Chapter 3 #2
He rode ahead with the ease of a man raised on the privilege of experience, like he had been born for leadership—no, rulership.
All Alethea had ever been born to do was keep her mother’s treasury full and her crown securely attached.
A part of her envied Nakir and his confidence, but she knew he was going to need it if he meant to take on the Crimson Queen.
Maybe it was time someone stood up to Zenobia.
What a traitorous thought.
They rode through the night, stopping before dawn only to feed and water their horses and relieve themselves.
Alethea relished the opportunity to stretch her aching limbs.
She’d never ridden this far in her life.
Her few trips out of Hyelea had been by carriage and ship, and Nakir’s pace was brutal.
Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t help but admire the way the rolling hills grew and shifted the farther northwest they rose.
Every time they crested another foothill, she was given a glimpse of the Lenorean countryside for miles in every direction.
And whenever they reached the top of a peak, the capital city had grown smaller and smaller behind them.
She considered making an attempt to run, but they rarely stopped long enough for her to get her bearings, and she’d have to figure out a way to sever the rope tying her horse’s bridle to Nakir’s saddle if she wanted any chance of getting far.
Even when they took breaks to rest the horses, she didn’t get a moment of privacy.
It was easy to give up on any dreams of escape with them watching her every move like a hawk. She wasn’t trained for this.
During their next stop, Balthasar approached with a few slices of an apple, and she couldn’t help but eye him with suspicion. Why would they bother feeding her? Surely they were only keeping her to seek retribution for Goran’s death?
“Take it,” Bal encouraged her. Something in his tone immediately soothed her suspicions. She watched him quietly, eyes following his every movement, until he popped a single slice into his own mouth. “See? Not poisoned.”
Alethea devoured the slices. He pulled another apple and a small loaf of bread from his bag and held it out to her. When she reluctantly accepted, he leaned down and lowered his voice.
“You’re not in the Crimson Queen’s court anymore, Your Highness.”
In any other tone, it would be a threat.
But all it brought Alethea was a small amount of relief, which in itself disturbed her.
The further away she got from her mother’s castle, the more danger she was in.
No one here had any reason to protect her and every reason to end her life—and the Onasis bloodline.
If not, they could easily bargain for a ransom for her return.
Though her mother cared little for her, Queen Zenobia would be hell-bent on keeping Alethea’s powers for herself.
Exhaustion encroached as the sun rose over the horizon.
Alethea jolted awake several times from nearly falling from her horse.
The third time, Nakir stopped their punishing pace for a small break and regarded her with a critical eye.
It was the first time he’d looked at her since the campsite, and she found his scrutiny nearly unbearable, making her flush from her toes to the top of her head.
It was also the first time she’d seen him in the light. The shock of his golden-amber gaze had her wishing she could look away, but she could not.
“A fall at this pace could be deadly,” he told her, his tone flat and cold. “Should I tie you to your saddle?”
The thought filled her with dread. Not only did it sound painful, but it also seemed humiliating. She immediately thought of Goran Arranil, tied to his chair as she’d pored through the depths of his treachery against her mother. A cold chill rolled over her, and Alethea shook her head.
“Then you need to ride with another. Dawes and Balthasar are already pushing their horses’ weight capacities.”
“Don’t look at me,” Ker stated without a moment’s hesitation, reining her horse away from the conversation to assert her boundary.
Alethea considered her options: being tied to her horse, or riding in the saddle with Nakir. Both sounded mortifying, but she decided to pick the more tolerable of the two options and ride with the Aeshlien.
As he lifted himself up into the saddle behind her, color rose to her cheeks despite his obvious efforts to keep their bodies as separate as possible.
The saddle wasn’t meant for two riders, more uncomfortable the farther away she tried to be from him.
With a sigh, Nakir sliced through the ropes that bound her wrists.
“I wouldn’t try anything if I were you, princess,” he growled in her ear.
