I don’t have time. The harem is scheduled to leave the inn at first light so I’m up early with the other girls, scarfing down the simple breakfast offered. Before the sun reaches the horizon, we’re on the road again.
Today is so much worse. We were able to stick with roads and well-trodden paths yesterday. Now, we’re too close to the training grounds for that. Hours before our arrival, our carriages leave the road behind, bouncing us along a little-used trail like balls in a cage.
By the gods, I hate traveling in this peculiar world.
Afterhoursof struggling to hold down my breakfast, the carriage starts to slow, and then stops completely. I can hear whispers around us tinged in fear. My heart responds, quickening as it prepares to fight or flee. I start to stow my knives on various body parts again because Ido notflee.
And then the presence appears again, moving in our direction at a snail’s pace. I’m not sure if he’s hesitant or taunting us. I’ll know soon enough. He’s no longer trying to avoid me.
“I can’t stay here,” I whisper to the girls in the carriage. I manage to keep the hint of desperation out of my tone, stating my intent in a matter-of-fact way that doesn’t reveal myneedto see him again. “Something’s here that I have to understand, so I can help protect you and the other girls.”
“You’re supposed to stay with us,” Liv reminds me. “You’ll be safer if you just pretend to be a bedmate, don’t let them see that you can fight.”
“I’ll be safer out in the open, where I can do whatever’s necessary to protect you.” I reach toward the door but then pause for a moment to turn toward Liv. “I promised to keep you all safe. This is how I keep that promise.”
Her gaze holds mine for a moment but she finally nods. “Be careful,” she says as I open the door and step out into the cool afternoon.
We’ve journeyed far inland and are surrounded by trees, the paltry path we’re following a haphazard ribbon tossed between them with no discernible purpose. The guards stand around the carriages, hands on the hilts of their swords as their gazes scan the forest, searching for whatever approaches.
And then we see them. They wear the clothes and colors of the royal house—thick black breeches tucked into boots that are even darker, tunics in the blood red the Dróttning loves with sable straps across their chests for the swords on their backs. But this group seems less disciplined somehow. It’s as if they’re the candidates who didn’t make it through soldier school.
Approaching us with an informality the Dróttning would despise, the apparent leader steps forward. But I don’t make the mistake of confusing her nonchalance with weakness. She’s a warrior, fierce and strong, with short brown hair and piercing hazel eyes.
“Why do you travel these roads?” The woman’s voice is firm, demanding.
A girl I don’t know well—Frida, I think—steps forward. I sense no fear. Ulfhild chose her for a reason.
“Thank the gods you’ve found us,” she says in a tone rich with relief. “We found ourselves on this miserable road this morning.” She raises a peremptory finger to point at one of the drivers. “He swore he knew the route, but here we are. Will you lead us back to the road?”
“You’re lost?” the leader asks, her lip quirking with her skepticism. “You ask us to believe you’ve trekked more than two vikus away from the main road by accident?”
Frida turns to sneer at her chosen scapegoat—she’s playing the aggrieved traveler to perfection—then looks again at the woman whose soldiers bar our path.
“He’s so stubborn,” she explains, her voice dripping with frustration. “I told him we were going the wrong way, but he insisted on taking us down this rut of a path. Our Madam will be so angry with him.”
“He’s led you toward a place you may not be. This land belongs to the Kastali. The punishment for entry is death. Perhaps we should take him to the Konungr and Dróttning for drawing you down such a dangerous path.” The woman’s lips still twist. She knows Frida’s lying, but we haven’t entered the training grounds yet—I think—so she’s not quite ready to condemn us all.
“Our Madam would be even angrier if we lost him,” Frida explains, her voice taking on a plaintive note. “He’s her brother, so she cares for him, tries to make him feel useful when she can. Perhaps you know of her? Meistara Ulfhild.”
The woman smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “Of course we know of Meistara Ulfhild. All do. But that does not give her leave to send her bedmates into forbidden lands. There still must be a punishment.”
Before Frida can respond, the woman’s chin lifts and her gaze turns to the nearby forest. The presence that seems to be following me is racing straight toward us now. And I’m torn, my gut clenching with a dread I can’t explain. I’ll finally get to talk to the male who has run from me twice. I need to be here, to understand how we’re connected, but my instincts scream at me to get away. Fast. My stupid stomach has twisted for no reason at all.
I stomp down those frantic parts of me. I’m not going anywhere.
Everyone’s quiet, watching the woman in charge as she waits. Long seconds drag by.
When he emerges from the forest, my breath catches in my throat. He’s every bit as magnificent as I remembered—tall and strong and dangerous. Now that he’s closer, I can see the tattoos that were too far away to notice in Revalle. Hints of them appear on his hands and neck, but the rest are hidden. An irrational, reckless part of me suddenly wants nothing more than to take off any piece of clothing necessary to follow those lines and swirls wherever they lead. Preferably with my tongue.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me.
His gaze should be focused on our guards. It’s not. Instead, he stares directly at me as his horse carries him into our midst—eyes sparkling emeralds sitting in beds of dark lush lashes. Not once does he look away.
And then he sneers.
He knows it too. We could destroy each other if we let ourselves get too close.
Finally, he turns to the woman. “Let them go,” he commands, his horse pawing at the ground and prancing, as if it needs nothing more than to run.
