No.
The initial panic receded just enough for her mind to clear, for the queen in her to assert control over the terrified woman. She was still alive, which meant she still had options. At least alive, she could use her tongue. She could scheme, persuade, manipulate—if they let her.
The thought had barely formed when she heard it: a sharp rip.
The sheets.
Her eyes widened just before he stuffed a wad of cloth between her lips, forcing her jaw open. The taste of linen, dust, and iron flooded her mouth. She gagged against it, but he was merciless, pressing it deep before knotting another strip around her head. The rough gag bit into the corners of her mouth, cutting off even the chance of speech.
Now she was bound, mute, helpless.
Her breath came hot and fast through her nose, her chest heaving as panic threatened to overtake her.
But one thought hammered louder than all the others:
This is madness.
How was he going to get her out of here? Past the guards, over the walls, through the city itself?
Before she could wonder, could think, he leaned over and hauled her up as though she weighed nothing. In one brutal, fluid motion, she was lifted and thrown across his shoulders like a sack of grain.
The air rushed from her lungs with the sudden shift, her bound body pressed hard against the unyielding breadth of him. The movement was powerful, fluid, but utterly unceremonious—cold, practical, ruthless.
Eliza gasped through her gag, the sound muffled, strangled. She squirmed instinctively, but his grip locked her in place, a massive hand pinning her against him as he straightened to his full, towering height.
She couldn't help but be struck by it—by the sheer, terrifying effortlessness of it all. His strength was not the strained, grunting exertion of a man lifting beyond his means. It was casual, unthinking, as if her body weighed no more than a cloak thrown over his shoulder.
Orc strength. All of it.
The shadows curled eagerly around him as he moved toward the window.
To her shock, she could feel them.
The shadows.
They brushed against her bound arms and bare skin, sliding like cold snakes, writhing and coiling around her as though they too sought to claim her. Terrifying. Alien. Yet... not wholly unpleasant. They stroked over her senses with a strange familiarity, a whisper of something she couldn't name—like fingers of ice that somehow didn't burn with cold, but instead left trails of tingling awareness in their wake.
Her eyes widened as she watched them gather thick around him, wrapping his black-clad form in living darkness. The luminous blue of his eyes shone all the brighter through the veil. He almost seemed less a man and more a phantom—an outline fading, dissolving, becoming almost… invisible.
And then he moved.
With one hand he pushed the shutters wide, the hinges creaking softly as the cold night spilled in. Eliza lifted her head as much as her bonds allowed and stared out at the world beyond: the vast darkness, the jagged silhouettes of towers, the pale gleam of the moon revealed from behind scudding clouds.
Her heart thundered.
Surely, you're not going to?—
The words surged to her lips, but the gag smothered them, turning her cry into nothing but a muffled gasp. She couldn't speak. She couldn't do a thing.
He took a step, placing one boot on the ledge. The shadows shifted eagerly, curling around them both. And then, without hesitation, he moved over the threshold.
He jumped.
And Eliza, Queen of Maidan, bound and gagged and helpless, fell with him into the void.
Chapter
Six
