His unspoken words hang between us, making the air uncomfortable and hard to breathe.
“Is it so impossible to think he might care for me?” I demand. “That all this was a great misunderstanding?”
His face darkens. “He robbed you, Anwen. That was no accident.”
I notice he doesn’t answer the first part of my question, and my spirits sink. Though I may not be as beautiful as Pippa, I know I’m not unattractive. In most ways, I’m very pleased with my appearance. But why else would Dimitri leave me? Why wasn’t I good enough? If it’s not my looks, then it’s just me he didn’t want.
I’m not sure I’m ready to face that.
“I know you don’t think it best, but I honestly believe you should go home,” Galinor says, voicing his opinion yet again.
“If I were Pippa, would you think me incapable of retrieving the stone?”
The question comes out of nowhere—even I’m stunned by it. But there is truth in the words. I know how he admires the fiery Lauramorian princess. I doubt he would chastise her for attempting what I have plans to do.
“You and Pippa are nothing alike, but I wouldn’t think it wise for even her to attempt what you are planning.”
Even her.
While thinking of a retort, I’m distracted by yelling ahead of us.
“Stay here,” Galinor says, kicking his horse forward.
This seems like good advice, but I glance over my shoulder, worried. What if there is trouble behind us aswell? I don’t want to be a sitting duck here all by myself on the road. Or worse—what if the chaos has been caused by Pika finally showing herself? Irving wouldn’t, but the others might injure her, thinking she will attack.
I give the mare a timid nudge forward. I don’t want to run right into trouble, but I don’t want to stay here, alone, either. The others come into view as I ride around a curve in the road. Irving’s sword glints in the sunlight as he blocks an attack. Galinor leaps from his horse and meets another. Bran and Dristan are involved in a fight with three men who have come at them with fists.
Bran ducks an attack and circles around to punch a tall, gangly man in the gut. Dristan lands a solid hit to another man’s nose, but the third man—a short, hairy brute—plows into him.
I go cold as I watch the young prince fall backward, the large man on top of him. When they land, the man’s fist crashes into the ground next to Dristan’s head. If Dristan hadn’t moved, it would have connected with his face.
From atop my horse, I stare at them all, helpless. Irving, Galinor, and Bran seem to be holding their own, but Dristan is still healing. He shouldn’t be fighting. Before I can think enough to talk myself out of it, I jump to the ground and look for something I can use as a weapon. I grab as large a boulder as I can hold in one hand, and I run into the fight. In the distance, I hear Marigold yell for me to stop.
Galinor looks up when he hears my name, and it’s just enough of an opening for the man he’s fighting to land a punch to his eye. Galinor’s head snaps back, and I screamhis name. He recovers in moments, punches the man in the stomach, and then pays him back with a solid hit to the nose. The man crumples on the ground.
Behind me, I realize Dristan is still trying to fight off the beast-man. Having no idea what I’m doing, I jump on the man’s back and grit my teeth as the stone connects with his skull. With a heavy thud, the man falls to the ground next to Dristan.
Oh, please, don’t let him be dead.
Dristan pushes himself to his feet and takes after the second man attacking Bran.
The man opposite Irving lunges one last time and then flees for the forest when Irving deflects the sword with his own. Only two other men are conscious after the fight, and they too chase after their comrade, leaving the other two in the road and at our mercy.
I fall to my knees and place a hand over my racing heart. I’m lightheaded and dizzy, and I take deep, long breaths to calm myself. The hairy man I’ve pummeled is still on the ground, but he’s moaning, so he must be alive.
My hair has fallen from its braid, and several strands lay in long waves over my eyes. I push them aside and look up, surveying the damage.
Before I can ask if he’s all right, Galinor pins me with his gaze. His eyes flash, and one is already looking puffy and red. “Anwen! Didn’t I tell you to stay back?”
It’s probably not the best time to argue with him, so instead, I shrug. He strides to me and kneels—a gesture that should be comforting. But with the stern look on his face, it’s not.
“I didn’t want to stay by myself,” I mumble. I almostmention my thoughts about Pika, but I wisely keep them to myself. “And then I saw this horrible man attack Dristan.”
I poke the beast-man in the ribs with the toe of my boot. He groans, but he doesn’t move.
Galinor’s eyes bore into mine. “Next time, when I tell you to stay back, you will heed my advice. You could have been hurt. You could have beenkilled.”
I would like to point out that I was neither hurt nor killed, but, again, I stay quiet.
