Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ROSAMUND
He runs through open fields and then below the canopy of tall trees, and I think I pass out at some point, then come around again to find we’re still moving.
There are images that feel like memories—trees bending over gurgling streams, rolling hills where deer dart over rocks and hollows, farmers leading their animals through the pastures, stopping to gape at us.
But I can’t draw in breath, my middle crushed to Valen’s big shoulder, and I lose track of time and distance. Of reality.
When eventually I’m lowered on my back to the ground, I become aware of wheezing. It’s me. I can barely breathe.
Large hands are on my face, my neck, my chest. They start pressing down, massaging my icy skin. They burn like fire where they touch.
“Fuck, Princess, breathe, okay?” he commands me, the sound more of a growl. “I sometimes forget you’re human.”
I paw at him, trying to shove him off me.
“Stop pushing me away. I’m trying to bring you back to life. Your lips are fucking blue.” He rubs at my collarbone, my throat. “Breathe. Don’t die on me. Not after I went into so much trouble to save your life.”
I cough. “Don’t…”
“I’m not going to eat you,” he says, “although I’m fucking pissed.” After a while, he sits back on his heels. “Your color is coming back.”
But my mind is slower to resume function. Lying on my back on the hard ground, the wind whistling around us, I stare stupidly up at his handsome face, the fall of white hair in his golden eyes, and can’t… think.
He licks his lips, that silver stud in his tongue flashing, and reaches again for my face, only to let his hand fall to his side. “Stay here. I’ll go hunt and be right back.”
Hunt.
It hits me, then. It’s really true. We’re outside. Outside the manor. Out in the wide world.
That’s not how I had imagined my foray outside my little bubble to be, the first after my harrowing childhood excursion.
After he leaves, I slowly sit up, pressing a hand to my bruised and aching middle. He left me inside a stone circle, an old structure, worn and weathered. Moss paves the ground, and lichens form patches of pale pink and yellow on the dark stones that rise like jagged teeth out of the earth.
Above, the sky is dipping into afternoon hues, lilac and gold, dragons cavorting among the wreaths of clouds.
I see many draks, the most common dragonkin, large enough to take on riders, as well as small darakins.
I don’t see any of the Great Dara, the enormous dragons inhabiting the higher atmosphere.
I feel… oddly calm. Numb. Still in shock, probably. At a loss as to what to do. I’ve always had my routine to keep me going, to settle my racing heart and give sense to my days.
Now… What do I do now?
Reach Lord Eorl’s manor. That was my goal up until today.
He asked for my home as dowry.
But that’s Stepfather’s fault. He probably asked for the manor’s weight in gold to pay his debts and antagonized Lord Eorl. Besides, if Lord Eorl takes my manor… then it will be mine the moment I become his wife.
That’s what I should do. Go there, find him. Explain what happened. Marry him.
Gods, what am I thinking? The only way to make it there is with Valen’s aid, and why on earth would he help me? I’m out here, at his mercy. That’s probably why he got me out of the manor. To torment me in his turn, take his revenge.
I should run.
Oh Gods, this is crazy. I laugh out loud. Outrun a wolf?
Though this whole picture doesn’t fit in with the concern I saw in his eyes when he revived me earlier. I thought I saw real fear there.
But… no. He was probably upset I’d gone and died on him after the trouble he went into by bringing me out here. I can’t see any reason for him ‘saving’ me other than having me at his mercy.
And now he’s out there, hunting.
Did he shift to hunt? Is he hunting in human form?
Why am I so fascinated all over again? That moment when he’d leaped on me in the great hall…
I was certain it would be my end. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he spared me, after the shocking truths Stepfather sprang on us.
After losing control and half-shifting. That he carried me away instead. But what is my fate to be now?
Slowly, painstakingly, I get to my feet.
My green gown has mostly dried, discolored and stained with mud, the hem torn, the seams coming undone in my bustier.
My hair has come out of its updo, hanging loose around my face, hairpins stuck haphazardly into my dark locks.
I pick one out and clutch it in my hand until it hurts.
I look a real mess. I am a real mess.
This is an absolute disaster, and I need to make some decisions. Now is the time to run, before he takes me even farther from home. How far could we be? It’s still the same day my stepfather locked me away with a werewolf and then pitted us against each other. I could head back…
…where my family is waiting to kill me in cold blood. So my only real option is to head west, toward Lord Eorl’s house.
Won’t I perish in the woods, without a carriage, without weapons and men to wield them on my behalf?
Only one way to find out…
Leaving the circle of standing stones feels like the biggest step I’ve ever taken in my life.
Valen obviously placed me in here for a reason—some residual fae magic in the place?
I’ve heard tales like this. And furious with me or not, he said he’d return.
Whether that was the truth or a lie, I suppose I’ll never know.
Clenching my teeth, I march through the sparse vegetation. We’re on a low hill, and I make my slow descent toward what looks like a creek. I’m thirsty and hungry. Exhausted and light-headed.
Two facts quickly become apparent over the course of my trek. One of them is that a lady’s boots aren’t made for hiking through the woods and meadows. In fact, they don’t seem to have been made for walking at all.
And the other is… I can’t stop thinking about Valen.
Which is perfectly normal, I remind myself. We had… a very close shave. Together.
But I don’t need him. I’m not in any need of saving.
Certainly not from a dark fae wolf. I only need to find a hamlet, a village, a town, and ask for directions.
I could play the sympathy card, though it’s not in my nature.
If I say my carriage was befallen by robbers and I escaped with my life, would they believe me and put me in a caravan heading in the right direction?
Worth a try.
I’ve always hated being pitied. I was raised to be proud and self-sufficient, to hide any illness or pain, to not speak of my nightmares and anxiety attacks. Buckle up, they always told me. Swallow it down. Hide it. Don’t talk about it. A daughter of Elenor House can’t be weak and whiny.
It’d be disgraceful. Shameful.
But this time I’ll have to grit my teeth and make my case, tell lies, and ask for assistance. I can’t tell people that my family is after me. And I can’t walk to Lord Eorl. It would be dangerous, and anyway, it’s way too far.
The back of my eyes burns. I hate how close to tears I am. These past few days have been too much to process.
This… all this wasn’t supposed to happen.
There was a plan. A plan that was made years ago.
Everyone knew about it. There were specifics, too.
How many trunks I’d take with me. How long the journey would last. How many servants would accompany me.
How many more I could send for later. My wedding. The guests I’d invite.
My life stretching ahead of me. My path—
Something snags my shoe, and I gasp as, arms windmilling, I fall. I tumble down the slope, every hit forcing a pained oof from my lips, as sharp rocks cut my skin and rough ground abrades my skin.
Finally, I come to a stop near the foot of the hill, close to the bubbling creek, on top of sand and smooth pebbles.
Ow. That hurt. Once again, I’m on my back on the ground, gazing up at the sky, once more shocked and dazed.
And then a familiar male voice says, “Hey, Princess, where do you think you’re going?”