Chapter 9
Mirielle woke completely exhausted. Her body had abandoned its use. Pain had taken her energy with gnashing teeth and ripped it from her. Her muscles felt heavy and useless. Even lifting her head seemed like an impossible task.
She didn't think she could ride Hank. She didn't think she could even get out of bed. The vulnerability terrified her.
Reis noticed the moment she woke. Without a word, he moved toward the fire and prepared tea from a handful of weeds he'd gathered nearby. It was a bitter brew, but it would soothe her aching muscles and restore some of her strength.
Also, it was something he could do.
His boots crunched through dirt as he brought it to her tent, then he crouched down.
When he saw her, a shadow passed over his face. She was trying not to cry and Reis knew he'd won.
"Mirielle."
Having been caught, a wave of shame flooded her chest and crept into her face. A frustrated tear snuck out of the corner of her eye.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Mirielle," Reis said with quiet sincerity.
He knew how impossible that was for her to believe.
He saw the angry bruises around her throat, dark marks embedded in pale skin like a brand, marks clearly left by a man's hands.
Only days ago, a prince had tried to corner her with a similar drug to his.
Another man had wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed until the world went dark.
Reis watched trembles cascade over her body. She lay rigid underneath the blankets, as if she thought the moment she let her guard down someone would strike her. She was terrified.
Reis rose and retrieved the thimweed from Maisey's packs, giving her space for a moment. He poured a dose into her tea. Then he returned to his spot in front of her.
"Look at me." His command was gentle but unarguable.
Slowly her silver eyes lifted to his.
"If you drink this, nothing will happen to you."
She looked at the cup like it had teeth.
Reis laughed a humorless laugh. "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't need this."
Her eyes widened and he heard her heart stumble.
Reis immediately regretted his words. "Gods." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "That sounded better in my head."
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her trembling mouth. Encouraged, Reis pushed on. "You could be awake, asleep, angry, armed or trying to attack me with a dinner knife."
"I wouldn't..."
A smile snuck into the corner of his mouth.
"Don't count me out yet, princess, we have a long marriage ahead of us." She looked offended. Good. Better than afraid. So he continued. "None of these things would make you less safe around me."
Reis looked over her figure. Her cheeks were pallid from pain and exhaustion. Dark shadows lingered under her eyes. She looked guarded, like there was an invisible wall that she was holding between them and she was using the last of her strength to keep it in place.
Reis's expression softened at the sight. "You can't even breathe." The words came out rough. There was something dangerously close to grief in his voice.
"How long will I be asleep?" Her voice was fragile and cracked enough to hurt him. He could hear her body's trembles in the sound.
"You'll stay awake for an hour or so, then you'll sleep until dinner," Reis answered honestly.
Mirielle stared at the steaming cup for a moment.
Sleep—it should have been comforting. But it meant there were hours when she wouldn't know what was happening to her, wouldn't be able to stop the danger. She would be completely at his mercy.
"Mirielle."
She slowly raised her eyes to his.
"I won't let anything happen to you."
The wall she had been holding suddenly felt very heavy.
And she was tired.
Slowly, she tried to rise. Reis immediately helped her sit up. Then he handed her the tea.
A frightened tear escaped her as she drank all of it with trembling hands and a pit needing to be filled seemed to form somewhere deep in Reis's heart.
Then Reis brought her a breakfast of sausage and bread warmed over the campfire.
Within minutes, the edge of the pain loosened its teeth. It softened, as if someone had wrapped every wound in thick blankets.
She lay down as the medicine slowly dragged her to unconsciousness. A shaky breath escaped her as her eyes fluttered closed.
When she opened them again, Reis was still there. He sat beside her with his forearms resting on his knees, watching the plains beyond the camp, silent and immovable, as though keeping watch over her was the most natural thing in the world.
The last thing she remembered was a hand brushing a stray hair from her face.
Then the deep sleep took her.
*
She woke to the sound of rain again. Soft fur tickled her cheeks. The smell of woodsmoke and wet earth filled her senses as flickering firelight illuminated the night.
Trees seemed to mask the sky in tangled webs of curling branches, holding up a ceiling of restless green. Moss-covered stone and brown, soggy leaves littered the ground.
"Forest," she murmured, her voice scratchy.
