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Throughout the passing scenes, a little girl popped in and out, usually arguing haughtily with Farrow, making him chuckle over whatever she said. At least a dozen years older than her, he watched her grow from a sprout and into a small girl.
In one scene, she found him hiding behind a pillar. “What’re you doing back here?” she asked baldly, tilting her head in confusion.
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips, shushing her. “Murdock’s killed another peasant at the market today.”
She rolled her eyes before surmising, “So you’re set to get another whipping, aren’t you?”
Farrow wasn’t looking forward to more lashes. His back still hadn’t quite healed from the last round he’d received.
From down the hall, a voice summoned the girl. “Princess Sable? Have you seen the bastard Farrow today? The king requires his presence in the throne room.”
Farrow gulped in dread. Sable would get into trouble if she lied. But she shook her head, easily answering, “No. I haven’t seen him all week.”
More visions of Sable followed. She visited Farrow in the stables a lot. One time, he caught a wild barn cat for her, spent weeks taming it, and then gave it to her for her fifth birthday.
The two liked to bicker. Together, they philosophized life and death and everything in between. I grew to adore Sable and her sassy mouth just as much as Farrow did, so I was as horrified and disheartened as he was the night our three fates were merged and sealed.
But first, I watched Farrow train with his father’s elite army, troop off to war, invade Donnelly and get caught and captured when he sacrificed himself to save a fellow soldier, then meet me for the first time when I saved him. He stumbled home through the Vast Desert with merely his mother’s flask to get him through.
Sable was the only one to welcome him back. His father had him beaten, enraged with Farrow for returning alive while the crown prince Murdock had not.
More years passed. Needing a male heir, the king had his current wife beheaded, since she proved to be barren, and he married a wealthy, young lady who came from a fertile line. So I watched Farrow when she tried to seduce him, and he fought off her advances. Then he fought off assassins when she tried to have him killed for his rejection.
On the night the queen finally gave birth, I was there with Farrow, watching through his eyes as yet another royal child entered the realm.
I stood with Farrow behind the great curtain in the throne room, shock and horror coursing through both of our veins, as we listened to the king of Far Shore plan my kidnapping and ruination.
I remained with Farrow when Sable, barely a teen at this point, was dragged in, and her life was threatened. I felt his fear and conflict, his panic and dread. And I swear they were my own lips that formed the words, “I’ll do it! I’ll kidnap the princess, Nicolette,” when we felt that was the only thing we could say to save Sable’s life.
Then I experienced his broken defeat as he left the city that night, after escaping his two escorts, and rode toward Donnelly alone.
To kidnap me.
25
Farrow
My balls itched.
I couldn’t handle the nagging sensation that irritated the skin just under my scrotum. So I reached down to give them a good scratch, still half-awake but stirring more with the mounting need to relieve the prickling flesh.
Except I never reached the damn spot.
My hand only made it halfway there before cold, metal fingers clamped around my wrist, yanking me up short.
My brow furrowed. “What the…?”
Eyes bursting open, I flew forward, only to get snagged by more chains, these surrounding my waist. They jerked me back against a tree, where I’d been bound.
Blinking down at myself, I discovered that not only were my wrists and waist chained but my ankles were as well, securing me quite successfully to a large, unmovable elm.
“Oh God,” I gasped, fear leaping into my gut. “Nicolette!”
If the two guards from the ferry had found us and taken off with her, leaving me chained here, I’d kill them. Both of them.
The campfire had died down and my pack of possessions remained, sitting not far away, within reaching distance. But Nicolette and her things were—
Oh. There she was.
