Chapter 19 – Ayer
AYER
We’re alone.
She knows it.
I know it.
I step forward. The princess goes rigid with the movement. Her eyes harden as I move closer, and she lifts her chin to keep my gaze, doing her best to hide the terror she must certainly feel, but her body betrays her, trembling more and more visibly at my rapid approach.
Her jaw tightens, and I catch the sound of a muffled curse.
To her credit, her eyes stay locked on mine. She’s so focused on holding my stare that she doesn’t notice my hand drifting to the knife at my waist.
Not until the blade is at her throat.
Her composure fractures the instant the blade presses against her skin, her eyes widening as she draws a sharp intake of breath.
Keeping the knife at her throat, I rip the gag out of her mouth with my other hand. Not removing it entirely, but holding the cloth out just enough to allow her to speak. The back of my fist burns where it grazes the skin of her cheek. The glare she gives me is full of undiluted hatred.
I lean in, my voice low and threatening in her ear.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t end you right now, Princess.
” Slowly, I increase the pressure of the knife against her throat until I’m certain she feels the sharp bite of the blade as it breaks her skin.
Warm crimson trickles down her neck in a single bead of blood.
Holding the blade there, I wait patiently for her response. Not letting up the pressure, but not pushing any further. I can’t help but think, Just a little more… and this would all be over.
I’m expecting fear, panic, begging even, but something in her eyes shifts. It’s as if the sharp prick of pain has cracked something inside her. For a split second, her mask falters, emotion breaking through, the look in her green eyes raw and unguarded.
It catches me off guard, and I tighten my grip on the blade on instinct.
And then, just like that, it’s gone. Her gaze is distant, as if she’s seeing something else—as if she’s gone elsewhere.
My brow furrows, and tension radiates through my body. The blade lifts from her skin ever-so-slightly. When the focus returns to her eyes, I’m hit with the aftermath of whatever it is she just saw in her head.
Grief.
I recognize it—all too familiar with it myself.
She swallows hard beneath my blade, and I wait for the inevitable collapse.
The tears. The begging. The breaking.
I brace myself, near certain I’m about to watch her fall apart.
Sure enough, tears gather, glassing her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall, forcing them back until her eyes are rimmed red. But the grief in her doesn’t fade; instead, it hardens, its edges sharpening into something far more dangerous—something unyielding.
Her evergreen eyes stare up into mine before she finally speaks.
“No.” She lifts her chin higher, exposing more of her neck, and my jaw ticks. “Stop hesitating and do it already.”
Shadows creep into my gaze, and my jaw tightens. I release the gag; the taut cloth snaps back harshly against her mouth—cutting off her ability to speak—and my eyes drop to where my knife still ghosts the skin of her throat.
She looks away, her gaze lifting skyward—to the small opening meant to act as a vent. I follow it through the small hole in the cloth, finding the light of a handful of stars.
I drop my gaze, staring at her now. She takes in the stars with an unreadable expression on her face. Those dim little lights are the last thing she sees before her eyes flutter closed.
And she waits.
My grip on the blade doesn’t waver as I study her face.
There’s no trace of the raw emotions from just before, the ones I was never meant to see.
Her face is blank, an eerie calm settling over her as she makes peace with her plight.
She steadies her breath, her throat working up against my blade when she swallows; another bead of crimson falls free.
She breathes in deep and releases it slowly, savoring each breath she takes, very well aware that any of them could be her last.
Do it already.
I tighten my grip on the blade’s handle again. Every instinct is practically screaming at me to kill her. It would be so easy; just one more ounce of pressure, one subtle flick of my wrist, and I could be rid of what is undoubtedly a nightmare waiting to happen.
But after several breaths, my hand doesn’t move and I find myself studying her face again.
When the cold bite of steel neither cuts nor retreats, the princess’ eyes open, and our eyes lock.
Frustration, hatred, defiance, and curiosity—all of it crashing together until we’re left at a standstill that neither of us is willing to break.
“See, I told you—amusing.” A voice wafting in from the front of the tent sets us both free.
A low growl erupts from my throat when I’m forced to drop my blade, taking several steps back while turning to face Theo.
He’s just standing there, watching the two of us with a wide grin.
With the knife gone from her throat, I hear the princess release a breath of relief—or is it disappointment? I can’t say for sure.
Very aware that he’s interrupted something, Theo’s eyes dart between us, taking in the knife in my hand—and the look on my face—before clearing his throat. “Well, I’m gonna go. I’ve got princing to do and all that.”
The princess glares at him in my periphery, her eyes narrowing to thin slits.
“You two play nice now, you hear?” Theo gives both of us a playful wink before throwing back the tent flaps and strutting through them, gone just as quickly as he appeared.
Frustrated, I release a sigh, turning my attention back to the princess. Resolve hardens my jaw, and I turn quickly, determined to get this over with.
She flinches, and I freeze.
The abrupt movement sends her reeling back against the pole.
My dark eyes lock once again with evergreen, but the princess’ attention quickly falls to the knife in my hand.
“Hey,” I call out, wanting her attention back on me, but her gaze doesn’t waver, firmly fixed on the glinting silver of my blade, the tip already stained red with her blood. That steely resolve and absence of fear appear to have faltered slightly with the interruption.
