Chapter 22 – Rowan
ROWAN
Ayer reacts immediately, spinning me away from him. My breath catches when I once again hit the soft pallet of furs, this time face first. Even though the screaming pain is already holding me in a vise, he quickly renders me completely immobile, pinning both of my hands behind my back.
Since I’m no longer attempting to kill him, the violent wave of pain ebbs, releasing its deadly grip on me once again.
How is he doing that?
I fight his hold, but it’s no use. He leans in, and my body freezes at the touch of his warm breath against my ear.
“You almost had me convinced with that innocent little princess act of yours,” he breathes, tickling my skin, and I shiver. “But you are just as cold and ruthless as the rest of them.”
I thrash uselessly in his hold, and he presses a knee into my back to still me.
“Tricky things, possession runes…” he muses, and I freeze, an icy shiver trickling down the length of my spine. “That mark on your wrist,” he croons in that rough accent of his, dark and gritty, “it means you’re mine.”
I thrash again, and Ayer’s grip tightens on my arm to the point of pain. I bite down on my lip hard, drawing blood, in order to prevent a whimper of pain from escaping.
“I can do anything I want to you, but you... you can’t lay so much as a finger on me.”
I’m flipped onto my back so fast my head can barely keep up, still spinning from what must be the rebound effects of the rune’s magic.
He releases my hands in favor of my throat.
His grip tightens, cutting off my air. My hands fly to his.
I pull at his grip, the rune allowing my attempts to pry it from my throat.
But when that fails and I dig in my nails, blinding pain explodes again, and my eyes roll back, my body shaking.
Weak from lack of oxygen and unable to stand the pain, my hands drop to either side of my head in surrender. The pain immediately cuts off and Ayer loosens his grip, allowing me to suck in a desperate breath.
Tears leak down both of my cheeks, the echo of pain remaining. I just lay there, head spinning, watching the darkness slowly ebb out of my vision. It takes several seconds to recover—to focus on Ayer’s steel-gray eyes above, watching me. All I see is hatred. It’s intense—bitter and cold.
His massive body looms over mine, keeping me pinned. His hand still grips my throat. I can’t fight him, and the weight of the realization is crushing.
“I can do anything I want to you.”
But I can’t do anything to stop him.
He leans in closer, and instead of fear, a strange feeling of calm takes over.
I can’t fight him.
I can’t hurt him.
I can’t stop whatever comes next.
The helpless feeling is crushing, all-encompassing and too much—the ramifications are too much to comprehend, so my mind just… lets go.
I turn my head, looking away—not at anything in particular—my vision unfocused before I squeeze my eyes shut, escaping to the only place I have left: my mind.
Numbness takes over, and soon I’m floating through a dark void, aware but not of my body or who sits atop it.
He doesn’t move.
Several long seconds pass, and I brace for his touch, fear and anticipation at war with dissociation.
His hand disappears from my throat right before his weight shifts, and then it’s gone entirely.
I steal a peek, and my eyes widen at the look of utter disdain in Ayer’s eyes as he glares down at me. I scramble backward, taking the opportunity to put more distance between us while keeping my eyes on him.
“I don’t touch fae,” Ayer sneers down at me, the look of hatred on his face morphing further into disgust the longer he looks at me.
Too stunned to move, I remain there, propped up on my elbows, silently watching him saunter around the bed to pick up his sword.
“Know this, Princess,” he says while belting the leather strap around his waist. “I might be the only soldier in this camp you don’t have to fear forcing you into his bed.”
I swallow hard, a lump catching in my throat when his gaze finds mine again. “But when it comes time for you to die…” His eyes bore into my own, his head tilting slightly to the side while the edge of his jaw sharpens like the steel of his blade.
He doesn’t say it—doesn’t have to. The promise is already there.
I push myself up on shaky hands, my injured shoulder screaming from all his manhandling.
I should be afraid. Moons, I should be terrified.
And maybe I am—on some level—deep down. And maybe also a little relieved.
He said he wouldn’t touch me, but then he promised to kill me in the same breath.
Why the fuck doesn’t he get it over with then?
He thinks he owns my life? That he can just… decide?
White-hot rage burns hotter than fear under my skin. My magic, too, is pissed, and it feels as though it's pacing the rune’s barrier like a caged animal.
Ayer’s dark rune burns hot at my wrist when it flares again.
I should keep my mouth shut, lie here and let him have his little win, but anger propels me forward, lifting my eyes and keeping them locked on his as I stalk forward.
I don’t know if the rune will let me, but I decide it’s worth risking debilitating pain once more. I raise my hand to slap him across his face, but Ayer catches my wrist before I can try it.
My eyes narrow and I glare up at him, trying to wrench my wrist free.
The surprise on his face quickly turns to fury. He thought he already had me on my knees.
He shoves me, my back slamming into one of the tent’s wooden support posts, and before I know it, he once again has both my hands pinned over my head with one of his own, while wrapping the other around my throat, his grip bruising.
I glare up at him, hatred burning in my veins.
Ayer leans in, his voice in my ear low and lethal. “Try that again, and I promise I will end you.”
My pulse drums against his tight hold. As if to emphasize his point, he increases pressure on my throat, further constricting my airway. My breaths shallow out, growing strained. I lift my gaze to meet his eyes, unblinking when I reply, “So. End. Me.”
I catch the flash of surprise on the captain’s face, so fleeting I might have missed it had I blinked.
“You want to die,” he says, looking down at me. It’s not a question.
With his hand still constricting my airway, I can only blink back at him. Would he really kill me right now? Judging by the look of malice in his eyes, I think he might.
In their hands, I’m a weapon—against my brothers, against my country. If I’m dead, they can’t use me, torture me, or whatever the hells they want to do to me.
Steadying my resolve, I dip my chin.
Once.
“Fine.” He releases me, and I take a much-needed gulp of air, tracking the movement of his hand as he reaches for the knife he’s got sheathed on his belt. It’s the same knife he took off me a few minutes earlier. The silver of the blade glints against the sunlight streaming in from above.
My gaze flickers between Ayer and his knife. His fingertips dance along its sharp edge playfully—far too nonchalantly.
“Fine?” I repeat, my tone hesitant, eyeing him with caution. Death is what I want, but once again, it’s too easy.
Ayer stops playing with the knife, his expression darkening.
“Get on your knees.” He points the tip of his blade down at the dirt beneath his feet.
I look at the ground and then back up at him. “Wh—what? Why?”
His lips curl up into a cruel smile. “I’ll give you death, Princess. But you’re going to have to beg for it.”
I instantly recoil, feeling sick, my stomach roiling violently at his words.
Beg for it.
Beg him.
Why can’t he just kill me and get it over with? He wants me dead. He told me so.
It’s better if I’m dead.
But… but I can’t get on my knees. I won’t. I won’t beg for death.
I won’t beg him.
No.
Hot tears of frustration fill my eyes, but I force them back, the rune at my wrist scalding hot when I glare up at the captain in disgust. “You’re a monster.”
Ayer just smiles and resumes running his fingers along the sharp edge of the blade in his hand. He called my bluff, and he fucking knew it.
And I’m weaker for it.
Without another word, he turns, striding purposefully for the exit, stopping briefly to pick up a piece of fruit on his way out of the tent, but not before calling back over his shoulder.
“Offer is good anytime, Princess.”