Chapter 8 A Life Worth Fighting For
A Life Worth Fighting For
Caramyn
That night Caramyn would've liked to believe she could've killed them all and made her escape in the darkness without a trace.
But for the first time in a very long time, she began to doubt herself.
This was not the Shadow Woods, and these were no ordinary men.
They were trained warriors. She'd seen them take down the bandits in seconds, with the ease of crushing cockroaches.
She was not foolish enough to think she could outrun them or overpower them on her own, with no weapon, and no knowledge of where she was.
When Gariel cut the rope around her wrist, he warned her that this didn't mean anything had changed before going back to his post, his eyes never leaving her. She rubbed the place where the ropes had been, working the salve deeper into the raw flesh as she remembered the prince's thumb across her skin, and how she’d flinched at the thought he might see her markings in the faint edges of those dark veins if she’d let him pull her sleeve any higher.
She didn't understand him. She didn't want to.
He must've been toying with her mind for whatever it benefited him.
Nocthar had been quiet, as though even he didn't see a way out of this.
She closed her eyes, the fire's warmth embracing her.
She would kill him when the time was right, when she could get him alone and make her escape.
The opportunity would come. It always did.
And then she could return to the Shadow Woods.
She could run back and continue hiding..
.alone. Back to her life…a life she sometimes wondered if was worth fighting for.