Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Cold. That’s my first thought as consciousness trickles back into me. I’m freezing, teeth chattering, damp clothes sticking to my chilled skin like a death sentence.
Upside down. That’s my next groggy thought. I’m upside down and moving. Groaning, I shift slightly and realize my wrists are bound together with a thick coil of rope. What in the Tides—
“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
Awareness crashes into me at the sound of Zevayr’s gravelly voice. He has me thrown over his broad shoulder, a muscled arm bracketing my thighs in a vise.
Without warning, he stops and tosses me onto the ground. There’s enough fresh snow that I sink into it painlessly, but what the actual fuck?
“What—what is the meaning of this?” I sputter, teeth clacking together as I hold up my bound hands.
“You tell me,” he snarls. He crouches to my level, his face a mask of pure wrath. Fresh injuries mar his tanned skin—one eye nearly swollen shut, purpling bruises darkening his cheeks and jaw. “Who attacked us?”
“I don’t know? It looked like Rebellion.” Why is he so angry at me? “Untie me immediately.”
He ignores my command. “Did you know about the attack?”
Tides, the man has lost his mind.
And I’m not about to help him find it.
“This is ridiculous,” I grit out. Scorching fury burns through my veins, but it does nothing to ease the chill in my bones. “Untie me right now.”
“Not until you answer my questions. Did. You. Know. About. The. Attack?” His face is inches from mine, gray eyes swirling with unchecked rage, and for the first time since waking up on his shoulder, a flash of fear cascades through me.
This is the Dark Commander.
He’s responsible for the deaths of thousands of Tundraynis.
He could summon lightning and kill me where I sit.
So I do the only sane thing I can think of—I rear back and bash my forehead into his nose. There’s a satisfying crack, and he falls backward, his large hand stemming the flow of blood.
I jump to my feet and bolt.
My feet stumble, off balance with my hands bound. I barely make it a few steps before a fist twists in my loose hair and yanks me back. Sharp pain bursts across my scalp as I crash onto the ground—just before Zevayr throws himself over me.
“Get off me!” I shout, slamming my bound fists against his chest again and again, but the insufferable man is a solid mass of pure muscle. I don’t move him an inch. “I’m the princess of fucking Tundrayn!”
His large hands close around my wrists, forcing my arms over my head. Tides, the entire length of his body is pressed against mine.
“Out here,” he snarls, his hot breath fanning my face, “you are the princess of nothing. Answer my questions, and maybe I’ll let you go.”
For a moment, neither of us says a word. Our gazes lock in a stormy battle, his gray eyes still crackling with electric rage. I imagine mine look the same. He shifts slightly atop me, his grip tightening on my wrists, his other arm braced on the ground near my head.
Another lick of fear crawls up my spine as my brain registers our position.
His proximity. His strength. His anger.
I’m alone, in the middle of nowhere, with a large man mounting me. Who can hurt me in many different ways, if he so chooses.
I must have taken too long to answer, because he growls, “I lost every single man in my command today. And once the attackers realized you were the princess, they protected you. I’m not feeling very charitable. Do not test me.”
“Fine,” I bite out. “I’ll answer your questions.”
“Did you know about the attack?”
“No.”
“Who attacked us?”
“I don’t know. I think it was the Rebellion.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Probably because they’re actively engaged in a war against both our kingdoms?”
Daft idiot.
He searches my face intently but still seems unsatisfied.
“Why didn’t the rebels harm you?”
“I imagine they were preoccupied with your thunder tantrum.”
He growls. His fingers dig into my wrists, the rough rope burning my already chafed skin. The sky darkens, storm clouds gathering overhead.
“When you fainted, they shielded you. Why?”
Thunder rumbles, low and threatening.
“I—I don’t know!” I stammer, eyes glued to the ominous clouds. My heart pounds a frantic staccato against my ribcage, and I wonder if he feels it thrumming against his chest. “Maybe they wanted to ransom me.”
My breath cleaves through me like a blade. With his heavy weight pinning me down, I can barely suck in a lungful of air. A flash of lightning briefly illuminates one of the dark clouds. My pulse thunders in my ears.
“Why did you faint?” he asks. My eyes snap to his—he looks less angry but makes no move to climb off me.
I tear my gaze away. I can’t tell a tidesdamned stormwielder that I’m terrified of storms. Especially not one convinced I was somehow involved in the attack.
“What princess wouldn’t faint in the midst of battle? They had tidesdamned bombs!”
“That’s not what I asked. Why did you faint?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
Another rumble of thunder, and a pathetic whimper escapes me.
I hate this. I hate him.
I cut my eyes away, cheeks flaming. He’s not going to let this go.
“I’m afraid of thunderstorms.” The words are quiet, whispered.
Damning.
“Why?” His brows are furrowed, his firm grip loosening marginally on my aching wrists.
“It’s none of your business!” I snap, embarrassment and anger and sheer exhaustion warring in my chest. “I’m not answering any more questions. Kill me if you must.”
His grip loosens further, and I wince as circulation returns to my tingling fingers. He tracks the motion and jerks his hands away as if the rope burned him.
When he finally climbs off me, I take a full, deep breath of cold air. He helps me sit, hands jarringly gentle, and I twist out of his grasp as soon as I’m upright.
Zevayr unsheathes a dagger from his belt, the sharp blade glinting in the waning light like a warning. Tides, I didn’t convince him.
He’s going to kill me.
I try to scoot away, but he grabs my arms with a grunt.
The blade is cold, but it glides smoothly between my wrists as he slices through the rope.
A soft gasp slips out as blood rushes through my pinched skin, sensation flowing back in a painful rush.
My wrists are raw and chafed and bloody—admittedly because I struggled so much, not because he tied them too tightly.
My fingers fly to my neck, and relief swells within me when the sharp tip of the teardrop pendant presses into my skin. I flex my hand, and the large betrothal ring scrapes against my fingers. I didn’t lose that either, though its presence brings me no comfort.
Zevayr’s eyes are rooted to the reddened skin of my wrists. He parts his lips, but then his mouth snaps shut. Instead, he rises and offers a hand. I ignore it and stand on unsteady legs.
“We need to decide what to do next,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he hadn’t tied me up and forcibly pinned me to the ground mere minutes ago.
My answer is a glare. He opens his mouth—
A loud crack echoes in the silent forest behind him, sharp and sudden. He pivots on his heel, sword already halfway unsheathed, knees bent.
A minute passes, then another.
When nothing happens, he sheathes his sword and turns around.
Just in time for my hand to connect soundly with his cheek.
His head swings sideways, and a resounding, satisfying, crack resonates through the frigid air. My palm stings, but the shock in his eyes sends a warm rush of gratification through me.
I jab a finger into his chest.
“You will not touch me again,” I hiss.
For a moment, he’s frozen, wide gray eyes scanning my face, flickering with a searing emotion I can’t name. His gaze drops to the finger pressed against his chest. His eyes darken.
He dips his chin in the barest of nods and takes a half step back.
“After you,” he rumbles, gesturing to the snowcapped trees behind him.
“Where?”
“To investigate that sound.”