Turning slightly, I see Elara slipping away, her movements swift and deliberate as she weaves through the crowd. She darts down a narrow alley, disappearing from sight. Sighing, I chastise myself for not expecting this and follow after her. There’s no need to run when all I have to do is wait for—
She reaches the next street and glances over her shoulder. Just as she’s about to break into a full sprint, her body seizes midstride. For several agonizing seconds, she stands rigid before crumpling to the ground. People pause, their gazes lingering, but no one comes to her aid. They see the collar around her neck and know better than to intervene.
When I get close enough, my pointed scowl sends the remaining onlookers scurrying away. I crouch down and give her a cursory once-over to ensure she didn’t injure herself in the fall. Her breath is steady, her pulse strong. My instinct is to scoop her slight frame into my arms and carry her back to the Gilded Coin, but showing concern for a pawn who just attempted to escape would raise suspicion.
With a resigned sigh, I lift her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, banding my arm around her thighs to hold her in place. I make my way back through the bustling streets, ignoring the curious glances from passersby.
The jolt from the collar will keep someone of hersize out for the rest of the day, maybe even through the night. However long, I fully expect her to be furious when she wakes, and I must be mad, because I’m rather looking forward to it.
Chapter Six
Elara
A jolt of pain snaps me awake.
My eyes fly open to golden light searing through the thin curtains. Disoriented, I lie still, heart pounding against my ribs. The quiet clop of horse hooves outside clashes with the steady rhythm of another’s breathing. He’s lying next to me—whatever his name is, because there’s no way I’m calling himmy lordwhen we’re alone—his broad back facing my direction. His dark hair is tousled, a few rebellious strands curling against the nape of his neck.
My eyes narrow as yesterday comes roaring back. I enacted my plan and ran the first chance I got. Little did I know, the ribbon around my neck is more than a simple accessory. A sudden bolt, like lightning surging through my veins, is the last thing I remember before darkness swallowed me.
Bastard.
If I had a razor, I would shave off all that beautiful hair.
Ever so carefully, I slip from the bed. The floorboards creak, and I pause, watching him closely. He doesn’t stir. He must not expect me to be awake yet; otherwise, I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be on guard. His mistake, and my chance to try again.
Now that I know this damn ribbon is essentially a shock collar, my first order of business is to get rid of it.
I know he keeps a small knife in a sheath in his boot, but his clothes are near his side of the bed, and the floorboards over there are even more creaky than these. One misstep could ruin everything. I scan the room, searching for an alternative. Then I spot it—my saving grace—a glint of silver on the table near the window. Only a few feet away are the remnants of his dinner last night. The aromas of roasted meat and ale linger in the air, and my stomach grumbles. I ignore my hunger, focusing instead on the sharp knife lying on an empty plate.
Holding my breath, I tiptoe across the room and pick up the knife before glancing over my shoulder. He hasn’t stirred, his breathing slow and even.
I turn back to my task and slide the blade between the ribbon and my throat, angling it so the sharp edge presses against the silk. I apply a bit of pressure. It doesn’t budge.
Frowning, I press harder. Still nothing.
I try sawing, but the blade glides over the surface as if it’s coated in oil. My brows knit together, frustration sparking in my chest. I adjust my grip, carefully increasing the pressure. The blade so close to my neck makes me pause. Bleeding out on the floor is not the way I want to leave Towerfall.
Focus, Elara.
My heart pounds as I begin a steady sawing motion, and a bead of sweat traces a path down my temple.
Come on…
A large hand closes firmly around mine, imprisoning my wrist.
“Stop,” he growls, low and commanding.
A startled gasp escapes me as he presses me more firmly against the solid planes of his body. He’s hot, his warmth radiating through my dress. My breath catches, and a flare of electricity courses through me when the unmistakable hardness of his cock nestles against my lower back.
“The knife will not cut through the collar,” he says, his breath warm against my ear. “You will only succeed in slicing your throat.”
“Bullshit,” I seethe, trying to hide the flush creeping up my neck. “I watched you use a knife on it yesterday, and it worked just fine.”
In the blink of an eye, he disarms me, the knife slipping effortlessly from my fingers. Before I can react, he spins me around. We’re now chest to chest, nothing separating us but the fabric of my skirt. One of his large hands pins my wrists together behind my back, while the other wraps around the front of my throat, his thumb pressing under my chin to force my gaze upward.
“It only worked because I wanted it to.” His steely eyes lock on mine. “A pawn collar is infused with magick connected to the owner. If you stray too far from me without my permission, you will be incapacitated. If you try to harm me, it will do the same. The only way this comes off your pretty neck is if I wish it so.” He lowers his face until his lips are a mere breath away from mine, his gaze never wavering. “And I do not.”
Glaring daggers at him, I spit out, “You could have told me that yesterday.”
