She would be tortured.
She would be executed.
Biyu’s thighs burned with exertion and she could hear Nikator behind her. He was close. So close she could feel his fingers brush the back of her dress, as if he meant to grab her, and yet she was out of his reach. She didn’t dare look over at him. She didn’t dare do anything but run forward.
Her skirts flapped over her shins, her toes slammed into the uncomfortably hard sections of her silk shoes, but she barely felt the pain. Her panic, her fear, was greater than anything right now. An instinct to run far, far away flared violently within her. There was no possible way to escape this situation, in her mind,and she couldn’t think of anything other than to flee. Hard, fast, and away.
Her breath sawed in and out of her chest and a painful stitch formed in her side, but she kept her pace. A moment of hesitation was all it would take for him to catch her. For him to slide his dagger over her throat. For her blood to spill across these polished floors.
“Stop running,” he growled from behind her, barely out of breath.
Was he toying with her?
They reached a fork at the end of the corridor and Biyu took a sharp left turn, nearly crashing into two guards, who reeled backward as she shoved them away. Nikator seemed to have stumbled against them worse than she did, because she heard him snarl a curse.
“Hey! Whoa, what the—” one of them said.
“Leave her to me,” Nikator snapped. “Go back to your posts.”
That gave her a few seconds, she gathered, not even bothering to glance their way. She kept running, faster, farther, her breath wheezing out of her untrained lungs, her calves and thighs quivering from exertion. She wasn’t used to any sort of exercise other than her weekly strolls through the garden, and those were usually leisurely. She had never, in her memory, run this hard and for this long.
“Princess, stop—” Nikator’s fingers grasped the back of her dress again, but she was barely a hair’s breadth away from him, she surmised, because his fingers simply skimmed her back.
There were two heavy-set doors at the end of the corridor. She didn’t think, not even as Nikator growled curses at her, and she flung through that exit.
Time slowed. Moonlight shone down at her, bright and silvery, and the air had a touch of crispiness to it. The smell ofrain, mud, and earth filled her nostrils, faint droplets of water cascading onto her face.
She had only taken two steps onto the stone platform as two realizations hit her in a split second: she was outside, and … she was several stories above ground on a two-foot-long overhang.
Her eyes widened at the ledge. She didn’t have enough time to stop. She didn’t have enough time to spin around and turn away. She didn’t have enough time to do anything but scream.
Nikator’s body slammed into hers, his muscled arms wrapping around her body as they both tipped over the protrusion. The air whooshed over her face, her terrified scream drowning in the rush of the fall, and then right before they slammed onto the ground, Nikator twisted his body, taking the brunt of the plummet. She fell atop of him, chin crashing onto his shoulder, and her knee smashing onto the ground between his legs.
Pain exploded in her knee, the air was knocked out of her lungs, and her chin throbbed. She lay there for a second, her face pressed on the side of his face, her hands splayed on the muscular planes of his chest, and her legs and skirts tangled around his legs. For a moment, they both simply lay there, breathing hard, the rain peppering their bodies.
Then realization slowly crawled up her body; every part of her flesh pressed against his seemed to warm, to ignite with feral heat, and she tried pulling herself up, but her palms slid over thick mud and she fell back against him. Her breasts crushed against his chest and she could only blink at him rapidly in shock.
“Fuck,” Nikator groaned.
Biyu flinched at the crude curse and tried moving again, but Nikator’s hand snaked around her waist and he spun her so fast that she didn’t know what was happening until she was pinned beneath him, her head knocking on the muddy grass. He madeto grab her wrists, but she twisted just in time, her grimy fingers fumbling with the strap at her forearm. She yanked out the small paring knife from earlier and pressed it against his throat before he could pin her in place like a trapped butterfly.
His eyes narrowed slightly, flicking down to the weapon and then back at her. A slow smile spread across his soft mouth. “Well, well. It seems the princess is showing her fangs. That’s not very nice of you, after I saved you from plummeting to your death.”
“Death? Don’t be so dramatic. Neither of us died from that and I certainly wouldn’t have died alone if you didn’t interrupt me.” She found strength in her words, even as every fiber of her being fought for her to cooperate on the off-chance that her compliance would help lessen the damage that was already done. But her mind knew that she had betrayed the emperor and she would be tossed in the mage towers for it, and nothing that happened here would change that. If anything, she’d rather go down fighting. Claws, fangs, and all.
“Interrupted you? You make it sound like you were taking a simple walk through the gardens. I caught you. In my arms. Isn’t that romantic?” There was a sarcastic, mocking rhythm to his voice, and the knife felt useless in her hand. He had all the power here, even with a weapon nestled close to his throat. “Are you planning on using that?”
Biyu swallowed, her fingers quivering. She had no plan. Zilch. Nada.
She didn’t even know where she was, or what she was doing.
“Get off me,” she said through clenched teeth.
He straightened, his thighs still straddling her, and she had to stretch her arm to keep the blade on him. He was so frustratingly tall. But right when she thought he would get away from her, he only grinned down at her, his hard, silvery-violet-looking eyes glancing over her. “And lose sight ofthis? I think not.”
“W-what?” Biyu’s cheeks heated and she made way to threaten him with the knife again, but his hand swallowed hers and he pressed the edge of the weapon against his neck. She froze at the demented, unhinged expression on his face; like he wanted to see her draw his blood.
“I love to see that. That expression on your face.” The corners of his lips lifted. “You look like you want to kill me.”
