6. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
T he soldiers had all horses saddled and ready before dawn. How exactly, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps whoever stood watch roused them.
“Who’s riding the chestnut mare?” I gestured toward the horse being led by Grimm.
“Princess Elspeth,” Sainte said as he held his white gelding for me.
I checked over his men, then my boots, which were still firmly planted on the ground. “Do you have another Princess Elspeth in your pocket there, Captain?” I asked, batting my lashes.
“When you act like a princess, you may ride alone.”
“What, you don’t trust me?” I slapped a hand over my heart in mock betrayal.
“No.”
His expression was empty of all playfulness as he knelt, interlacing his fingers. I heaved a dramatic sigh and stepped into his hands, allowing him to lift me. The horse snorted under my weight, waiting as Sainte slid his boot into the stirrup to mount.
“I’ve ridden two to a saddle before,” I whined, dreading what came next.
“You were smaller then.”
He pushed me forward and found his seat. I huffed and shoved my hips back, fighting for space. It was painful enough, and gods knew how long this man intended to travel today. He shifted his weight as the horse danced beneath us, and I tried to settle in. Luckily, the man wasn’t armored at his crotch, sparing me that challenge. Dealing with his sheer size was plenty to contend with.
After much jostling and cursing on my part, we settled into a somewhat comfortable but shared position in the saddle, each lacking a full seat. My arse nestled against his hips, which sent my stomach fluttering—and annoyed me to no end .
He was in a foul mood as we started out, and it did not improve as time passed. We followed the road for the better part of the day, leaving it around midday. Now and then, his soldiers drifted off, either to scout ahead or to relieve themselves. Sainte and his men had some silent communication. While he sported no badge or indication of rank, it was clear he was the captain of this little troupe.
Soon after we left the path in favor of a game trail, the rush of water rumbled in the distance. It wasn’t a light gurgle, nor was it as loud as the pipes spilling into the ocean in Port Siren. It was a quiet, gentle cadence, and it dawned on me why we veered off the main road.
“We’ll break here.”
“Camp?” I asked.
Though the sun was still high in the sky, the ache in my thighs and lower back had me sincerely hoping this place marked our halt for the night.
“Break,” he repeated. After dismounting, he adjusted his trousers and shook out his legs.
I frowned at his wounded arm, which he held close to his chest. He utilized it, like when he gave me a leg-up, but it clearly caused him considerable discomfort. I would not feel bad about it.
I simply wouldn’t.
Ready to be off the thrice-cursed saddle, I swung over the horse’s rump and lowered myself. My feet flailed, searching for solid ground. Warm hands found my waist as Sainte eased me down.
“I had it.”
“Clearly.”
I disregarded his remark and scanned the small clearing while he tended to his horse. Beyond the lush meadow, the sun’s glint danced on the river’s surface, drawing me closer. The men paid no heed as I navigated through the long, swaying grass and brush.
The river was extensive, so wide I would be hard pressed to throw a stone to the opposite shore, but its water ran clear. Algae-covered stones and waterweeds littered the bottom, swaying in the current, and fish darted away at my shadow.
We were hopefully only here to get a drink.
“This way.”
I turned to see Sainte with a bundle under his arm, headed upriver. He glanced behind and waited for me to catch up.
“I hope you don’t have expectations of me,” I huffed, slipping on a rock as I stumbled after him.
“Only the bare minimum.”
“Good. I’d hate to disappoint,” I called, then focused on my footing across the smooth round stones .
Ahead, a massive rock jutted from the riverbank, where the water curled around it like a giant snake. Sainte guided me up the hillside, then crossed to the boulder. The terrain sloped down to the river, preventing a gradual descent.
“The current is calmest here,” he said, setting his bundle on the boulder’s surface. He crouched, digging through the pack, and retrieved a bar of soap. “It will be as private as can be.”
“No.” I backed toward the hillside, ready to scramble up the incline. “No, no. That’s a hard pass from me.”
He peered over his shoulder with a bored blink. “The men are gagging around you.”
“Then tell them to toughen up their stomachs. I’m not getting in there.”