Mirielle shifted. The bedroll beneath her was surprisingly soft.
She felt better. Some of her strength had returned, and there was less pain in her side, the thimweed likely still in her body.
Reis was true to his word. She was completely unharmed—at least there were no new harms.
Something that felt like relief settled over her.
Reis watched her from over a campfire. He had found a rock face set into a hill to hide camp from unwelcome eyes. Green moss crowded over large boulders buried in prickly leaves and wet dirt.
"You're awake."
She heard leaves crunch below her as she slowly lifted herself from the bed, being careful not to anger her ribs. She looked down at the bed Reis had made for her and was surprised to find not one but two bedrolls beneath her.
Reis spooned thick broth into a wooden bowl and brought it to her.
"Eat," he commanded, his voice still rough from disuse.
Mirielle took the bowl and held it in her lap.
"You gave me your bedroll."
He shrugged. "Wasn't using it."
"You aren't going to sleep?"
"I don't sleep much."
Mirielle looked at the steaming bowl in her hand. The surface trembled slightly from her weakness.
Nobody had ever simply taken care of her, not without expecting something in return.
Sure, the palace had maids and cooks but Mirielle was mostly left to her own devices. She had friends like Bael and Ophelia but they were too busy with their duties to care for her through any illness or injury that befell her. Kindness was a foreign thing.
But Reis, the Blood King of all people, had seen that she was tired and simply provided her warmth and comfort. He saw she had trouble eating, so he made her tea and broth. He didn't demand gratitude. He didn't expect payment.
"Thank you," she finally said. Mirielle lifted the bowl to her mouth and winced at the movement.
"Slow," he reminded her.
She quietly obeyed. Silence settled over them then, leaving only the night song of the forest. Reis remained nearby, arms folded as he sat on a large rock near the fire, eyes fixed on the trees beyond, guarding her from any threats that they might birth.
Every once in a while, his gaze flicked to her.
She sipped the broth. Warmth spread through her ribcage, soothing her sore muscles and sating her hunger.
For the first time in a long time, Mirielle didn't brace for the next hurt.
Only for a moment.
But it was something.
*
Reis said it would take a week to reach the border of Kaldyr, where they would meet his party, and then another week to Rosthein. They needed to reach Levin's Pass before it filled with snow.
For several days they traveled through the forest. Mirielle took thimweed every morning, leaving her in its sleep through the day.
Unfortunately, that meant missing days of riding through the curling trees, yet she still had precious hours when the thimweed hadn't stolen her consciousness and she could watch the forest around her.
The forest seemed endless, dark and alive. Moss dropped from thick branches that blotched out the sky, strangling the light sifting through trees. Thick roots serpented along the forest floor like fingers of great fallen giants forever buried beneath the earth.
That night she fell asleep much like the rest. She woke to a hand over her mouth.
She instinctively grabbed it in panic, only to find Reis crouched over her, watching the woods beyond with grim intensity. The fire had been snuffed out. The forest was still. Only the warning calls of night birds filled the air.
Then she saw them. Figures began to appear through the curling shadows of trees.
One.
Then two.
Then six.
Reis's sword sang from its sheath.
She saw him first. A large man, larger than Reis, with thick muscles, emerged carrying a jagged dagger. His clothes were rough, his face dirtied, his smile curled wickedly across his face in the moonlight.
"Been looking for you," the man taunted. "That's a pretty prize you have there. I know someone who would pay a heavy price for it."
It was a terribly uncreative threat but they were six unarmored bandits trying to take on the Blood King so we can safely assume they weren’t very smart to begin with.
"Stay down." Reis's order was quiet. Reis didn't answer the man. He took a defensive stance in front of Mirielle. He just watched all of them. Waiting.
A smaller man lunged first. Reis moved like lightning, parrying his weapon. The muscles in his back flexed as he drew his sword across his neck, cutting it clean off his body.
Mirielle screamed.
Reis's eyes flashed. Then he moved to the next one, driving his sword through his torso and slicing down across their stomach. Blood and organs poured to the ground, pooling black against the dirt. Reis took his stance again, waiting in frightening calm beneath moonlight for the next attack.
Shadows seemed to leap from the forest from every direction. He moved with fluid efficiency, a brutal dance of blood and gore.