Chapter 45
Lilias
I AM YOUR PRINCESS
I’m pacing.
I stop and run my hands up and down my arms, even though it’s not remotely cold inside this tent. If anything, it’s too warm, and the air is heavy with perfumed smoke.
My stomach grumbles. I turn to the table. The massive man who said he would bring our supper did eventually come back, but he only brought a wooden goblet of wine, and something about the look on his face made me think it wouldn’t be a good idea to ask when supper would be ready.
I start pacing again. The wine might help me relax, true, but it smells strong. And I can’t stop thinking about the way Zarek’s lip curled on our wedding night, or how cold his voice was the next morning when he said he dislikes drugs. That he is never intimate with anyone who is drunk or drugged.
Something flutters in my chest, and I swallow hard. The wine was a lovely offer, yes, and the carved wooden goblet they brought me really is exquisite.
But I can’t be drunk when Zarek comes back to this tent.
Because, may all the gods forgive me, I want to be intimate with him. And I’m ready to beg if that’s what it takes to get his hand between my legs again, his lips on my neck, his fingers doing what he did this morning—
There’s a thud on the wooden platform of the tent. My breath catches, and I spin toward the door. The tent flap flutters, and I quickly run a hand through my hair. Maybe I should be in bed? Or, no, that might be too forward. Maybe I should meet Zarek at the door?
The flap opens, and a man steps inside.
He’s not Zarek.
He comes closer. My mind finally identifies him as the massive servant who said he would bring supper. But he’s not holding supper in his hands.
He’s holding a rope.
Three other men step into the tent behind him, their boots heavy on the wooden platform. Something hits me in the thighs, and I realize I’ve backed up against the bed. My chest feels tight, like all the perfumed smoke in here is making it hard to breathe.
“C-Can I help you?” I ask.
The man laughs. It’s not a nice laugh, not like he’s trying to be polite. No, he laughs like there’s a great big joke here, and I’m not in on it.
“You didn’t drink the wine,” he drawls.
My chest flutters as I glance at the wooden goblet, then back at the man who just entered our tent. Some insane part of me wants to apologize for not drinking the wine, because my gods, was that rude?
The men fan out against the tent walls, their boots loud on the wood.
They’re surrounding me. Panic pulls tight in my gut. I’ve practiced fighting and escaping from holds, but only against one person. Not against four.
“Come here, lady,” the servant says.
He holds the rope up, like he’s offering it to me. My back stiffens.
“Where is Prince Zarek?” I demand.
All four of the men laugh at this. Something howls inside my chest; I lock it down. One of the men looks familiar, although I’m not sure why.
“Your prince is passed out drunk on the floor,” the servant replies.
The men laugh even harder. The wild beast of panic pulls at the back of my throat. That doesn’t sound right. Not when he knew I was waiting for him. Not when he said he’d be right back. And yet—
“Ain’t that cute?” the man on my left sneers. “The bitch fell for the snake.”
I know that voice. He’s one of the soldiers from Vsenrog who escorted me from Marion to the palace.
The servant with the rope takes a step closer.
“Gentlemen,” I say, as my hands flutter down the front of my dress. “You are servants of Vsenrog.”
I smile at their hard, taut faces. They do not smile back.
“Please,” I continue. “I am your princess—”
The man on my left moves so quickly I don’t even have time to flinch. My head rocks back as his hand smacks my face. Pain explodes inside my skull. My vision flashes white and floods with tears, and the taste of blood spreads across my tongue.
I blink as the world swims into focus. The man who hit me shakes his hand out, like he’s dirtied it by touching me.
My father used to do that. After he hit me. He was the only one who was allowed to hit the princess.
“Shut up,” the man growls. “You ain’t shit.”
There’s a sharp edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.
“This would have been easier if you’d drunk the wine,” the servant says.
The servant is right in front of me now, his massive chest blocking the door. I pull a ragged breath over my broken, bleeding lips and think about the dagger strapped to my thigh. If I pulled it out now and tried to stab him, what would happen? Would he step away?
Or would he just laugh?
“You’re coming with us,” he finishes.
I glance over my shoulder at the bed behind me, with its mountains of scarlet pillows and blankets. The tent wall is just behind it; perhaps if I climb across the bed quickly enough—
No. I’d never make it. And if they’re willing to hit me, the gods only know what else they’re willing to do.
I swallow hard, then turn toward the servant.
“Very well,” I say. “Where are we going?”
He laughs, low and in the back of his throat.
“Give me your hands,” he says.
I hold out my wrists, and he wraps them with rope. It’s rough against my skin; in a few hours, I’ll probably be bleeding. Panic beats against the inside of my chest. I force it down and hold my head high as he leads me through the tent flaps.
There are five horses saddled outside the tent. One of them, a gray gelding, is tied to the saddle of a large, black stallion. As I expect, the servant leads me to the gray gelding. I raise my eyebrow at the massive man who tied my wrists.
“Listen, lady,” he says. “This can go a couple of ways. You cooperate with us, it’ll go easier for you. You fight, and it’s gonna be a whole lot harder.”
I risk a glance at the larger tent behind us as my heart flutters against my rib cage. Where is Zarek?
The servant follows my gaze, then laughs again.
“He ain’t coming to rescue you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he growls. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to trust a snake?”
The rest of the men laugh. They’re not even trying to be quiet, I realize. No, they’re as loud as a group of revelers on a feast day.
I could scream at the top of my lungs, and no one in these mountains would give a damn.
Suddenly, I’m remembering my wedding night, after puking over the side of the bed as the room spun around me. I’m going to go get drunk, Zarek said. And last night, in the mayor’s villa in Detec, he reeled across the bedroom and passed out in the bed before I could even speak.
Something inside of me breaks. I almost hear it shatter as I climb into the saddle. The massive man beside me, the man who was never a servant in the first place, ties my ankles to the stirrups and my wrists to the pommel.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until he ties a cloth over my eyes.