“Enough, Elspeth.” He straightened to his full height. “I’m tired of fighting you.”
“Then just accept it. I smell. Move on.”
“Don’t make me throw you in.”
I froze, horrified. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He held my gaze, glare unwavering, lips pressed into an unamused frown. Neither of us moved a muscle—then we lurched at once. I turned and ran, managing two steps closer to the soft, grassy hillside before he snared my arm and spun me toward the boulder’s ridge.
“No, no! No! I’ll die!! ”
“Not likely.”
I latched onto him, fingers digging into his leather armor. Panic set in full force, and I thrashed as he shoved me near the ledge. A scream tore from my throat as the earth disappeared from under my boots, and I dropped like a stone.
Water flooded my mouth. The cold shock silenced my screams as I plunged below. On instinct, I snapped my eyes shut upon impact, the frigid embrace disorienting me. My limbs flailed, seeking direction in the murky depths. Which way was up? Was this down? I forced myself to look, instantly regretting it as the sting blurred my vision. My lungs demanded air. I kicked and clawed, desperate to reach solid ground.
My head broke the surface, and I sucked in a breath, with only a bit of water. I sputtered and coughed, staring at the boulder wide-eyed in a silent plea for help, hoping Sainte would grasp that I couldn’t swim.
He was shedding his armor fast, fingers yanking at the buckles as I sank. I kicked and splashed. Coughing, my body acted of its own accord, aching to breathe. I tried to suck in a breath and the river poured down my throat.
Everything burned, and water filled my lungs—where it had no place being.
A violent surge of choking racked my frame, liquid expelled from me in gasping heaves. The sensation of drowning lingered despite the solid ground beneath my hands and knees. Air rasped through my stinging throat like acid with each strained gasp. When I collapsed onto my back, panting like a dying fish, I fisted handfuls of sand and pebbles. Fluid rattled in my lungs with every breath as I stared wide-eyed at the sky. A shadow blocked it out.
“I told you I would die! ”
Relief flooded Sainte’s features. Droplets splattered onto my cheeks from his wet hair as he lowered his forehead to mine.
“You can be a touch dramatic,” he said, breathing hard.
I growled, shoving him until he sat up. When he shuffled off me, I lunged, pinning him to the ground. I sat on his chest, hands hovering above his neck. My fingers wiggled, straining with the urge to choke the life out of him.
“I could kill you! You didn’t even ask why I refused to bathe! No, you just tossed me in, assuming I’d be fine! Did you listen to me, or pause to think it through? No! You threw me like a—like a–”
“You were raised in a coastal city. I assumed you knew how to swim.”
He gently pulled my hands from his neck and placed them on the ground beside his head. I bowed myself low, so my nose touched his and snarled into those blue depths.
“Well I don’t.”
In one fluid movement, he knocked my leg from under me and rolled me onto my back. He braced himself above me. A wince marked his features as he relaxed his weight off his injured arm, leaning left. He dipped low to press his forehead against mine.
“I apologize,” he bit out.
I drew in a deep, rattling breath that ended in a cough, then shoved him aside. He let me sit up, and I breathed hard, eyeing him. His armor was gone, his dark garments drenched. With an exasperated sigh, he pushed his hair off his face, glaring at the river. We were further downstream. Far enough that I couldn’t spot the boulder anymore. Had the current carried me far?
“Your clothes are clean, at least,” I mumbled.
He grunted, pushing to stand. “Too bad. I planned to give you my dry set.”
“Ha!”
“I’ll be back with soap. Stay in the shallows.”
“Oi, I’m not stepping foot in that water.” I shook my head and sent droplets flying.
The glower he gave me in return told me I’d end up in that river one way or another .
I pulled off my boots, shaking out the sand and stones, then searched my shirt to make sense of what remained of the scraps. At this point, a sleeve was attached to the tattered neckline while the other was torn, draping over my shoulder and down around my belly. The belt held true, though it wasn’t managing a lot.
Sainte came back a few moments later, the bundle of clothes and what I assumed was soap and a comb under his left arm. He tipped his face to the sky and took a deep, calming breath when he saw I hadn’t gotten into the river.
