Chapter 31 The Road Ahead Isn’t Always Pretty
The Road Ahead Isn’t Always Pretty
Pickles’s hooves thundered against the dirt road, carrying her farther and farther away from Gregory and Damien.
From his lies. Luna had no idea where they were headed, but she didn’t care.
Her heart matched the frantic beat as Pickles galloped on, wind whipping through her hair and the mare’s mane.
Any hope for a future filled with happiness trailed in the dust kicked up behind them.
A cool wind swept between the mountains looming on all sides, flattening the grassy fields in long snaking paths.
As the sun took its place above the horizon, Luna became aware of the sweat that shimmered on her brow, dampened her palms, and soaked Pickles’s coat.
They had been running for some time now, but she didn’t dare slow.
Unicorns were no ordinary creatures, who knew how quickly Damien would catch up.
Two small dots appeared in the distance when she looked back. She didn’t wait to wonder who, encouraging Pickles to keep pace as she steered her off the road.
The pounding of hooves behind her confirmed what she feared.
Chancing another glance backwards, she saw two men on horseback galloping off the road, gaining on her fast. They wore the king’s colours—navy with golden fleur-de-lis embroidered on their tunics.
Frantically, she dug her heels into Pickles’s sides again, urging her to go faster, but the mare couldn’t. She was heaving, and her legs were on the verge of collapse. Luna kicked and kicked, but their speed slowed and before she knew it, the men were upon her.
“You seem to be in an awful hurry,” the closest guard taunted, like they hadn’t been chasing her.
She couldn’t be caught. Not like this. Not now. She scanned the horizon, but there was no obvious escape route . . . No shadow unicorn to rescue her.
“Can you blame her?” the other guard said, amusement lining his voice. “Wouldn’t you if you were the runaway beast?”
Damn the skies above. They knew who she was.
Biting her lip, Luna took one look at Pickles and knew she wouldn’t be able to outrun them.
Luna cursed herself. If she was smart, she would have asked Damien to show her how to transform before she chose to leave, then she could have at least run away on her own legs—or, if she was desperate, she could stab them with her horn at the very least.
With no other option, she straightened her clothes, lifted her chin, and with the finest, most elegant voice she could muster, said, “I’m fine, gentlemen.
Thank you for your concern, but I’m afraid you have me mixed up with someone else.
” She forced her lips into a pleasant smile.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way. ”
She turned Pickles away, hoping her confidence would confuse the men and they’d just let her go, but she was barely down the hill when the whizzing of an arrow sounded.
It flew past Luna and hit Pickles square in the shoulder.
The mare reared and Luna hit the ground with a hard thud.
Pain vibrated through her body, chest burning as though a cracked rib had pierced her lungs.
Every breath sent a sharp, searing ache through her, making it harder to draw air without wincing.
Clutching her torso with one hand, she pushed herself up and looked around for Pickles, but the horse was long gone.
The guard who held a crossbow now pointed it directly at her, approaching slowly with a wicked grin.
She scrambled backwards and tried to summon her magic but couldn’t find it. It was as though her power was hiding, frightened just as much as she was.
What’s the point of being a unicorn if her powers couldn’t help her in a time of need?
She cursed under her breath before noticing how the stabbing pain in her chest had lessened; her magic already working on healing her from the fall.
“Another inch, and the next one will be for you,” the guard warned, lifting the bow ever so slightly.
The men, still on their horses, circled her.
Any sign of amusement from earlier was gone, replaced with deep hatred.
To them, she was a beast meant to be hunted.
“By order of the king, you are to surrender and come with us.”
Frozen, her mouth opened and closed, her eyes darting between them. When she didn’t respond, the men moved closer, forcing her to stand and take a step backwards. Her temperature plummeted, sending uncontrollable shudders sweeping through her.
“Move,” the guard commanded, gesturing with his crossbow.
No. Her decision, though hasty, was final. Risking an arrow would be better than going with them. Anything would be better than ending up back with the king.
She turned and ran.
The wind pushed her forward, as though it too thought to help her. Her heart hammered through her chest; her legs carried her as fast as they could take her.
But not fast enough.
