I hadn’t told Lyana how I felt about anything yet, but by the looks she gave me whenever Sainte came up, she knew.
Swirling the water in my mug, I peered into it, contemplating my situation. I didn’t regret running for my freedom. Everyone should have the right to choose their path in life, free from coercion. I considered myself lucky to have escaped a royal upbringing that would have forced me into a role I despised. Instead, I was instilled with the belief that I belonged among the common folk, regardless of my bloodline, and I was fine with that.
My childhood dreams were a far cry from the typical fantasies of little girls. They imagined themselves as forgotten princesses from distant realms that would someday be summoned back to a life of luxury and adoration.
All while I suffered nightmares of my brother killing me if I ever returned.
For that, I was quite content with my commoner’s status. However, my rebellious spirit prevented me from pursuing a conventional trade. In cities like Port Siren, opportunities for women were limited—mainly regulated to the paths of a whore or a wife.
Still, I was happy with my friends and our bell tower. Sainte’s distant presence brought a sense of security, knowing he was out there, but far enough away that I could harbor my bitterness.
Why did he have to stir all this up?
“El!” Lyana struggled over, shoving through the crowded tavern.
I sucked in a startled breath, my gaze snapping toward the open door. There, the setting sun cast a silhouette against several familiar figures.
Urien, with Grimm and the others a pace behind.
“Gorseth’s blue balls!” I cursed.
My chair toppled as I leapt from my seat, darting for the rear of the tavern. I shoved people aside, and a maid’s tray toppled, splattering my back with hot soup. The sting had me biting my tongue, but I didn’t slow. I squeezed between two burly figures, a clamor of crashing objects echoing in my wake.
The innkeeper cupped his mouth, pointing toward the exit. “That way, girl!”
With a nod of thanks, I rushed in the direction he gestured. Before I sped through the kitchens, I glanced over my shoulder to see Lyana jumping onto Urien’s back, while Ethyan charged, blade in hand.
I practically fell down the few slick steps outside, then took off down the alley at a run. When I found the main road, it was eerily quiet, which should have been my first warning… but I ignored it.
I rushed for the shops, hoping to slip into a barn or shed until the men moved on. Hoofbeats pounded against the hard-packed earth, closing in fast. Iurged my legs to move faster, then turned, darting down the nearest alley. Breath heaving, I whirled, spotting a familiar white stallion, Sainte hauling back on the reins.
“No, no, no!” I ran, blood rushing to my ears.
Hooves slammed against the cobblestones. Curse the beast’s agility!
I burst from the end of the shops, frustration gnawing at me as I faced the woods, legs still pumping. With nowhere to hide—even in the forest, I couldn’t outpace him. Shifting tactics, I pivoted on my heel and staggered back, raising my hands in surrender.
“Look, I’m sure we can talk about this—oof!”
Sainte didn’t stop. Gods, I don’t think he slowed as he snared my wrist, pulling me through the air. The momentum jerked me off my feet. I screamed, clawing for purchase to pull myself away from the horse’s pounding hooves. He grunted and yanked the reins left, hauling me up at the same time.
Then he threw me over the front of the saddle as if I were a sack of grain.
I cursed with each stride, the hard leather digging into my ribs. I twisted, ready to demand he let me up, but the words died on my lips.
Rage seeped through his glare and I didn’t think there was a curse strong enough to express the anger in his eyes. As the stallion galloped out of town, I could only try to keep myself still, and pray I didn’t break a rib in this position.
Gods knew Sainte didn’t seem to care.
We rode in silence throughout the night. Horse sweat drenched my tunic and trousers. I winced with each step of its trotting gait, but was fairly confident I hadn’t broken anything. My feet and hands felt as if a thousand bees were stinging them, and no amount of wiggling or shaking relieved it. My head throbbed, a relentless pulse behind my eyes. Every muscle ached, protesting each jostle and bump of the journey. Despite the discomfort, I didn’t dare ask for a break or a chance to sit upright. Even my bladder’s urgent demands went ignored.
Sainte’s current state was unlike anything I’d witnessed before. He’d been angry or disappointed with me in the past, but this level of ire was unprecedented. Normally, he took my well-being into account, albeit in a bull-headed manner. This new carelessness cut deeper than his anger ever could.
We stopped once in the early morning, when he dismounted to relieve himself. I attempted to shift and straighten to share the saddle, but an icy glare over his shoulder killed my effort. After fixing his trousers, he pivoted toward the horse and mounted.
“Care to allow me the same relief?” I asked with a nervous grin.
He ignored me without so much as a glance as he shoved me forward, almost on the horse’s neck. It snorted and stamped its foot as Sainte gathered the reins, then urged the beast back into motion.