“A single swim wouldn’t scratch the surface of that grime,” he called, picking his way over.
“Well, it will have to do.”
“Take pity on the men,” Sainte set the bundle on a cluster of dry rocks, “and me.”
He tossed the bar, and I caught it, giving it a sniff. Mint and pine. Fresh. I snickered and shuffled to the water’s edge, settling on my knees. After cupping some water, I lathered the soap.
“Off with those things you call clothes.”
“And trust you? ” I called over my shoulder.
“I’m not above tossing you in a second time.”
“You said you were sorry!” I snapped a glare, checking to see if he started toward me.
“I’d apologize again.” He shrugged, then turned his back on me, perching on a chunk of driftwood.
“Your word, Sainte.” I set the soap aside, rising to my feet.
“What would you like me to pledge, Princess?”
“You’ll not look.”
“Yet, if you manage to get swept away in two paces of water, I daresay I’ll have to break that vow. I cannot.”
I snatched a pebble and threw it at him—then reminded myself I was an adult as his shoulders shook with his light laughter.
“Swear you’ll not look unless I call for you.”
“Or I hear flailing, with no response.”
“Fine.”
“I so swear.”
I undressed quickly, glancing at the tree line. Despite my disdain, I believed he wouldn’t intentionally endanger me. He stripped me of my freewill, forcing me on this journey. But he saved me when I had no one else, cared for me, doted on me, and ensured I had something to look forward to throughout the years. He was nothing if not loyal, and I couldn’t recall a single instance of him deceiving me—aside from drugging me and stealing me from my bed.
My foolish heart trusted him .
I cursed myself under my breath and waded out. Water lapped at my waist, and I lowered, keeping my chest below the surface as I scoured the dirt and grime from my skin. To be honest, it felt amazing, not that I would admit it. I scrubbed at my hair, grimacing at the cloudy haze that floated away. Surely I just kicked up the sediment. That much scum couldn’t come from one person.
Movement along the shore made me glance up from my washing. I watched as Sainte walked backward toward the water. “Oi, you were supposed to stay where you were!” I called out, hugging my arms over my chest below the surface.
“I never swore that.” He collected the fragments of my tunic, holding them up, turning them this way and that.
“Put my shirt down, Sainte!”
“This is a shirt?”
I slapped the water. “Stop!”
“Tell me, is this the shirt?” He held up one piece. “Or this?” He held up the other and peered at them as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle.
“Put it down.”
“Your wish is my command.”
I stared, horrified, as he balled them up and threw them into the river. They hit with a wet splash, bobbed once, then the current swept them away. I spewed every curse imaginable as he set his dry shirt onto the shore and reached for my trousers.
“No!”
I stood up and marched over, challenging his word as I approached in naught but my skin. He snorted and returned to his driftwood to sit with his back to me. With a slew of grumbled curses, I tossed the soap aside and struggled into my soaked trousers, then pulled his shirt overhead. I used Ethyan’s belt to keep it from catching the wind and blowing off with me. The tunic reached mid-hip, and I batted it out of the way as I stepped into my soggy boots. It was a relief to have full coverage without needing to piece scraps together, but… it smelled like him.
And that did funny things to my heart.
“Decent?”
“Couldn’t say the same of you,” I shot back.
The slap of his wet pants against his legs signaled his approach, and I sincerely hoped he was uncomfortable.
“Dare I ask the same vow of you?” he asked, passing me as he started for the water.
“Oh, no. If you call my name or I hear flailing, I assure you, I will gladly watch as you float downstream.”
His chuckle faded into a hiss as he ducked his head and tugged his tunic over his left shoulder. As he revealed his back, my jaw fell open, eyes widened in horror. I must have made a choked sound of distress, because he glanced over at me. I snapped my mouth shut, clenching my jaw as I quickened my steps to get a better view. He remained still and silent as I took the sight in, dread filling my soul.
“This was the price for traveling to Landing’s End?” I whispered, unable to keep myself from tracing the raised scars that marred the entirety of his back.
The price for visiting a ‘petty brat?’
