Chapter 5
Crunch. Thump. Crunch. Thump.
A chill curled me closer to the source of warmth. A longing to dig in deeper, chase away the cold and sink further into my sleep. Except awareness stirred in my brain as a familiar rhythmic motion tapped against my head, dragging me out to the edges, forcing consciousness back on me.
Crunch. Thump. Crunch. Thump.
Queasiness swept through the moment my eyelids cracked open, eagerly waiting for me to wake before it pounced. The sun was sinking toward the western horizon, casting deeper shadows through the dense forest, suggesting evening in the Day Realm was encroaching.
White snow blurred below my throbbing head and bile rose in my throat, a groan humming in my gut.
Every inch of me throbbed in pain, aching from the abuse.
Agony zapped down the nerves in my pinned arms, the final death throes of blood trying to circulate through them.
I ground my molars together to stop from throwing up, not wanting to face the fact—my nightmare was real.
The peace I’d felt while I was insensible—where Sarina was still alive and I wasn’t being kidnapped by some cold-blooded Northerner—shredded into splinters, burrowing in with tormented cuts.
Last night’s joyous festivities could have been a dream, if not for the white ceremonial dress I still wore.
A reminder that less than a day ago, I was preparing for my wedding.
Hauling me over his shoulder again, he trekked through the snowy terrain like I was a sack of potatoes. I had no memory of him departing from the waterfall, or carrying me across the snowy mountain region, but by the frozen stiffness of my clothes, it must have been many hours ago.
While the wet clothes were rigid along my backside from the cold air, his body heat radiated through my front, beading sweat between my breasts.
His hand firmly on my ass wiped the last bits of sleep from my mind.
Yet it was his rough steps through the thick snow, bouncing my bladder into his hard shoulder, which brought me sharply into reality.
I had to pee.
Stirring, I tried to wiggle off. “Down.” I garbled through the gag. His grip on me tensed, a grunt in his throat, adjusting me back up. “Put me down, now!”
He understood me just fine but chose to ignore my demands, keeping a steady pace. My temper flared. The idea of this low-bred thrall disregarding me, treating me like an animal, squirmed me more against him.
A low warning growl came with a hard slap to my ass.
I went still, my eyes bulging. Did he just spank me?
“You move an inch, and I’ll do it again.” His voice was so low it barely broke over the crunching of his boots.
I was stunned by the audacity. The humiliation of being treated like this while helplessly hanging over him made fire storm into my veins. Loathing. Rage. The need to hurt him, and see him degraded and shamed like this, before I slit his throat.
I had only one recourse.
It was a beat, two steps, before he stilled, feeling the warmth soak into his tunic.
“Are—are you fucking peeing on me?” His voice tightened.
“Faen i helvete!” He dropped me off his shoulder, my ass thumping down into the snow.
I peered up at him, a crazed laugh muffled through my gag.
Still a little damp from the river, one side of his dirty tunic was freshly sodden with urine.
It dripped down to his trousers, sticking the fabric to his skin.
His piercing eyes lifted to mine, his shoulders rolling forward, his chest moving up and down in fury as I laughed again.
“Jaevla brat,” he sneered. His movements faster than I was prepared for, he clasped my neck tightly, yanking me up, my sodden, thin slippers skimming the ground.
Air cinched in my esophagus as I danced on my toes for leverage, gasping for oxygen.
He leaned in, his breath coiling off my cheek, the threat of his ire pressing down on the soft spot in my neck.
“I might have to keep you alive.” His gravelly timbre clawed at my skin. “But alive is a very vague term.” He clamped down harder. Struggling to breathe, I tried to keep purchase on the ground, my eyes watering. “I guarantee you will soon be wishing you’d died like your handmaiden did.”
A strangled hiss tore up my throat, hatred burning in my chest, my gaze boring into him with loathing. A smirk tugged at his lip, his thumb rolling over my throat, forcing me to swallow.
“Compared to what your kind did to me? Peeing on me is just foreplay, kanin.” He lifted me higher before dropping me, landing me roughly back into the snow.
The warmth of my pee had turned cold against my legs, souring my already foul mood.
“Plus.” He leaned over, his scarred lip hitching up.
