10. Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Adull ache throbbed at the back of her skull, radiating outward in slow, pulsing waves.
She was moving, though not walking. Being carried? No, not carried. She was slung across something solid and shifting, her stomach pressing uncomfortably against a broad, muscular plane.
The rhythmic sway of the movement made her head swim, and with each step, the soft whisper of tall grass brushed against her fingers. Moonlight bathed the landscape in pale silver, revealing a worn dirt path stretching ahead.
The trees were gone. The suffocating press of the forest, the thick scent of damp moss and decay—all left behind. She was out of the forest.
Awareness hit her like a bucket of cold water. She sucked in a breath, willing her body to move, but something held her firm. Not firm. Bound. Snug and unforgiving leather straps looped across her body and cinched around her waist, holding her in place against a horse's shoulders.
She twisted, trying to get a look at her captor.
Deyric.
He sat further back on the massive silver stallion, reins held loosely in one hand, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
The saddle was gone, its remnants now serving as makeshift restraints keeping her strapped to the damn animal like a sack of grain.
Her pulse spiked, and she yanked at the bindings, muscles straining, but the straps didn’t budge.
A low chuckle rumbled behind her. “Finally awake, little killer?”
“Let me go! You brute!” She kicked out, aiming for his knee, only to misjudge the movement entirely. Instead of landing a satisfying blow, she sent herself teetering further over the side of the horse, her head dipping dangerously toward the ground.
Deyric’s hand shot out, grabbing the back of her dress before she could completely tip over.
“Careful, now,” he said, far too amused. “Hate to see you crack that stubborn skull of yours again before we even get back to the castle.”
Emmaline wriggled, trying to pull herself back onto the horse, but her current predicament made things… complicated. With her chest still strapped down, her attempt to turn upright only succeeded in shoving her rear end directly into the air right in front of Deyric.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. Then—
“You are a reckless thing, aren’t you? I thought numbers folks were supposed to be more… I don’t know… measured.”
Emmaline’s face went hot. “Shut up and pull me back up!”
“And ungrateful, too. This is the second time today I’ve had to come save you.”
She shrieked, still flailing as the horse took another slow step forward, the movement rocking her precariously. From her vantage, all she could see was the blur of trampled grass, swaying gently with each lazy roll of the beast beneath her.
“Save me?!” Her voice pitched dangerously high. “I’ll have you know—”
Smack. A firm swat landed on her raised backside.
Emmaline stiffened, breath catching in her throat.
That didn’t just happen. Oh, gods, that absolutely just happened.
“Bad, little killer,” Deyric murmured so casually it took a second for her brain to catch up.
Heat shot through her belly. It was rage, definitely rage. Nothing else.
“How dare you!” She bucked, trying to face him, trying to kill him, but her momentum threw her weight entirely off balance despite the leather digging into her skin.
And then, she was falling. Again.
One second, she was strapped in place, and the next, she was hurtling toward the ground in a graceless tangle, landing with a sound more thud than thump and rolling once before coming to a breathless jumble in the flattened grass.
Above her, the silver horse snorted, tail flicking.
Deyric sighed, staring out across the open field toward the distant glow of the castle. “Should I just leave you here, then?” He tilted his head, considering. “You probably won’t die.”
“Yes, just leave me.” Emmaline lifted her chin, crossing her arms as she sat in the dirt, willing herself to look dignified despite her utterly undignified position.
Shoulders squared. Back straight. Regal, aloof.
She imagined herself as a tragic heroine, abandoned and valiant, the picture of quiet suffering.
A breeze kicked up a clump of dry grass, and it promptly stuck to the side of her face.
“It’s only another fifteen miles to the castle.” He glanced her over. “You can probably do that by dawn.” His eyes flicked to her feet, bare toes peeking out from beneath the now thoroughly dirt-streaked white dress. “Even in those sandals.”
“Fifteen miles?” She shoved herself upright, too fast, and pain seared through her ankle the second she put weight on it. “Ahh!”
Deyric hummed, turning the horse with only his knees. “Maybe by lunch tomorrow, then.”
Her stomach plummeted. He couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t actually leave her here.
“Hey!” She took a step after him, only for the pain to jolt through her leg again. “Ahh!” Her knees buckled, and she barely caught herself before toppling over. “Wait! Don’t leave me!”
The horse paused, and Deyric twisted, looking back at her. “You want my help, then?”
“No!” The word flew out on instinct.
He shrugged and turned forward again.
Panic clawed up her throat. “Yes! I want your help. Wait!”
Deyric turned his face up to stare at the stars as if asking the heavens for patience, and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose before he finally exhaled and slid from the horse’s back.
He approached slowly, arms folding over his chest. “You need my help?”
Emmaline scowled, nails digging into her palms. “Need?!”
Deyric lifted a single eyebrow.
Her jaw clenched. Pick your battles, Emmaline.
“Yes, Deyric. I need your help.” She wrestled the words out between her teeth.
“Say, please.”
Emmaline’s eye twinged. “You have got to be joking.”
He waited, expression impassive.
She gritted her teeth. “Fine. Please.”
He made a vague rolling motion with his hand. “The whole thing.”
“Are you serious?”
His brows lifted.
“Fine! Please, Deyric, I need your help.”
Deyric smiled. “And I’m most grateful.”
She practically vibrated with suppressed anger. “And. I’m. Most. Grateful.”
He tapped a finger against his lips. “And I’d like another spanking.”
