Chapter 9 #2
The large man appeared in front of Mirielle. His grinning smile reminded her of another that haunted her. He greedily grabbed her arm with a too-tight grip. White pain struck her side and flashed across her vision.
Mirielle struck out her hand and met his neck in instinctive reflex. Blood trickled from the large man's jaw, but it didn't stop him. The man yanked her arm, sending pain through her side, pulling her from her shelter and dragging her towards the forest.
Mirielle growled through the pain and clawed at his hands, forearms and chest, trying to wrench herself free.
And then he stopped and for a moment everything was still.
The man shuddered. Then his face contorted in pain and Mirielle watched in horror as blood poured out of every orifice in the man's face.
Red liquid gushed from his eyes, nose, ears and mouth.
He tried to hold onto her, gripping her tightly like her body was a lifeline tethering his soul to earth.
But it only lasted a moment and then his body collapsed in a heap at her feet.
That was when she saw him.
Reis was staring at her. Blood streaked his face, drenched his hair and stained his clothes. His gaze was unnervingly still. Like every thought was focused on a single point—the need to inflict gruesome harm.
And he was smiling.
His features contorted to a grin so full of malice and bloodlust he looked inhuman, like a demon so violent the hells rejected him and left him to wander the mortal lands.
His face showed only one truth—violence was not a possibility. It was an inevitability.
Mirielle scrambled to her feet.
Then she ran.
*
The forest consumed her.
Branches grabbed at her cheeks and arms, roots reached for her bare feet as she barreled through the dark.
Her cracked rib forgotten, every breath came hoarse and panicked, driven by the fear that if she stopped for even a second, the world would collapse and drown her in a wave of blood.
She ran through the curling darkness until her lungs screamed, until her feet were aching and raw.
When she couldn't go any further, she found a great fallen tree and collapsed behind it. She covered her mouth with shaking hands, silencing herself.
Then she listened. It was quiet. She heard the rustling of leaves, the cracks of branches shifting in the wind, the night song of beasts and birds whispered through the endless dark. The world seemed to hold its breath.
All she could think about was Reis's face as if it was stamped across her vision, grinning and hungry and covered in blood. Terror invaded her as the realization hit of what he could do to her.
Orbin was scheming and clever. He hid knives behind his back and lies behind smiles. If Reis wanted to hurt her, he wouldn't need closed doors or guards obeying orders.
Reis would just bleed her.
Then she thought a forbidden thought, a wrong thought, a hopeful thought—what if she kept running?
She could try. She could find some isolated hovel, a cabin deep in a forgotten wood or secluded somewhere far away where nobody would recognize her.
She could fade into obscurity like a memory forgotten. No crowns or kings, nobody trying to control her, nobody trying to use her.
Reis would look for her. Of that she was strangely certain.
And Orbin—
He would be glad to be rid of her, assumed dead like her mother and that was dead enough for his line.
Something settled in her chest at the thought, something like peace and it took root.
She stood. Then she walked into the deeper dark.
*
Mirielle stumbled through the forest for hours. Every step felt like an inch, an inch closer to the fragile freedom she had pictured for herself.
Her ribs began to protest. A wrong step or a sharp breath sent shooting pain splintering up her side. Her body was slowing and she needed shelter.
She walked until she found a clearing. A large valley spread before her. A stream wound its way lazily through the dark field reflecting the moonlight like a silver vein.
There, silhouetted against the grassy fields, stood a structure, small and dark. Not a house but more like a shed or a hayloft. It leaned as if it had given up standing years ago. Its dried planks were worn and broken, its roof sagged. It had no door, only a gaping hole.
Mirielle approached it slowly, searching for any sign of life but found none. Finally, she peeked inside and, to her relief, found it long abandoned.
She crawled in, sat against a half-rotten wall and stared at the moonlight outside the door.
She listened to the rush of the creek and the sway of tall grasses. She heard an owl somewhere far in the distance.
After what felt like hours, she began to nod off...
...only to be awakened by footsteps.
Mirielle hurried to her feet.
A man appeared in the door. Mirielle only knew him by the blood that stained his clothes, his boots, his grinning face.
One of the bandits.
He was a ratty-looking man. Dirt and blood clung to him like a damp coating. His hair was unkempt and greasy, his beard left patchy.
Before he could react, she threw herself at him, knocking him to the floor. She fought like a feral animal, clawing, biting and growling.
But he was bigger than her and much stronger. He easily pushed her off of him, rolling her onto her back.
"What a pretty thing you are," he growled, his rancid breath invading her face and burning her nose. Then he saw the bite mark she had left on his arm. "But someone needs to teach you manners."
He grabbed her by her arms with incredible force and hoisted her off the ground. Her scream pierced the night as pain tore through her ribs. She twisted, trying to free herself from his grip but it just burrowed into her skin.
He shoved her against a wall, making her vision flash white and she slumped. Then he started touching her body in ways she didn't understand. He grabbed her waist, her chest. It froze something in her.
Her breaths became short and panicky. She tried to wrestle out of his grip, but her movements were weak, still hindered by the thimweed left in her body.
The man shoved her chest against the wall with his forearm and began grabbing at the fabric of her skirt. Mirielle tried to kick him but her legs only flailed uselessly.
Then, a flash of steel cut through the dark. Blood poured from the man's back in macabre sprays coating the floor, the walls, the ceiling. He slumped and fell to the floor in a heap, his taunting expression eternally pasted on his face.
There in the doorway stood Reis. He was breathing hard. For a moment Mirielle felt relief.
Then she saw his face.
Rage painted every corner. His eyes bore into Mirielle, bleeding her soul with their intensity.
His dark hair was wind-tossed and wild. Blood streaked one side of his jaw.
Even the air around him seemed braced for violence.
His sword hung loose in his hand, red dripping from the tip into the dirtied floor.
There was no softness in him now.
Only cold red fire.
"Why?"
The word came out low.
Mirielle swallowed.
"I—"
"Why?"
The second time it sounded worse.
His chest rose sharply.
"I told you to stay."
Fear flickered across her face and his expression hardened further, as though seeing her afraid only made him angrier.
The world fell silent.
Reis dragged a hand through his hair. Then he laughed—a short, furious sound.
"Hells." He looked at some point in the distance, and something dark flashed across his face.
Then his eyes found hers. Gray malice seemed to pour out of them.
"Run from me again." The words were barely above a whisper. "Run from me again, princess, and I'll ride straight to Ambersaith."
Mirielle froze.
He took a step.
"I'll burn down every gate. Every wall. Every room."
Another step.
"I'll drag your cousin from his throne."
His voice shook with fury.
"Run from me again and I'll tear it all to the ground."