Page 28 of The Princess Tied

“That’s not possible.”

Po shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

“Hmmm.”

He remained silent.

They had come to a rough surface where a small avalanche had recently passed, and the horse needed more guidance, so maybe it was because of that?

She didn’t feel the need to speak again, even when Ruth did later to suggest they stop soon to make camp. Her eyelids drifted lower. It was comforting, warm, even nice, rocking in John’s arms. She should, and she mentally tsked at herself, be absolutely livid at the man.

Her royal vengeance could wait. It was late, and she was so very tired, which might be due to all the orgasms.

Po yawned.

This had definitely been the oddest day ever.

* * * * *

Xander bucked against the hands pressing him down, the many hands of the Storyteller’s soldiers. One of them tilted a cup at his mouth and pinched his nose until, choking and spluttering, he swallowed the vile brown liquid. Then they held him to the mattress inside the coffin, watching as he drifted toward sleep.

“Wait,” he croaked, searching, fingers fumbling, until he found the heart locket she had given him—his Princess Pollianna. His chest felt heavy and foreign, as if it belonged to another man. He wrapped his fist over the precious object that was more than jewelry—it was all he possessed of her.

The metal heart felt cold, but perhaps that was him.

His lips were going numb, and he licked at them.

Though he blinked and struggled to shake off the effects of the drug, he could not succeed. He had tried many other times.

He didn’t know...

Didn’t know where they were going.

When they’d get there. Anything.

The face of the Storyteller loomed above, and still the others’ hands were on him.

“Go to sleep. We have far to go.”

“Where?” Xander mumbled.

“Elsewhere, where they pay me well to take you to.”

“Why?”

“You know this.”

He did not. The Storyteller turned, his long, lined face and straggly blond hair drifting out of focus.

Now his fingers and toes went numb. They let him out to eat and stretch, so he wouldn’t die, he guessed.

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

Anger bloomed on the Storyteller’s face. “You are persistent. The question should be, why are you in here instead of riding with us? The answer is because you don’t hear my truths.”