Chapter 7 #2
“Fine.” He saunters from the room. “No one will trust you with magic on your skin.”
I glance down at my arm, pulling it out of my cloak to examine it. It’s still there. A shining silver sigil, reminding me I am bound to him. Why hasn’t it gone away? We can be rid of one another now that our bargain is complete.
“Then remove it,” I urge, taking long strides to catch up to him. “Our deal is finished, as agreed.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re the king.”
“Magic is one-way. It’s difficult to reverse,” he explains. “You could always burn it off.”
I huff in annoyance, shaking my head. “This isn’t what I agreed to.”
“It is,” Wrath replies impassively. “I freed you from your marriage, and you haven’t even thanked me.”
“Why would I thank a scoundrel—”
Wrath halts mid-step, silencing me as he whips around. A chill runs down my spine as his stare cuts through me like a blade. I’m frozen in place, helpless under his commanding will. I’ve done it this time. He’s going to kill me.
“Then take a horse and make the ten-day journey by yourself back to Cathros. See how long you last without food or supplies, Princess,” he says through gritted teeth, rage emanating off him like steam from an oven.
I don’t want to admit that he’s right. I have no map and would soon find myself lost. Until recently, I haven’t even left Cathros’s castle, completely sheltered from the outside world.
It is a fatal flaw in my plan. I became so fixated on surviving that I did not fully consider the logistics of returning home.
“You’re taking me hostage.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Is that what this is?”
“I’m offering you protection.”
“And why would the most wicked king in Dratheria help me?”
“They’ve only taught you one side,” he replies, voice low and accusatory.
He turns and walks away, heading toward the front of the castle.
I don’t follow immediately, stubbornly holding my ground.
It’s oddly quiet in the castle halls, causing suspicion to rise within me.
I glance behind me, then to the front, and my left and right.
Not a soul lingers in these halls. Wrath’s footsteps are the only sound that echoes down the cavernous space, leaving me with more questions than answers.
On impulse, I surge after him.
“Where are all the guards?” I call out.
He doesn’t slow down or wait for me to catch up with him. “There were only around a hundred men protecting Avelisar.”
“That's it?” The words tumble from my lips before I stop them. “And what of the rest of the people?”
What happened to the guests at the wedding? What about Queen Kathryn, Tallulah, and the other handmaidens? What about the cooks, stable hands, and bird keepers? It’s shocking to think they ended everyone that quickly. An entire kingdom wiped from existence in a single afternoon.
“It’s best if you don’t ask questions you won’t like the answer to.” Wrath levels me with a look.
He lives up to his name. I shouldn’t be surprised that the most ruthless leader in Dratheria has an unsavory side. A heart untouched by remorse, moved only by its quest for power. Wrath is keeping me alive, and part of me is starting to believe he needs me for something.
The closer we get to the castle’s exit, the less time I have to make a decision. For years, I begged Itheon to free me from the castle walls every day and night. And now, I am outside them, eagerly racing back to my father’s captivity.
I ask myself what the warlord would do in this situation, how they would navigate such peril. They would use this advantage to infiltrate enemy lines and dismantle their kingdom from within. If I go to Khalessor, I can provide Valentin with valuable information.
“Make a choice, Raelys.” Wrath cuts into my thoughts as we exit the iron doors and enter the courtyard below.
Dozens of Elvarrans move through the space, all armed to the teeth with weapons.
I watch some pack up large satchels full of gold and other looted objects, plundering the castle for its riches.
Others mount their horses and prepare to depart, their expressions calm and armor spotless despite the slaughter.
I count at least seventy Elvarrans, give or take. These soldiers have to be only a portion of Khalessor’s army, yet they hold enough force to expunge the entire kingdom. These warriors are far more fearsome than anything I’d ever seen. There is no running from this situation.
“Fine.” I scowl at him. “Take me with you.”
