Chapter 21 – Rowan
ROWAN
The distant sound of male voices pulls me from a heavy slumber.
I move too quickly, my head spinning as I attempt to push myself up from where I’ve awoken, curled up on the ground.
Shaking away the lingering dizziness, I glance around nervously, once again finding myself alone inside this now familiar tent.
Irritation sharpens my senses. It’s almost insulting to have been left here again, unbound and unguarded. Annoyed, I rub gently at my temples, attempting to ease the incessant pounding coming from inside my skull.
He drugged me.
The bastard.
Anger flares at the thought before quickly devolving into dread when I realize they knocked me out.
I’ve been asleep—vulnerable—unable to protect myself for what’s sure to have been hours, judging by how bright the sun lights up the tent.
My hands drop down, frantically searching my body, relief billowing through me when I find every scrap of clothing exactly where it should be.
And my knife.
By the light.
I offer a silent prayer to the gods at the familiar feel of the blade, still hidden beneath my skirt. It’s an even better sign that I was left untouched; they would have taken the weapon had they found it.
And after all, I woke up on the floor, near the tent’s entrance and not in—
The bed.
My heart skips a beat as my gaze trails over the soft pallet of furs in the far corner. The bed—is not empty.
Atop it lies the passed out, godsforsaken Kovari captain himself.
Stunned, I sit as still as I can, watching his chest move up and down with his breaths.
Twelve moons, he is a sight. Just bare skin, absent all the dark armour and leathers, rippled with muscles and dark ink—and scars.
There must be hundreds of them. Jagged, smooth, short, and long scars crisscross the captain’s broad chest and arms. Silvery lines haphazardly overlap intricately placed dark lines of swirling onyx.
I find myself mesmerized by the delicate patterns before smartly coming to my senses.
I remind myself to focus, shaking my head to clear it.
He’s clean—or, well, cleaner than he’d been last night.
The dirt and blood of battle washed away.
His hair is actually dark blond, like wild gold threaded with shadow.
It’s braided neatly back from his face, tied at the nape of his neck with a leather cord.
Gone is the war paint that adorned the shaved side of his skull yesterday.
Wrenching my eyes away from the captain, I scan the tent, finding his armour hanging on the chair by the table, not quite polished but free of dirt and blood.
I chew my lip, trying to decide what to do.
The formidable captain of the Kovarian army is asleep and defenseless in his pallet before me.
I haven’t moved a muscle since catching sight of him in that bed. Too afraid a single step, or gods, even a breath, will wake the sleeping monster.
I’m shocked that he would sleep here, inside this tent, without even tying me up. He likely thought I’d remain unconscious longer. Perhaps arrogance will be his downfall.
My pulse quickens as my gaze falls on his pile of weapons, left out, right there in the open, by his bed. They’re practically begging me to take them.
I can end this right now.
I push myself up to my feet, keeping my footsteps light as I approach the sleeping captain. I don’t let my eyes stray off him until I find myself within reaching distance of a knife—left out on the bedside table.
My eyes dart between Rusic and his unprotected blade. Better to use his rather than mine, just in case he catches me. Then I’ll still have my blade as backup.
Casting a quick glance back at the tent’s entrance, I make my move, slowly reaching out and silently wrapping my fingers around the weapon’s handle before lifting it off the side table.
Ayer’s blade is cold in my hands, heavy too—much heavier than mine. I hold it up, willing my fingers not to shake as I inch closer.
The scars across his chest are far worse up close than they are from a distance. Beneath me lies a man who has stared down death not only once, but dozens of times.
Releasing a slow breath, I bring the blade right up to his neck. The tip pointing right along a thin white scar that marks my intended path across his throat.
I’m clearly not the first to want this asshole dead.
Despite myself, I hesitate. My resolve slips as my eyes run back over the sleeping man, guilt staying my hand.
It costs me.
My blade is still hovering over Ayer’s throat when his eyes fly open. His hand shoots up, closing tightly around my wrist. I’ve only enough time to let out a yelp of surprise before he flips us.
With my back pressed hard against the pile of furs and my hands pinned above me, my composure splinters. My struggles are in vain, however, because Ayer is an immovable wall of steel sitting on top of me, his hips straddling mine, easily keeping me pinned down under him.