“Princess,” I say, softer this time, trying again to pull her attention to me. I lift the knife up, toward my face, watching as her eyes trail up with it.
“Eyes on me.”
Her eyes lift to mine as my words register, bitter hatred simmering to a boil.
And she’s back.
“I’m going to remove that.” I point to the cloth digging into the corners of her mouth, the one keeping her silent.
She jerks her head back as far as she can, but the pole at her back limits her movement.
The corner of my mouth twitches. She’s smart. While I’m sure she wants nothing more than to have her mouth free, she doesn’t trust a word I say. And for good reason. I can’t exactly blame her for not wanting my blade anywhere near her face.
“You need to stay still for a second,” I tell her, still not taking any steps closer, keeping my feet firmly planted where they are.
Her defiance wanes, just for a second, but long enough for me to see past it.
Exhaustion.
It clings to her; I can see it in her eyes, in the weak tug she gives her restraints, as though she already knows the effort is futile. And in the way her shoulders slump when the iron wins again. Fatigue has worn her down. It clouds her mind, fogging up her bravery with paranoia and fear.
Her gaze drifts, just for a moment, to the pallet of furs at her side.
The movement is fleeting.
The meaning is not.
I know exactly where her thoughts just went. Exactly what she fears will happen once I unchain her.
“Hey,” I say again, impatience sneaking into my voice while I force myself to hang back a little longer. I so do not have time for this. I flip the knife in my grip—a habit.
She flinches, shying back from it almost immediately.
Godsdamnit.
She’s angry with herself—at her reaction. It’s written all over her face; she’s simply too tired to hide it anymore.
“Eyes on me,” I remind her, my tone commanding as I start toward her, watching her track me until I’m once again at her throat.
She’s shaking.
Her eyes slam shut when the cold steel of my blade brushes her cheek as it slips beneath the dirty cloth.
With one quick flick of my wrist, I sever it clean through.
The princess’ eyes open slowly, watching me as I pull the cloth from her mouth.
I give her a hard look before circling around to her back.
She stiffens again, uncomfortable with me out of sight.
“I’m going to release your hands. Don’t move,” I tell her, bending slightly, waiting for her to acknowledge before I reach for her.
Despite having her voice back, her chin dips in a subtle nod.
I lift her hands, feeling her tense at my touch. I pull the key from my pocket, but hesitate, holding it inches from its lock while I think.
Muttering under my breath, I drop her hands, wrapping my palm around one of her wrists instead.
Despite the warmth from my hand, she shivers at the touch.
I hold firm, speaking low and quick, the words in a language that is very much not the common tongue.
I’ve nearly finished when a searing heat scorches the skin beneath my palm.
The princess goes rigid, biting down hard on her lip to contain her scream.
That done, I release her wrist in favor of her hands, this time sliding the key into the cuffs, unlocking them without further hesitation.
I slip the cuffs off, freezing when I catch sight of the bloody mess underneath. The stubborn little thing has nearly rubbed her skin raw in a misguided attempt at freedom. Stiffly she tugs her arms free of my grip, wrapping them tightly around herself while I step back into her line of sight.
“What’s your name?” I ask her, unable to remember the name of Sitara’s princess—that is, if I ever bothered to learn it.
She doesn’t answer me, despite having the ability to with the gag gone, and her eyes avoid mine. I study her carefully, watching as she tracks my blade back to the sheath at my waist.
Satisfied it’s put away, she turns her attention to her wrists.
They’re bruised and bleeding, but that’s not the only thing different about them.
A dark rune now stains the skin just inside her left wrist. She rubs it, concern etching into her brows when the ink doesn’t budge.
She glances up at me, a look of horror on her face, unsure of what I’ve done and silently demanding an explanation.
She doesn’t get one.
“I don’t have time for this,” I grumble, turning to inspect the state of the tent and moving to collect any weapons I might have left lying around.
It’s dark, so I take the time to light a couple of candles.
The whole time, the princess remains pressed up against the pole as if still tied there by some invisible force.
“There’s food. Here.” I point to the small table she may not have been able to see before. “You should eat… sleep.” I nod my chin toward the pallet of furs in the far corner of the tent.
The princess says nothing, watching me with that same unreadable expression as before, her hand wrapped around the dark rune I burned into her wrist.
“I have some things I need to take care of. Someone will be outside,” I tell her, pausing once more before slipping out into the night, considering her again. “You’re in the middle of a war camp,” I warn her, as if that wasn’t obvious. “Do not leave this tent.”
And there it is. My first order.
The existing coolness in her gaze sharpens to a point.
“I’m not afraid to die,” she bites back at me, her voice rough and low.
I stop, turning slowly to face her, all the while letting my gaze trail pointedly down her body, watching as her discomfort grows, especially when I let it linger upon the golden skin of her upper thigh, visible through her torn skirts.
“Ah, Princess, as you just nearly experienced, there isn’t a whole lot of love for the fae around here. And there are quite a number of things that could happen to you should you walk out this door. Things I can assure you would be far worse than death.”
The princess pales at the notion, but before she has a chance to muster a comeback, I take my leave, striding out of the tent and leaving her behind.