I catch the corners of his lips turning upward as he turns. “Taryn!” he calls for someone as he approaches his horse. Wrath mounts the large brown steed with a dark mane and tail, and when he sits tall, he looks like a statue carved from stone.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” The woman with rich brown skin and short hair from the garden rushes over to us, two twin daggers strapped to her thighs.
“Grab a spare horse for Raelys. Make sure she doesn’t fall behind,” he commands.
“I know how to ride.” I snap at him.
Wrath chuckles as he rides off, leaving us behind.
“This way, quickly.” Taryn turns and strides across the courtyard.
She leads me to the stables. Taryn opens the door to a stall and brings out a black-and-white spotted mare for me, adjusts the reins, and then gestures for me to get on. I put my foot in the stirrup and swing my leg over smoothly, mounting the horse.
Taryn gets on a light beige horse beside me. “Ready?”
I nod and give the horse a light tap. I follow Taryn out the front gates, past the walls, and into the wide-open land. The sun is setting, the sky a brilliant shade of orange and pink. The open landscape stretches for miles in every direction, seemingly endless.
“We ride for five days until we reach Sinaia. We will cross the Northern Alps the following daybreak and return to Khalessor.” Wrath’s deep voice booms across the space, his horse at the head of the pack.
Someone rounds my left side, stopping their horse behind mine. It is Barnham, dressed in full armor with a spear in hand. He whistles up to Wrath, giving him a signal that everyone is here. The riders take off immediately, galloping quickly north.
Taryn rides beside me, keeping a close eye on my every movement. She likely suspects I could turn and run at any moment. The thought is tempting, but armed only with the dagger Lydia gave me, I wouldn’t survive.
Shades of navy ebb into pitch darkness. My lower back and legs are sore from the fast pace. Despite my growing ache, I will not fall behind. I refuse to show the Elvarrans that I am weak. My stomach rumbles with hunger as I await our destination.
“Here.” I hear a voice to my right. “Water?” Taryn holds out a canteen to me.
I take it from her, gulping down water to soothe my burning throat. “Thank you.” I pass the canteen back to her.
“You kept up better than I expected,” she comments, a playful gleam in her eye.
“Thanks…?” I say slowly, unsure if it’s a compliment or an insult.
When I turn my attention forward again, I spot a fire and some tents in the distance. My heart leaps at the thought of rest. The cavalry slows as it heads into camp, transitioning from a gallop to a trot. I exhale a long breath of relief as I pull my horse to a stop, shaking out my sore hands.
Taryn stops at the camp, swinging her leg over her horse and dismounting. I do the same, releasing my foot and swinging my leg over. When my feet hit the ground, my legs wobble like a newborn foal. Pain and soreness creep into my muscles, and each movement feels heavy.
“I’m going to be sore in the morning…” I say under my breath.
“You’ll get used to it.” Taryn smiles at me, taking my horse’s reins and tying it to a post.
She signals for me to follow her. We walk across the camp toward the large tent in the center. Taryn reaches up and opens the flap, allowing me to enter. She closes the tent behind me, sealing me inside.
I see Wrath and Barnham discussing something by the table, with several pieces of parchment and maps scattered around it.
I avoid them, looking down to assess my hands.
My knuckles are red from the wind. The bruises from Margaret’s lessons are still lingering on my skin.
It would be best to get some gloves to save my hands from more damage.
“Raelys.”
Turning, my shoulder bumps into Wrath’s chest.
“What is it?” His question is more of a demand.
“I’m—” I stop myself. I don’t want Wrath to use his magic to force my words from me. “I need some gloves, that’s all, and some food,” I tell him the truth.
Wrath snatches my hand, pulling it close to inspect the damage on my skin.
As his thumb lightly brushes my bruise, the mark on my arm ignites with a spark.
It comes alive by his touch, as if calling to return home.
Embarrassed by the scars that mar my skin, I quickly pull away, covering the back of my hand with my palm as I cast my eyes to the ground.
“I will make arrangements; food will be here soon.” As he walks away, Wrath calls over his shoulder, “Then you should rest for tomorrow.”