His expression is stone cold.
“Never hesitate, Princess.”
My eyes widen, and I freeze.
“Now be a good little princess and drop the knife, eh?” The trace of a familiar accent I thought I noticed yesterday is more pronounced today.
But I don’t drop the knife. Instead, I tighten my grip until my knuckles bloom white; anger, frustration, and hatred burning through my eyes.
Ayer notices, and his jaw ticks as he frowns. “I see the little Rose Princess still has some fight left in her.” Dark mayhem dances in his eyes. “Okay, Princess, show me what you’ve got.”
The sudden absence of his weight above sends me reeling. He moves off me, releasing my hands to stand at the edge of the pallet—waiting. He spreads his arms wide, leaving his chest unprotected.
I swallow hard, nearly falling off the bed; my legs are a shaking mess and just barely support my weight. My gaze darts between Ayer and the closest exit—my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.
This has to be another trap…
“Come on, sunshine. I won’t even try to stop you.” Ayer stands there, arms outstretched, watching me with a challenge gleaming in his eye. “I promise.” And then he smirks.
My blood boils at the look he’s giving me. Sunshine? Really? Does he think I won’t do it?
Gritting my teeth to contain my snarl, I push my shoulders back, tightening the grip I have on the dagger he left in my hand.
I eye Ayer warily—not trusting him for a second to keep his promise.
The dread and fear in my chest war with the overwhelming bloodthirsty urge to attack.
He’s the captain of the Kovarian army. An army that destroyed my home, killed good men, and would have slaughtered the entire village had Fel not led them to safety.
The memory of the Raven comes unbidden, and I can’t help but shiver, thinking about the dark creature.
The demon Ayer and his prince had to have had a hand in summoning.
My hand shakes again, this time not with fear, but with anger.
It’s sharp, and it’s strong, and it strengthens my resolve.
I can kill him. I should kill him.
I take one step, and then another, slowly closing the distance between us. I’m careful to keep an eye on Ayer’s reaction, ready for him to come at me at any second, but he remains still. Though his eyes glint with a dark excitement the closer I get.
When I’m within striking distance, I stop, tilting my head to keep his eye, testing whether or not he’s actually going to let me do it.
Still sure he’s bluffing. He’s so sure I won’t...
He doesn’t make a single move to protect himself, doesn’t take the knife from my hand, doesn’t even so much as flinch when I lift it up, until once again, I have the sharp steel pressed against the vulnerable skin of his throat, lined up perfectly with that long silvery scar.
“Never hesitate.” His own words echo in my mind, and this time, I don’t; I wrench my hand back, driving it down forcefully, aiming for his throat. The captain still doesn’t move, that aggravating smirk still on his face.
I’m so busy watching him that I’m wholly unprotected to defend against my own body…
The blade is seconds from piercing his skin when a strangled scream rips free from my throat.
I fall to my knees, fighting for breath as if all the air has left my lungs.
My vision blurs, the world tilts, and my gaze flickers with darkness.
It’s a fight to stay conscious as pain tears through me in never-ending waves.
It’s everywhere; burning, endless, ripping me apart from the inside.
I drop the knife as my hands fly up to grip my head while screams erupt out of me.
My lungs seize and I can’t—I can’t breathe.
I tear at my throat, trying to free myself from the invisible crushing force.
Another long moment of agony passes before the pain finally releases its malevolent grip on my psyche, leaving me a panting mess on my hands and knees before the still waiting captain.
Did he—did he just use magic?
Humans don’t have magic.
Ayer’s laughter only adds insult to injury, sending a rage that quickly counteracts the aftermath of the crippling pain from moments ago.
In one quick instant, I move to strike again, snatching up the fallen knife while jumping to my feet, lifting my arm to drive the blade down once more—harder, faster.
My intended target is the soft swath of skin at the side of his neck.
My arm catches in the air as if stopped by an invisible hand with such force that I stumble backward.
The same blinding pain clouds my vision once again, and I flinch violently away from it, scrambling to outrun or escape whatever this is, sending me falling forward—straight into him.