Her stomach flipped, and she swallowed.
She hadn’t been this close to a man since her summer in Azmarin with Reingard.
The sudden memory of the two of them tucked into various corners or cupboards, or wherever they could find time and space to be alone, had her wishing she could scrub the thoughts from her brain forever.
Glancing up, she noticed Balthasar’s eyes on hers and a curious expression on his face, which only worsened her embarrassment.
“We’re less than a day’s ride from the encampment,” Nakir explained as he took the reins. He was nearly a foot taller than Alethea, and she wondered if she even made a difference to his beast of a horse. She hardly had a moment to hold on before they set off at their breakneck pace once more.
Riding with Nakir was unsettlingly awkward at first as they each tried not to touch the other.
This balancing act brought about an entirely new set of aches to her already weary body, making tears of frustration well in her eyes.
An hour in, she finally sighed and made the choice to let herself lean back against his chest, settling into the tempo of the cantering horse.
There was nothing soft about Nakir’s body, but the fact she was no longer fighting contact meant she could relax. She felt him tense instantly, and a tiny, rebellious part of her took note. Perhaps he should have considered this before stealing her from the woods.
He sighed behind her, slow and controlled, and then something in him gave way too.
She was surrounded by him now, the scent of cedar wood, a whisper of smoldering embers, and a darker spice she couldn’t name—something low and smoky that curled at the edge of her senses.
Heat radiated steadily at her back, the rise and fall of his breath an unspoken presence she became acutely aware of.
It shouldn’t be comforting. None of this should be comforting.
And yet her muscles loosened on their own, relaxing into him.
Alethea hardly realized she’d fallen asleep until the world shifted around her.
She blinked awake to the slow sway of the horse beneath her and a sweeping valley washed in the gold of the setting sun.
Sometime during the ride, her cap had slipped free and her long blonde waves had come loose—spilling down her back, across Nakir’s chest, and trailing behind them both where the wind had caught it and made a hopeless tangle of the whole affair.
She shifted with the horse’s gentle rocking and felt the snag of it immediately; her hair had wound itself into the joints and buckles of his leather armor as though it had been there for years.
Nakir cleared his throat. Heat crept up her neck as she turned to find him looking rather pained about it, strands of gold caught stubbornly against the dark metal.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Then she began working at the tangles, teasing her hair free strand by strand—a slow, careful thing, each pull stinging a little more than she expected.
When it was done, she set about hastily rebraiding the mess over her shoulder and said nothing.
Nakir drew back on the reins, slowing their pace, and her awareness came rushing back to him all at once—his arms bracketing her, his hands sure and steady on the leather in front of her.
It took some effort to drag her gaze away.
She straightened in the saddle as the five of them rode into the bustling camp.
Amidst the vibrant greenery of the valley before them, a patchwork of a few hundred tents sprung up.
Soldiers moved about, all dressed in similar deep navy-blue attire.
Their uniforms, consisting of snug jackets with high collars, buttons, and cuffs, paired with matching trousers and sturdy leather boots, formed a moving sea of dark blue across the grassy plains.
Despite their uniforms, Nakir’s troops came in all shapes, sizes, genders, and bloodlines.
She witnessed several training sessions, some soldiers practicing maneuvers with blades, while others utilized their various kinds of magic against targets and sparring partners alike.
Some soldiers had opted for a break, tossing aside their jackets to enjoy an evening meal or engage in what she assumed were drills.
The camp buzzed with a sense of camaraderie and purpose, showcasing a colorful blend of individuals working together toward a common goal.
But this wasn’t eighteen thousand soldiers, was it?
Though she was hardly versed in estimating rebel camp sizes, Alethea got the sense this was just a small fraction of that number.
Where were the rest of them? She’d foreseen a thousand mages during Goran’s interrogation, but there weren’t even a hundred people present.
Balthasar chuckled from behind her as if reading her thoughts. “Welcome to the rebellion, Your Highness.”