Hot agony sliced through her arm, a scream ripping free.
Fumbling for her footing, she glanced down in horror—the tip of an arrow jutted from her bicep.
Blood of light sprayed from the wound, sliding down her arm and soaking her shirt.
Her scream rose again, no longer just from the pain but terror and disbelief, too, all tangled into a single, ragged note.
The guards made a tsking sound. “I warned you,” one said. She could practically hear them smirking. “Got lots more arrows if you don’t cooperate.”
She gave a quick, trembling shake of her head. “No, I’ll follow. I’ll behave.”
“Fine.” The guard scoffed, swinging down from his horse. He gave a sharp nod towards the saddle. “Get going then.”
She approached, and he helped her onto his horse, guiding her into place behind the saddle.
Pain seared through her arm, turning every movement into agony as she pulled herself up and refused to lean on him for balance.
She gripped the back edge of the saddle with one hand, her injured arm dangling uselessly at her side.
“I think we are closer to the camp than to town at this point,” the guard she was riding with said.
His friend nodded, and they began to head out.
The ride was brutal. Every jolt sent bolts of pain through her arm, wringing a cry from her—but her whimpers were ignored.
The guards talked among themselves, as if she were nothing more than a dog whining without cause.
Blood continued dripping down her arm despite her power’s attempts to heal.
With the arrow still lodged deeply, there was little the magic could do.
By the time the camp appeared, Luna’s world had narrowed to waves of pain and the steady drum of hoofbeats beneath her. She barely noticed the tents ahead—white blurs against a bright blue sky.
Hundreds of white tents dotted the landscape, held down with thick wooden stakes driven into the earth.
Smaller ones lined the outskirts for soldiers, while larger tents stood farther in, spaced apart and marked with subtle signs of rank.
At the very center loomed a massive pavilion, easily the size of her childhood home in Grythorn, its canvas flaps snapping in the wind.
They passed fires where soldiers lingered, sharing low, idle words.
Horses stood tethered to posts, swishing their tails as the group moved by.
Luna blinked slowly, her head growing heavy, the sounds around her dimming .
. . like someone had stuffed the world with wool.
Her vision wavered—sharp one moment, swimming the next; she fought to stay upright, to stay aware.
As they entered the heart of the camp, the murmur of conversation thinned to silence. One by one, heads turned. Eyes followed. Grins tugged at mouths that had no reason to smile.
They looked at her the way hunters look at a fallen beast as it’s hauled in from the woods. She wasn’t a lady anymore; she was the prize.
When the horse stopped, she slipped from the saddle, hitting the ground hard—first, her side, then her head.
No one reached for her. No one slowed her fall.
She lay sprawled in the dirt, limbs twisted beneath her, pain clawing up her shoulder with every breath.
Voices stirred above her, but the words blurred together, distant and sharp all at once.
Minutes passed before she was hauled to her feet. Someone was speaking to her, mocking her. “Quite the adventure,” the man said, a smile evident in his voice. “Savour the memory—it’s the last taste of comfort you’ll ever know. I’m going to make sure of that.”
She was too weak to reply or even look up.
In a hushed voice, he added, “Was the arrow really necessary?” He must’ve been talking to the guards now.
“We weren’t taking our chances with a unicorn. All you asked for was to bring her in alive. No one said what condition.”
The man seized her injured arm and wrenched it upward, a sharp twist sending a fresh wave of agony through her.
A strangled whimper slipped from her lips as he twisted it again, slower this time, in different directions; each movement brought fresh tears to her eyes.
She tried to beg, but the words came out broken, incoherent, lost in the pain.
He showed no mercy, dragging out his torment as if savouring her suffering.
At last, he let go. Her arm dropped limp at her side, and she couldn’t hold back the yelp of pain.
“Shouldn’t be fatal,” he said to the guards, voice flat.
Luna recognized that voice. This man had made oaths to protect her. How she wished she had the energy to call him every foul name she knew, but the only thing she could muster up was his name. “William,” she said weakly.
He curled a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His face held such a level of disdain she had never known existed. Hard to believe that only a few weeks ago he’d been one of her personal guards—someone tasked with her protection.