I curbed my tongue, resigned to the fact that there was no escape this time. When we weren’t riding his tired horse, we were walking at a brisk pace. His attention and focus no longer wavered between me and his men. We met others on the road, but only managed a nod or glance in acknowledgment. No one cared who wewere or where we came from.
The further north we ventured, the colder the air grew, its chill pierced like tiny needles. Sainte offered his cloak, which warded off the worst of the bite, but it still seeped through, nipping at my skin. The extra layer concealed the soup stain on my back, masking the scent that inevitably blended with my unwashed state. Even Sainte carried an odor, one that was far from pleasant.
The wind howled across the vast plains, stirring the weathered grass as a city’s silhouette emerged in the distance. Encased in towering walls, it stood as a fortress against the outside world. Two wagons halted at the gate, the guards mere specs from my vantage point. I squinted, trying to make out their movements as they inspected the cargo.
A gust tore my hood back, and my short black hair danced about. I grumbled, pulling it over my head. With aching fingers, I clutched the fabric, holding it in place against the frigid breeze.
“Tell me we’re stopping,” I groaned.
“No.”
Our relentless hunger worsened with each passing mile, for which I was probably to blame. Sainte shared his meager rations, though they amounted to little more than crumbs at this point. The horse trembled beneath our weight, its gaunt frame a testament to our journey’s hardship. Exhaustion slackened our shoulders and slowed our progress, and we probably looked as bad as we felt.
“I would kill for a hot bowl of soup.”
Sainte pulled off the road, into the sparse woodland. “There will be time for food later.”
“That doesn’t help my bellynow.”
When he dismounted, I sighed, assuming he meant to relieve himself before we made the trek across the plains. Instead, he rummaged through his pack, retrieving his rope.
“What’s that for?” I asked, eyeing it with disdain.
I understood his need for it at night, but we shared the saddle now. Escape seemed impossible with his chest against my back, and his strong arms around me.
Not that I took special note of how strong they were.
Without a word, he pulled my left hand down, motioning for my right.
“Really, Sainte? I won’t run, I swear.”
“You’ve said that before,” he sighed. “These men can’t perceive you as a threat to the throne.”
My heart thudded hard with anxiety. How many days had we traveled again? Was there still a chance to get out of this?
“Are we that close to Wynterborne?” I glanced at the city, extending my right hand without thought.
He tied the rope loosely about my wrists. I looked down at him and frowned, wiggling my fingers.
“Two day’s hard ride,” he said. “We’ll make it in one.”
The weight of it all crashed into me, as if the air grew heavy. A shudder snaked down my spine, coiling in my gut.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered to myself.
“You can.” He mounted behind me, urging the stallion back toward the road. “You will.”
The shiver rattling in my bones had nothing to do with the cold as I yanked the hood lower over my face. There was no shirking this now. No escaping. I was doomed to whatever fate had in store for me.
“Easy.”
It might have been my imagination, but I swore his arms squeezed me tighter. Not caring if that was the case, I burrowed against his chest and tugged at the rope securing my wrists.
“Make those look tighter than they are. And keep your head down.”
“Else someone might murder me on the street?” I muttered.
“It’s a possibility.”