“WHAT?!” Her fury ignited. “You arrogant, insufferable, thick-skulled son of a—”
Deyric shrugged, entirely unbothered, and turned back toward the horse.
“Hey! Wait!” She cut off mid-rant.
He paused just long enough to glance back, eyes twinkling. “Well, come on then. We need to make it back before the moon crests the ridge. Can’t ride Thumper in full dark. He could hurt himself. And I dare say you’d rather not spend the night alone with me while we wait for dawn.”
Emmaline opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. “Oh. Well, yes. That would be… bad.”
She took a step and immediately winced, nearly toppling forward as another jolt of pain shot up her ankle. Deyric rolled his eyes and strode toward her. Without a word, he stopped in front of her—too close—and held out his arms.
“May I?”
Her brain short-circuited. The heat of his body radiated between them. The scent was nearly overwhelming—of leather, horse, and something darker, smokier like embers still glowing in a fire long after the flames had died.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
The word had barely left her lips before he scooped her up, arms locking around her like iron. The world tilted, though this time she didn’t fall; his hold was steady and unshakably solid. For a brief, traitorous moment, she liked it.
Safe. Strong. Her head spun. Must be the head wound.
She let it rest against his chest, just for a second, just until the dizziness passed.
The firm press of muscle beneath his tunic and the steady thump of his heartbeat were strangely comforting.
And that damn scent—smoky cedar and something wilder, something untamed—wrapped around her senses, making it difficult to breathe.
Absolutely not.
She gave her head a sharp shake, banishing the thoughts as he lifted her onto the horse, settling her upright across the barebacked beast. A moment later, he swung up behind her, arms bracketing her on either side, his warmth pressing in close.
Then, strong, careful hands secured her in place, his arms a solid cage around her. Her pulse tripped over itself, but she did not squirm. She was fine. Totally fine. And soon, the rhythmic clop of hooves filled the quiet as they neared the castle, the vast fields giving way to well-trodden roads.
Emmaline readjusted her hips, clearing her throat. “So… what were you doing out there anyway? I thought you’d gone home for the day.”
Behind her, Deyric tensed. “I saw Lord Caelith as I was on my way out,” he said after a pause. “He wanted a spare shirt to bring with him on the hunt he had planned with Lord Dryling.”
Emmaline frowned. “Dryling? He lives on the other side of the city.”
No. No, that couldn’t be right. Caelith was supposed to be in the Northern forests. Lady Isolde had said—
Her stomach churned, unease pressing down like a stone. Lady Isolde had tricked her.
She gnawed on the edge of a fingernail. “So… what? You knew he wouldn’t be in the Northern forest like Lady Isolde suggested, knew I would sneak out to look for him, and decided to come look for me?”
Deyric’s breath warmed the nape of her neck. “Would that be so odd?”
“Well… yes. It would be odd.” Her eyes turned upward to the moon, round and luminous against the dark sky.
“You barely know me. And what you do know isn’t exactly…
favorable.” She turned her head slightly, trying to catch his expression.
“You know what happened.” She swallowed, the words thick in her throat. “What I did.”
He knew, but no one had come for her; no alarm had been raised.
She hesitated. “The Patrol must be looking for… that woman.”
Deyric’s silence stretched between them. His face remained unreadable.
“But you haven’t told anyone.” It wasn’t a question. He could have. Should have. But somehow, she knew he hadn’t. “Not even Caelith.”
A flash of something passed over his features, but it was gone before she could name it.
“Do you intend to hold it over my head?” Her voice dipped, quieter now. She forced herself to look forward, to keep her breathing steady. “Or use it in exchange for…” She cringed. “Favors?”
Deyric exhaled. Not quite a laugh. Not quite not one, either. “Are you truly this clueless?”
She said nothing. Clueless?
She felt him move behind her, then the slow, deliberate press of his head against her back.
“I will not tell anyone. Nor will I ever use the information to demand anything from you that you wouldn’t otherwise give freely.”
“You promise?” Her voice was smaller than she meant it to be, the question fragile in the night air.
“Yes, Emmaline. You have my word.” His arms tightened around her. “I will protect you. Always.” Then, his voice morphed to something softer, full of wry amusement. “Even from your greatest enemy, which…” He exhaled a laugh against her shoulder. “Appears to be yourself.”
She opened her mouth, ready to protest, but the absurdity of it—the truth of it—hit at the same time. A giggle bubbled up from deep in her belly, surprising even her. “You’re not wrong there.”
The castle loomed ahead, its towering spires glowing softly under the moonlight, assuring safety, or at least, the illusion of it.
Emmaline should have felt relief, but she didn’t. Instead, the night wrapped around her, thick with bruises, blood, and the crushing press of truth. Deyric had found her when no one else had bothered to look. He had saved her when she hadn’t even realized she needed saving.
And he knew everything. Yet, as they rode toward the gates, his arms still holding her, she couldn’t decide which unsettled her more.
Why would Deyric make such promises? She hadn’t been exactly pleasant to him. Or that she trusted him, for whatever reason, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to run and search for Caelith.
The thought lodged in her ribs as they rode.
She gathered the fabric of her dress in a tight grip, nails digging in as a ripple of unease worked its way through her chest. But if she didn’t want to run to Caelith any longer, did it mean her friends had been right?
That Caelith wasn’t her mate? And if that was true—
Then she had killed that woman for nothing?
Her throat seized. What would happen to her if the truth ever came out?