Chapter 23 – Rowan
ROWAN
Ayer won’t be back—at least not right away.
I sink down slowly onto the soft furs of his pallet, my body too sore to sit on the floor.
He said he wouldn’t touch me. I don’t believe anything he says, but my head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, my body aches, and tears of frustration threaten the corners of my eyes. I don’t have the strength left to shove them away.
Curling up on the pallet, I hug my knees to my chest while willing my mind to clear. If I let the pain in—if I let it win—I’ll never get myself out of this. I’ll never survive it.
No one’s coming to save me. Sitara, my brothers, my father… all probably think Kovaria delivered a swift death upon my capture.
I should sleep. The herbs they’d used to put me out last night may have forced me to sleep, but I’m still exhausted—maybe even more than before, the last of my adrenaline gone.
The sound of approaching male voices has me up and scrambling to my feet before I can fully open my eyes.
Disoriented, I take in the sunshine streaming through the hole in the tent. Did I fall asleep?
Panicking, I scramble backward away from the sound, retreating to the back of the tent, as far as I can get from the entrance.
The formidable captain of the Kovarian army strolls back into the tent, not even bothering to give me a look.
Why would he? With his cursed rune on my wrist, I’m no threat to him.
He heads straight for his desk, rustling papers until he comes across what he was looking for...
A map? He unrolls it, spreading it wide; it takes over the whole top of his desk.
I haven’t dared move since he entered several minutes ago, and he still hasn’t spared me a glance. Half of me wonders if he even remembers I exist.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lift slightly onto my tiptoes, craning my neck to get a glimpse of the map he’s oh-so-interested in, when his eyes slowly rise. I freeze the second they meet mine, my breath catching in my throat at the cold hate I glimpse simmering in his.
Ayer sets down the map he’s been studying, leaning back in his chair while folding both of his arms across his chest. “So, Rose Princess…” The tone of his voice drips with a newfound arrogance that wasn’t there last night.
I curl my fingernails into my palms. “Do you want to tell me your name?” he asks me.
Again.
Does he really not know it? Or is it a game of submission? Either way, my mouth stays firmly shut—the rune on my wrist doesn’t force my mouth open—and I watch him warily.
He says nothing else, watching me intently with cold irritation.
I refuse to look away.
A couple of soldiers stroll into the tent, one of them laughing fitfully at something the other had just said. I flinch violently, conceding a step to my fear, my eyes darting between the two new soldiers and their captain, who’s still watching me.
A ghost of a smile appears on his face.
Shit, I chastise myself. Never let them see your fear.
Wyatt joins us, casually strolling in behind the two soldiers I recognize as the two who dragged me from the great hall just yesterday. Was that only yesterday? Gods.
Both soldiers stop, falling silent when they find me in their gaze. “Sir?” one of them asks, eyeing Ayer with interest, seeing as Ayer’s eyes never leave mine.
The corner of Ayer’s lip tugs up when he finally looks away, and immediately I can breathe a little easier.
“We’re moving out, boys. Princess here is coming with us.” He tosses a rope at them.
The two exchange glances before starting toward me. Alarmed, I retreat instinctively, already searching for a means of escape. Until I remind myself that this is what I want.
Ayer means to take me out of this war camp, which makes the odds of escape a little higher. I just need the opportunity.
My eyes find Ayer one more time as I breathe out slowly, steadying myself and keeping fear on lockdown as his men creep closer. Their faces give nothing away, but my eyes drop to the rope Wyatt holds in his hands as they move to approach.
I don’t fight, letting them bind me, trying not to wince when the coarse threads of the rope rub against the already raw skin on my wrists. There are four of them and only one of me. Better to conserve my energy for what will hopefully be a better opportunity in the future.
The soldier to my right eyes me cautiously, his body rigid and tense.
My thoughts go to the stars-cursed rune on my wrist. Does it prevent me from harming all of them or just him?
While I’m itching to test the theory, I resist the urge to attack, but it doesn’t stop me from curling my upper lip and giving him a marvelous view of my fangs.
The man pales, turning a sickly shade of green while taking a measured step back.
My hands are bound, connected to a long stretch of rope Wyatt holds in his hands, to lead me—as if I were cattle. Any amusement I might have felt a second ago fades away.
When my wrists are secured, Ayer rises, pocketing his map before circling the desk and coming toward me.
Hands bound in front of me, I straighten my shoulders, lifting my chin to keep his eye, forcing myself to remain still and not concede a single step to this man.
He’s so close I can see the silver flecks hidden deep within his onyx eyes.
“Now, are you going to be a good little pet, kitten? Or do I need to drug you again?”
My jaw locks, and I weigh the amount of pain attacking him again might cost me. Kitten? Oh, if he only knew how sharp my claws were. Arrogant jackass.
I don’t answer, lifting my chin a little higher, refusing to look away until he does.
He sighs.
“We’re about to go through the Wyldewood. You and I both know the woods are as much a danger to you as they are to us, so I just need to know… You’re not going to be any trouble, are you?”
I keep my mouth shut tight, offering him only my darkest, most scathing glare as my answer.
Ayer rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed. He releases a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head before turning away and, in doing so, dismissing me as a threat.
Wyatt gives the rope a light tug, and I can’t quite stop the small smile that finds my lips as I step into the sunlight.
Oh, Captain Rusic, you have no idea.