Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
“Hello, Princess. Remember me?” His voice is slimy, just like him. A cruel smile stretches across his lips as he gropes me. “Not so queenly now, are you?”
“Get off me,” I rasp, struggling to scramble away from him. He shoves me onto the cold ground, twigs and rocks digging into my back.
His meaty fist grips the collar of my tunic.
A sharp rip. He tears it down to my navel, where my bound hands rest on my abdomen.
He buries his face in my neck and inhales, and Tides, I’m going to vomit. With all my might, I bring my knee up into his groin.
“Fuck,” he wheezes, pushing himself off.
A loud crack echoes through the silence as his palm connects with my cheek.
Pain explodes through every nerve. My face is on fire.
A warm drip. My nose is bleeding.
“On your feet,” he growls, glaring down at me.
“No.” I hate the tremble in my voice.
“On your feet, now.”
I ignore him, working my jaw. All my teeth seem to be intact.
With a low growl, Sulon grabs my arm. His grip is clammy and unyielding, like a dead thing pretending to be warm. I stumble as he hauls me to my feet, extending my bound arms for balance.
Rustling sounds from the tents, and the other soldiers slowly file out, some of them wiping sleep from bleary eyes.
But no sign of their commander.
Where is he?
“What are you doing?” one of the soldiers hisses, the same one who’d offered to feed me earlier. “She’s the Commander’s wife.”
Sulon stares down at me, eyes flinty with malice. “She’s in chains, idiot.” The soldier still looks uncertain, chewing the inside of his cheek. It’s clear Sulon outranks him.
“I don’t know…” the soldier says, worried eyes scanning my bruised face. “He asked me if I thought she was pretty before he left. He was acting strange. Angrier than usual.”
Sulon scoffs. “She’s a prisoner. And that means she’s mine.”
No one says anything else. No one tries to stop him.
His gaze slides across my body again, and its filthy heat burns as if he’d pressed an open flame to my skin. Sulon’s cold eyes meet mine. “Bow.”
Terror grips me, freezing me in place. I know what comes next.
He scowls. “Bow, Tundrayni whore.”
The red of rage seeps into my vision, even as fear coats my tongue.
He will not break me. I’m the princess of fucking Tundrayn.
I straighten my spine. Then, I spit right in his ugly face.
Sulon freezes.
The men stare in shock.
Calmly, too calmly, Sulon wipes the spit from his cheek.
Then, he backhands me.
A sharp crack splinters the silence as my head flings to the side. The coppery tang of blood explodes across my tongue. The sheer force of the blow knocks me off my feet. I hit the ground hard.
Blood trickles from my mouth, dripping down my neck.
Jagged rocks shred through my leggings, the skin of my knees, as I crawl away, but rough hands fist in my hair, yanking me back.
Sharp needles of pain radiate through my scalp.
A pained yelp claws up my throat, but I press my lips together, caging in the sound.
I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
Sulon hauls me to my feet again, this time holding me against his body—it’s the only thing that keeps me from falling over.
The world tilts.
My head is swimming.
His breath is hot against my face, rough fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“Beg me to stop, and I’ll consider it,” he whispers against my lips.
He’s lying. I know he won’t stop. He’s just a sadistic prick who wants to hear me plead.
“Stubborn little bitch,” he says when I don’t respond, almost tenderly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you beg before the night is over.” His hand clamps around my throat, fingers digging in like an iron cuff. Pressure builds fast—too fast—until my eyes are wide and panicked.
I can’t breathe. His grip shackles my throat. My bound fists hammer at his chest, his arms, his side—wild and desperate strikes that do absolutely nothing. He doesn’t flinch. It’s like hitting a mountain.
Still, I fight.
Still, he squeezes.
My lungs burn. My vision blurs. Black dots flicker like ashy snow. My knees buckle, and Sulon forces me down until I’m kneeling before him. His grip eases around my neck, and I finally suck in sharp, frantic lungfuls of air.
The soldier who tried to feed me … I try to catch his gaze, but he stares at his boots. Tidescursed coward.
“See? Not so bad when you listen, hmm?” He pats my cheek sharply. Tidesdamned bastard. I launch myself at him with a garbled cry.
Sulon growls.
There’s a low rumbling.
Not in the sky—but in the earth.
Thick, gnarled roots emerge from the ground, coiling around my ankles, trapping me in place. I watch in muted horror as another set of roots erupts and coils around my wrists like writhing brown snakes.
I’m utterly at his mercy. If I survive this, I’ll haunt Zev until his last breath.
The other soldiers watch in silence—some with concern, others with leering gazes like they’re waiting their turn.
Panic claws at my chest, sharp as the thorns piercing my flesh.
“Enough playing, Tundrayni bitch,” Sulon snarls, unbuckling his belt.
Tides, let me survive this.
Let me live long enough to kill them all.