in, dropping the glass shard to the ground. It lays there, reflecting the tree branches and the slivers of sky peeking down between them.
“Listen here, you bitch?—”
But I never do find out what the man wanted me to hear, because he stops mid-sentence, shock freezing on his face, and the tip of a blade bursts through his chest, a bloom of blood spreading like a bullseye around it.
There’s the scrape of metal against something I think is bone, and the tip disappears, allowing the man to fall. I dodge the body as it topples forward, revealing Leonidas Claerwyn behind him, his sword wet with blood.
At this moment, he lives up to his epithet—the Nightmare Prince. The planes of his sculpted face radiate fury, his gray eyes burning like the very center of a star. Splashes of red decorate his forearms, telling a story of violent death, but his smooth skin is unmarked by any injury.
I instinctively take a step back, which makes the world spin crazily, and Leonidas draws his lips back, exposing his teeth.
“You’re going to regret this, princess.”
Chapter11
Leon
SomehowI’m going to make her regret it—making me stain my sword with the blood of those pathetic wretches, making me track her through the woods of this cursed backwater, making my stomach lurch when I realized she was gone…
I wrap my fingers around her wrist, delicate in my hands, and yank her toward me. I have neither patience nor sympathy for the way she flinches at my touch. Let her be disgusted by the monstrous fae; let her have all her prejudices confirmed.
