Chapter 26 – Rowan
ROWAN
We don’t get very far, just far enough to be out of earshot of camp when Ayer suddenly brings up the reins—halting his horse. Sensing danger, I step back as he swings his leg off the large stallion, but the rope tethering me to him prevents any further retreat.
The rest of his company—about fifteen to twenty men—all have their eyes on me, patiently waiting for their captain.
Ayer stalks toward me, and I draw myself up, ready for anything.
“Give me your boots.” He points at my feet as if he’s ordering a servant about.
“My boots?” I raise a brow in surprise. “Why?” Are we or are we not about to travel?
“You attacked one of my men,” he answers flatly, as if that’s answer enough.
I glance around, taking in the stony expressions of the small command around us.
“This is a punishment?” I say slowly, looking back up at him. He’s got to be joking.
“Aye.” He nods once, folding his arms across his chest. “Your boots, Princess. Hand ‘em over.” He beckons me with two of his fingers, that infuriating smirk of his tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I search his face. There’s no way I’m walking barefoot through this forest. It’s already hard enough trying to keep up with his stallion with my boots on.
His face is stone cold.
Light-cursed son of night… He’s serious.
My fists tighten at my sides, and I lift my chin slightly higher, bracing myself before meeting his eyes.
“No.” My voice is quiet, but firm.
I half expect him to come at me, but he remains where he stands, arms crossed, raising a single eyebrow.
“No?” It’s a question, and his head tilts slightly to the side, like he’s giving me a chance to change my answer with a warning in his eyes.
No. I’d cross my own arms were they not bound, so instead, I ball both of my hands into fists, digging my sharp nails into my palms to keep me from opening my mouth and getting me into even more trouble than I already am.
I raise my chin higher, looking past Ayer to the road ahead—at his men, still waiting on the two of us. There are a few polite enough to pretend like they’re not paying attention, but a few others glance over, curiosity and amusement on their faces.
Ayer stares at me, releasing a low, slow breath before stepping closer, coming into my space, but I hold my ground—not that I could run, even if I wanted to, shackled as I am. I ignore the little voice in my head that screams RUN as Ayer draws closer still.
Doubling down, I roll my shoulders back and straighten my spine, refusing to shrink—to cower. If he thought I would make this easy for him, he’s about to be disappointed.
“You must not have been paying attention earlier, Princess.” His face sours at the use of my title like it leaves a foul taste in his mouth. “You don’t get to say no. Not to me.” His eyes darken as he stares down at me.
“You’re mad.”
“A possibility—” he muses.
“A certainty.” The words escaped before I could rein them in, and I snap my mouth shut.
A muscle ticks in his jaw. He’s too close now—mere inches from my face—but I refuse to look away. I refuse to give him anything more than he’s already taken.
He leans in, and my entire body goes rigid at the feel of his breath on my ear, his words low, so only I can hear them. “I’ll have those boots, kitten. Either you hand them over, or I'll take them from you. The choice is yours.”
Ayer steps back, granting me an extra inch of breathing room in which to make my decision.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, my cheeks burning, and the tattoo—rune, whatever the bloody thing on my wrist is—flares hot, blocking the sudden, uncontrolled surge of magic stemming from the burst of rage I feel inside. I curl my fists so tightly that my nails bite sharply into my palms again.
I don’t nod.
I don’t agree.
But I do realize that I’ve lost this one.
Clenching my jaw so hard it might break, I slowly—with my head held high—kneel, making quick work of the laces.
Light, that’s the worst part of it, I think. I’m practically kneeling at his feet while obeying him.
Acid turns my stomach.
Oh, he will pay for this. One way or another, I will make him bleed.
I rip the boots free, all while muttering a string of curses under my breath that would make the roughest sailor blush. I thrust them up and shove them hard into his gut.
Behind him, a few of the men exchange glances.
Ayer gives me a hard look. I would have thrown the boots at him if I didn’t think he might just leave them behind entirely.
“Happy?” I snap when he still says nothing. My lip curls involuntarily, revealing the sharp points of my fangs.
“Yes,” he says flatly.
Oh, I could smack him. My fingers twitch violently.
Without another word, he turns, dropping my boots into one of his saddlebags before mounting his horse once again. Ayer motions for his men to move out before urging the stallion forward. I don’t follow, letting the rope jerk tight before dragging me forward by my wrists.
I stumble, catching myself before tripping entirely. My gaze drops to the muddy, rock-strewn road ahead—and my bare feet.
Fae feet are tough. But this—this is going to hurt.
I exhale sharply, falling into step behind Ayer’s horse, the rope pulling me along. Being barefoot will make it nearly impossible for me to run should an opportunity arise.
This is going to be a long day.
A very, very long day.