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Reeking of alcohol, he hisses next to my ear. “The deve has sent me to loosen your tongue, you disgusting whore.” Trying to get his hands on me, he gropes at the furs. I thank the Mother that his body is holding them down, shielding me.
He’s finally forced to shift his weight to rip the fur back, and I take my chance to push against him. “Bitch,” he accuses, rebalancing himself.
I keep fighting, keep screaming into his palm, my blood raging.
His frustration boils over and he bites down where my shoulder meets my neck with so much force that I see stars. What little breath I have left freezes in my lungs for a moment before my muted screams double themselves.
He chuckles. “That’s the least of what you deserve.” His hand slips down off my mouth and I immediately jerk my head forward and feel his nose crunch against my forehead.
“Fuck!” he howls and I shove him with all my might, once, twice, three times until he tips over the side of the bed.
Scrambling blindly in the very low light, I kick off the furs and immediately seek out the only thing in the room that could be used as a weapon: the tray. I raise it like a bludgeon, bringing it down over my attacker’s back. One of the handles breaks off and I almost lose my grip as the man slowly straightens, his bleeding nose creating a horribly macabre image in the glow of the coals.
Cayson.
He snatches at me, but misses in his inebriated state as I make a break for the darker outline of the door. Flattening my back against the wall right outside the room, I wait for him to come barrelling out, then strike him with the tray again, using every ounce of strength my muscles can summon.
With a shriek of pain, I hear him go down onto the stones and for a second my mind blanks.What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?The question beats in time with my staccato heartbeat, so loud in my ears, so fast in my chest.
The hall is black. If I want to hit him again, I’ll only be able to guess at his exact location. If I want to run, I’ll have to pass right by him. But the door. I know where the door is. I stumble back into the room and wrench the door shut. There’s no latch, but I run the broken edge of the tray down the hinge side of the door, frantically searching for a space large enough for it to fit between the door and frame.
“You cursed cunt,” Cayson screams just as a corner of the tray sinks in by a fraction. He shoves at the door, but it only opens by a sliver before springing back closed. I shove the tray as hard as I can and more of it sinks in – and stays there, wedged solidly.
He screams again, pushing at the door, but the tray holds.
“I’ll kill you. Do you hear me?! I’ll fucking kill you!”
I back away slowly, my trembling hands held out in front of me, expecting the door to come crashing inward at any second.
“Who’s there?” someone yells from somewhere down the stairs and I almost faint with the reprieve.
“Dearest Mother,” I whisper. “I thank you for your strength. Dearest Mother. I thank you for your strength.” I repeat the mantra over and over until the backs of my knees hit the bed and I jump like a terrified cat away from water. Over my ragged breaths, I strain to hear any sound coming from the hall. I very much doubt Cayson is done with me.
Chapter 6
Luka
It’s been three days.
I’ve been telling myself that without the ring, there’s no reason to seek Rina out. The excuse, however, is beginning to wear perilously thin with her hovering in my thoughts almost non-stop. Our late-night conversation left me . . . aggravated. I don’t like that she’s turned out to bemorethan I was expecting, that she’s made some kind of an impression on me.
And if it’s not her directly I’m thinking of, it’s the problems she’s brought with her. Last night there was a village meeting, during which I’d sat on the dais in the Great Hall and listened to the back and forth, mostly between Zola, Carson’s mother, who was calling for my bride’s blood, and Teo, my uncle, who was calling for calm.
While the killing of a Range Warrior is serious, I’m unimpressed with Zola, and two of her sons, Cayson and Crion, who’ve been trying to sway the collective opinion against Rina. Admittedly hatred for the D’heilar kingdom is not hard to rouse . . . but I can’t say I like it directed ather.When preferred methods of punishment had begun to be shouted at the meeting –stone her, 50 lashes, cut a limb off, brand her, bury her alive, take her head– stirring the crowd to a fevered pitched, I’d stood to stab my dagger into the tabletop and roar, “Enough! I will decide what happens to the princess. No one else.”
Now, this morning, my mood has not improved. I tell myself it’s because I only managed a few hours of sleep, but I know time is running out. I must make my decision soon and for some reason I can’t bring myself to do that without hearing whatshehas to say on the matter.
My father would have had a grand time with this if he were alive. In fact, I’m sure he’s mocking me from the Eternal this very moment.I always knew you were a weak-minded fool. How do you expect to lead if you can’t even make this one, simple decision? Locate your spine and use it.I force myself to block his imagined jeers from my mind. I will not rule with an iron fist that comes down randomly and without mercy . . . no matter how much self-doubt it causes.
“My deve,” I hear in an urgent tone as I’m arriving at the baths.
“What is it Bron?” My voice is barely more than a growl, but that doesn’t deter him.
“I need your assistance. It’s urgent.”
“It’ll have to wait until after I’ve washed.”
“Please, Yvette says it’s an emergency.”
