He purses his lips in distaste. “Rumor and legend can be more powerful than law and fact.”
I think of the blood staining the wooden planks under him, how the others shrank away from us. How they watched with begrudging respect and fear.
“So, Arion?—”
“KingArion, woman.”
“—wishes all to know that he will cut down anyone in his path to keep me? I am here because of my own free will to uphold the promise he made with King Teo and Queen Estela. He need not cut anyone down in my name,” I say, ignoring his interjection.
Thorne rolls his eyes. “You are not so special, my dear. I think your time under the caves has addled your brain with well wishes and dreams of grandeur. Here, in the Elven Dominion, women are vessels. You will carry the blood of those who decide to use you—it takes no talent, nor does it make you special in the eyes of your male counterparts or weak gods.”
I blink. “You worked alongside women for all your life. You were Mrath’s right hand.” I bite my tongue, then let the insult slide out. “Herpet. How can you hold such a poor opinion of my gender?”
His nostrils flare. “How do you think I know so much of your gender? You women grasp at power. You will never truly hold it. If a man wants something from you, eventually you will give it. It is written in the laws of your sex.”
Something more feral than I would deem myself capable of rages inside of me. Something dark and hidden, the same thing that spoke to me earlier, surges. I lunge across the coach, tearing at his throat.
Unfortunately, without the help of the cursed presence lingering inside of me, it seems my inhuman strength has disappeared. So I pour all of my anxiety and rage into fighting against him. Thorne grabs my wrists, easily overpowering me, and pushes me back into my seat. I kick at him, aiming for his groin to show him that men are also weak, when he snarls,
“Enough! You’ll tear your dress, and then your betrothed will be doubly displeased. King Arion likes order. You should know this.”
The name of the king makes me go slack, and I let go of my fight, eyes narrowed, still glaring as fiercely as I can.
He straightens his tunic with a huff. “Hate me if you wish, Arlet. Make me a monster if you wish. But?—”
A thud hits the side of the coach as we run over a large bump. My hands fly out, trying to stabilize my body, as I look from side to side.
Then shouts come from the guards, and a fresh spray of red coats the window to my left. I yelp, falling back over the bench.
More blood?
It makes me gag. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. I hate this.
Thorne groans and then makes his way to the door. He looks back at me, worry just beginning to taint his face. “Stay here,” he grinds out and then leaves.
The smell of blood leaks in after him. It hits me square in the face. The Elven Kingdom isn’t some pillar of unity and strength; it’s as divided as anywhere, and I’m walking into a game of politics without any rulebook.
Hostia puta.A sinking pit rests in my stomach, the same feeling I had on the boat. I’ve made a mistake.
This is the first time I’ve been truly left alone since coming with Thorne, with the others around me distracted. Fear wells up inside me. Maybe the reasonable thing to do now is to leave and warn Teo and Estela about Arion’s plan to find the artifact. This is an opportunity. It’s not too late yet. I’m notmarried.
Maybe Thorne and the guards are all dead. Getting taken by some other group could be even more dangerous. I’m lucky that I’ve been mostly left in peace, being the king’s intended. That same luck won’t be extended to me by bandits.
If Thorne and his men lose, then I will be helpless. I’ve seen the aftermath of a woman left to the whims of savage men—the slave pens were brutal to women left alone. Rape and torture were among the ugliest ways to die.
I listen as the fighting continues and press myself to the window not stained red by blood. As I peer out into the afternoon light, my vision fills with tall, evergreen trees mixed with rich, deep brown trunks and diverse underbrush. The idyllic scene is ruined when an elf is practically torn open, blood gushing out onto the side of the carriage.
Something zings through me, a thought I’m surprised hasn’t surfaced before. What if…the person who’s come for me is someone I know? An Enduar with a cleaver and two missing fingers on his left hand. For weeks, he was as any other person who let me down or betrayed me in the past. No better than Daniel, or Arion, or Thorne.
But if he came back for me…maybe it would be easier to forgive him.
Gods, to have his strong steadying presence near me again would be a balm to my soul. All those days alone. My resolve might break on loneliness itself. Pitiful—but better than being subjected to the elven court.
If it is him, then he will know how to track me. He’s powerful. Smart.
Without another thought, I grab the handle and exit the door.
As soon as I’m out, I press myself to the side of the carriage, and I see two of the remaining guards fighting against a handful of figures dressed in drab, dirty clothing. Elves. Clearly.