Layers upon layers of long, thin lines crisscrossed his taut skin from the top of his shoulders to his hips. There was no way to count them as they blurred into one mangled mess in the center. He was lucky not to have his spine damaged and that he could still move freely.
Sainte was silent as I traced the newest marks. The red welts were healed, but obviously fresher than the rest. He shivered as my fingertip trailed to the center of his back, and I pressed my palm where the indent of his spine should be.
“A month isn’t long to gather recruits.”
I frowned, stepping aside to search his face. He held my stare with an unreadable expression. Not angry or hurt, simply resigned to his punishment. He didn’t drop his gaze. Instead, he studied me, watching for my reaction.
My stomach churned as shame sank like a stone in my gut. “Why? Why did you keep coming?” I whispered, my features contorted with guilt.
“I couldn’t let a little girl down.”
His lips pressed tight and attempted to shift the sleeve off his injured arm with a grimace. I reached out to help, removing the wet fabric.
I dropped his tunic and pulled him toward me to inspect the wound. “You were the only one who didn’t.”
The arrow had pierced his bicep, leaving an angry red wound free of streaks, reassuring me it wasn’t infected. Carefully, I rotated the limb to check the exit, relieved to find it clean and healing. Both marks were scabbed over with slight cracks oozing fresh blood.
“You’ll live.” I cleared my throat, stooping to retrieve his wet tunic.
“I’m relieved.”
With a haughty sneer, I left to hang it on a branchy section of driftwood before finding a seat facing the woods. Birdsong and wind rustling through the foliage entwined with the soft brush of fabric as he undressed, followed by the splashes of his washing.
As a child, I believed he cared, missed me even, and that was why he visited. As I grew, I didn’t care why he came, just that he did. He was the highlight of my year, the one who put up with my rebellion without a judgmental word to say about it. After my sixteenth birthday, I mentally accused him of stringing me along for the fun of it. With recent developments, I still felt used—but that was a lot to endure for a person.
How many times had he been flogged?
I’d seen my fair share of flogging scars in the slums, yet none amounted to that mass of marred skin. He suffered that much to use me? Couldn’t he have sent someone else to keep an eye out, to send word that I was alive and well? Why risk such pain to spend one day with me?
Unless…
Unless he really did care about me.
I curled over my knees, pressing my fingers over my eyes. Out of everyone I knew, I trusted him the most. Despite his departure and the sense of abandonment it brought, even after he kidnapped me, it was hard to erase years of loyalty. Sainte was embedded into my soul as deep as my own heart. He showed up regardless of weather or circumstance. He was the single person I could count on who never failed me.
If only I could convince him I wasn’t cut out to be a princess.
After blowing out a shaky breath, I glared up at the sky. Religion was not rampant on the streets, nor in Kelsie’s home. My faith in the gods was faulty at best. But I would’ve prayed to one if I knew which would hear me.
The slosh of water signaled him getting out, and I waited patiently while he dressed.
There was an extra horse—a potential means of escape. Though the thought of returning to my friends sent a pang of regret through my chest. The more I learned about Sainte and Wynterborne, the worse I felt for planning my escape.
That, and he would always find me.
A strip of white linen dangled beside my face, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. Twisting, I squinted up at him, doing my best not to gawk at his bare chest. I was a grown woman. I knew better than to ogle my kidnapper.
He dipped his chin, gesturing to his right arm, then wiggled the linen again. I threw my legs over the log and took the bandage. My heart settled with a sense of rightness, like it was happy I saw to his wounds.
“Stupid,” I muttered, securing the bandage a little tighter than necessary.
Sainte grunted as I finished tying it in a bow with a flourish. The red that already seeped through pulled at my frown. Slowly, he raised his arm and flexed his biceps with a wince, revealing the strain of his injury.
Fish guts, he was built, though.
I cleared my throat, then strode over to his drenched tunic. With a swift turn, I made to throw it without realizing he followed close behind. The fabric slapped against his chest, and I glared, frustration evident in my expression.
“We’re headed out after this.”
“Right,” I grumbled. “Have to take the princess to her prison. Ahem, I mean castle.”
Stupid heart. Stupid, stupid heart.