“Now I don’t have to smell that fitte on you.
” He forcibly grabbed my waist, scooping me up and tossing me back over his shoulder.
“Enjoy stewing in your own urine.” He patted my ass, his low tone filled with condescension.
Biting down on my lip, tears prickled behind my lids.
Exhausted, drained, and broken. It was hard to reconcile only a few hours ago, I had been at my betrothal celebration, getting tipsy and fooling around with my future husband in my father’s office.
Sarina had yet to come looking for me. The blissful moments before, when we had no idea our fate would twist.
How that one moment changed everything.
If Sarina hadn’t known me so well, hadn’t known where to find me, she would still be alive.
The man didn’t relent, keeping a steady pace on his journey.
After a while my mind shut down, finding a reprieve in slumber.
A peace from the pain and guilt. Disappearing from reality in the recurring thump of his steps.
I danced against his spine as he trekked over the harsh terrain.
Sleep was preferable to my punishing thoughts, the worry of what was ahead, and what I left behind.
So, I let myself dive into the nothing, where I didn’t have to feel.
“Wake up, girl.”
My lids flew open when a hand whacked my butt, his order no more than a rumble.
“We’re staying here for the night.” He dropped me down his body, setting my frozen feet into the powder, the dainty shoes not made for the extreme weather.
Blinking, I glanced around. The landscape looked no different than it did hours ago, but I could feel the foreignness of it. The miles around the castle I knew better than anyone, spending most days riding Asta to the boundaries of the king’s private land.
We were far from anything I knew.
The sun was lingering at the horizon, where it stayed until dawn sent it back up into the sky, drenching the forest in shadow, almost hiding the structure among the trees—a one-room wooden cabin.
Hundreds were built across the vast Silvervale kingdom for hunters.
Technically owned by the king, they were publicly open for anyone to use when passing through for the night.
He grabbed a dagger from his pants. His muscles tightened, scanning around the cabin, searching for any disturbance, a warning this place was occupied or that guards were lying in wait for us to show up.
How long would it be before word reached other villages that I had been taken? Until all the hunting parties were out searching for me?
He crept closer to the door. The undisturbed ground showed no sign anyone had been there in a while, the cabin ringing with the unnerving silence that resulted when no life was inside.
His blade primed, he pushed down on the door handle.
The lock clicked, the door squealing on its hinges as it swung slowly open.
He inched inside the stone chamber, ready to engage in conflict.
The light from outside seeped into the sparse room, displaying a table, several chairs, a fireplace, and two worn cots at the far end.
There was a basin to wash in and a few shelves holding a warped pan, battered bowls, mugs, and utensils.
He huffed, dragging me into the space with him. The musty scent of stale air and dirt wrinkled my nose. Cold air leaked in through gaps in the covered windows, making the cabin not much warmer than outside, but at least it protected from the elements.
After checking every crevice in the room and finding a small lantern, he located matches by the fireplace, lighting it. “I need to get a fire going and hunt something for dinner.”
I didn’t acknowledge him, standing in the middle of the room. A large axe leaned against the fireplace, only feet away.
My skin prickled with heat, and I looked up.
His glare was set on me, peering at the axe and back to me, knowing what I was thinking.
His jaw clenched, a fresh wave of revulsion firing in his soulless eyes.
His face was streaked with dirt and bruises, making him even more feral.
I could see the stain from where I peed, darker than the rest of his tunic.
I wanted to take a little win in that, but I was also drenched in my own urine, smelling awful.
My skin itched with blood, grime, sweat, and pee.
The need to crawl out of my skin overwhelmed me to the point panic simmered in my lungs.
“Can’t trust you alone,” he grumbled, stomping over to me. Clutching my elbow, he dragged me toward a metal hook embedded into the stone wall with a rope dangling from it, probably used to hang laundry or a hunter’s kill for dinner.
“What are you doing?” I garbled through my gag. He didn’t answer, yanking the rope and knotting it between my already bound wrists. “Please . . . no.” Biting back the tears from the agony in my arms.
“I need to get water, food, and some wood.” He yanked the rope toward the hook. “And I doubt you will sit here like a good little girl.” His derisive tone had my imagination painting the wall with his blood.